| As commonly they have, susceptible |
| Of all impressions, lavish most their love |
| Upon the blithe and sportive, and on such |
| As yield their want, and chase their sad excess, |
| With jocund salutations, nimble talk, |
| And buoyant bearing. |
All herself is in the line,
Which is not nothing, though I prize it not.
And in her song,
Down lay in a nook my lady’s brach.
This song I have heard quoted, and applied in such a way as to show that the profound meaning, so simply expressed, has sometimes been understood.
See with what a strain of reflection Van Artevelde greets the news that makes sure his overthrow.
It is strange, yet true,
That doubtful knowledge travels with a speed
Miraculous, which certain cannot match;
I know not why, when this or that has chanced,
The smoke should come before the flash; yet ’t is so.
The creative power of a soul of genius, is shown by bringing out the poetic sweetness of Van Artevelde, more and more, as the scene assumes a gloomier hue. The melancholy music of his speech penetrates the heart more and more up to the close.
The gibbous moon was in a wan decline,
And all was silent as a sick man’s chamber,
Mixing its small beginnings with the dregs
Of the pale moonshine, and a few faint stars,
The cold uncomfortable daylight dawned;
And the white tents, topping a low-ground fog,
Showed like a fleet becalmed.
At the close of the vision:
| And midmost in the eddy and the whirl, |
| My own face saw I, which was pale and calm |
| As death could make it,—then the vision passed, |
