No More Learning

_160

And Athanase, her child, who must have been
Then three years old, sate opposite and gazed
In patient silence.


FRAGMENT 2.

Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds
One amaranth glittering on the path of frost, _165
When autumn nights have nipped all weaker kinds,

Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tossed,
Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled
From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost,

The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child, _170
With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore
And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild.

And sweet and subtle talk they evermore,
The pupil and the master, shared; until,
Sharing that undiminishable store, _175

The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill
Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran
His teacher, and did teach with native skill

Strange truths and new to that experienced man;
Still they were friends, as few have ever been _180
Who mark the extremes of life's discordant span.

So in the caverns of the forest green,
Or on the rocks of echoing ocean hoar,
Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen

By summer woodmen; and when winter's roar _185
Sounded o'er earth and sea its blast of war,
The Balearic fisher, driven from shore,

Hanging upon the peaked wave afar,
Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam,
Piercing the stormy darkness, like a star _190

Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam,
Whilst all the constellations of the sky
Seemed reeling through the storm. . . They did but seem--

For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by,
And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, _195
And far o'er southern waves, immovably

Belted Orion hangs--warm light is flowing
From the young moon into the sunset's chasm. --
'O, summer eve! with power divine, bestowing

'On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm _200
Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness,
Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm

'Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness,
Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale,--
And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness,-- _205

'And the far sighings of yon piny dale
Made vocal by some wind we feel not here. --
I bear alone what nothing may avail

'To lighten--a strange load! '--No human ear
Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan _210
Of Athanase, a ruffling atmosphere

Of dark emotion, a swift shadow, ran,
Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake,
Glassy and dark. --And that divine old man

Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake, _215
Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest--
And with a calm and measured voice he spake,

And, with a soft and equal pressure, pressed
That cold lean hand:--'Dost thou remember yet
When the curved moon then lingering in the west _220

'Paused, in yon waves her mighty horns to wet,
How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea?
'Tis just one year--sure thou dost not forget--

'Then Plato's words of light in thee and me
Lingered like moonlight in the moonless east, _225
For we had just then read--thy memory

'Is faithful now--the story of the feast;
And Agathon and Diotima seemed
From death and dark forgetfulness released. . . '


FRAGMENT 3.

And when the old man saw that on the green
Leaves of his opening . . . a blight had lighted _230
He said: 'My friend, one grief alone can wean

A gentle mind from all that once delighted:--
Thou lovest, and thy secret heart is laden
With feelings which should not be unrequited. ' _235

And Athanase . . . then smiled, as one o'erladen
With iron chains might smile to talk (? ) of bands
Twined round her lover's neck by some blithe maiden,
And said. . .


FRAGMENT 4.