Page:Rosalind and Helen (Shelley, Forman).djvu/49

Rh "Now drain the cup," said Lionel, "Which the poet-bird has crowned so well With the wine of her bright and liquid song! Heardst thou not sweet words among That heaven-resounding minstrelsy? Heardst thou not, that those who die Awake in a world of ecstasy? That love, when limbs are interwoven, And sleep, when the night of life is cloven, And thought, to the world's dim boundaries clinging, And music, when one beloved is singing, Is death? Let us drain right joyously The cup which the sweet bird fills for me." He paused, and to my lips he bent His own: like spirit his words went Through all my limbs with the speed of fire; And his keen eyes, glittering through mine, Filled me with the flame divine, Which in their orbs was burning far, Like the light of an unmeasured star, In the sky of midnight dark and deep: Yes, 'twas his soul that did inspire Sounds, which my skill could ne'er awaken; And first, I felt my fingers sweep The harp, and a long quivering cry Burst from my lips in symphony: The dusk and solid air was shaken, As swift and swifter the notes came From my touch, that wandered like quick flame, And from my bosom, labouring With some unutterable thing: The awful sound of my own voice made My faint lips tremble, in some mood Of wordless thought Lionel stood