It saw down on the ground by the "antenatal
tomb," leaned upon it with my face towards the head of the figure
within, and sang--the words and tones coming together, and inseparably
connected, as if word and tone formed one thing; or, as if each word
could be uttered only in that tone, and was incapable of distinction
from it, except in idea, by an acute analysis. I sang something like
this: but the words are only a dull representation of a state whose
very elevation precluded the possibility of remembrance; and in which I
presume the words really employed were as far above these, as that state
transcended this wherein I recall it:
"Marble woman, vainly sleeping
In the very death of dreams!
Wilt thou--slumber from thee sweeping,
All but what with vision teems--
Hear my voice come through the golden
Mist of memory and hope;
And with shadowy smile embolden
Me with primal Death to cope?
"Thee the sculptors all pursuing,
Have embodied but their own;
Round their visions, form enduring,
Marble vestments thou hast thrown;
But thyself, in silence winding,
Thou hast kept eternally;
Thee they found not, many finding--
I have found thee: wake for me."
As I sang, I looked earnestly at the face so vaguely revealed before me.
I fancied, yet believed it to be but fancy, that through the dim veil
of the alabaster, I saw a motion of the head as if caused by a sinking
sigh. I gazed more earnestly, and concluded that it was but fancy.
Neverthless I could not help singing again-
"Rest is now filled full of beauty,
And can give thee up, I ween;
Come thou forth, for other duty
Motion pineth for her queen.
"Or, if needing years to wake thee
From thy slumbrous solitudes,
Come, sleep-walking, and betake thee
To the friendly, sleeping woods.
Sweeter dreams are in the forest,
Round thee storms would never rave;
And when need of rest is sorest,
Glide thou then into thy cave.
"Or, if still thou choosest rather
Marble, be its spell on me;
Let thy slumber round me gather,
Let another dream with thee!"
Again I paused, and gazed through the stony shroud, as if, by very force
of penetrative sight, I would clear every lineament of the lovely face.
And now I thought the hand that had lain under the cheek, had slipped
a little downward. But then I could not be sure that I had at first
observed its position accurately. So I sang again; for the longing had
grown into a passionate need of seeing her alive-