Dusketha, so enchantingly
Freckle-wing'd and lizard-sided!
Dusketha
By thee, Spright, will I be guided!
I care not for cold or heat;
Frost and flame, or sparks, or sleet,
To my essence are the same;—
But I honour more the flame.
Spright of fire, I follow thee80
Wheresoever it may be;
To the torrid spouts and fountains,
Underneath earth-quaked mountains;
Or, at thy supreme desire,
Touch the very pulse of fire
With my bare unlidded eyes.
Salamander
Sweet Dusketha! paradise!
Off, ye icy Spirits, fly!
Frosty creatures of the sky!
Dusketha
Breathe upon them, fiery Spright!90
Zephyr, Breama (to each other)
Away! away to our delight!
Salamander
Go, feed on icicles, while we
Bedded in tongued flames will be.
Dusketha
Lead me to these fev'rous glooms,
Spright of Fire!
Breama
Me to the blooms,
Blue eyed Zephyr of those flowers
Far in the west where the May-cloud lowers:
And the beams of still Vesper, where winds are all whist,
Are shed thro' the rain and the milder mist,
And twilight your floating bowers.100
FAERY SONGS
These two songs are given in Life, Letters and Literary Remains, but without date. It seems not inapt to place them near the Song of Four Fairies.
I
Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! O weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes! O dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies—
Shed no tear.
Overhead! look overhead
'Mong the blossoms white and red—
Look up, look up—I flutter now
On this flush pomegranate bough.
See me! 't is this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man's ill.
Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, Adieu—I fly, adieu,
I vanish in the heaven's blue—
Adieu, Adieu!
II
Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing!
That I must chant thy lady's dirge,
And death to this fair haunt of spring,
Of melody, and streams of flowery verge,—
Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me!
That I must see
These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall!
Go, pretty page! and in her ear
Whisper that the hour is near!
Softly tell her not to fear
Such calm favonian burial!
Go, pretty page! and soothly tell,—
The blossoms hang by a melting spell,
And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice
Upon her closed eyes,
That now in vain are weeping their last tears,
At sweet life leaving, and those arbours green,—
Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,—
Alas! poor Queen!
