Poem by James Russell Lowell

A Mystical Ballad

                   I.

  The sunset scarce had dimmed away
  Into the twilight's doubtful gray;
  One long cloud o'er the horizon lay,
  'Neath which, a streak of bluish white,
  Wavered between the day and night;
  Over the pine trees on the hill
  The trembly evening-star did thrill,
  And the new moon, with slender rim,
  Through the elm arches gleaming dim,
  Filled memory's chalice to the brim.

                  II.

  On such an eve the heart doth grow
  Full of surmise, and scarce can know
  If it be now or long ago,
  Or if indeed it doth exist;--
  A wonderful enchanted mist
  From the new moon doth wander out,
  Wrapping all things in mystic doubt,
  So that this world doth seem untrue,
  And all our fancies to take hue
  From some life ages since gone through.

                 III.

  The maiden sat and heard the flow
  Of the west wind so soft and low
  The leaves scarce quivered to and fro;
  Unbound, her heavy golden hair
  Rippled across her bosom bare,
  Which gleamed with thrilling snowy white
  Far through the magical moonlight:
  The breeze rose with a rustling swell,
  And from afar there came the smell
  Of a long-forgotten lily-bell.

                  IV.

  The dim moon rested on the hill,
  But silent, without thought or will,
  Where sat the dreamy maiden still;
  And now the moon's tip, like a star,
  Drew down below the horizon's bar;
  To her black noon the night hath grown,
  Yet still the maiden sits alone,
  Pale as a corpse beneath a stream
  And her white bosom still doth gleam
  Through the deep midnight like a dream.

                   V.

  Cloudless the morning came and fair,
  And lavishly the sun doth share
  His gold among her golden hair,
  Kindling it all, till slowly so
  A glory round her head doth glow;
  A withered flower is in her hand,
  That grew in some far distant land,
  And, silently transfigurèd,
  With wide calm eyes, and undrooped head,
  They found the stranger-maiden dead.

                  VI.

  A youth, that morn, 'neath other skies,
  Felt sudden tears burn in his eyes,
  And his heart throng with memories;
  All things without him seemed to win
  Strange brotherhood with things within,
  And he forever felt that he
  Walked in the midst of mystery,
  And thenceforth, why, he could not tell,
  His heart would curdle at the smell
  Of his once-cherished lily-bell.

                 VII.

  Something from him had passed away;
  Some shifting trembles of clear day,
  Through starry crannies in his clay,
  Grew bright and steadfast, more and more,
  Where all had been dull earth before;
  And, through these chinks, like him of old,
  His spirit converse high did hold
  With clearer loves and wider powers,
  That brought him dewy fruits and flowers
  From far Elysian groves and bowers.

                VIII.

  Just on the farther bound of sense,
  Unproved by outward evidence,
  But known by a deep influence
  Which through our grosser clay doth shine
  With light unwaning and divine,
  Beyond where highest thought can fly
  Stretcheth the world of Mystery--
  And they not greatly overween
  Who deem that nothing true hath been
  Save the unspeakable Unseen.

                  IX.

  One step beyond life's work-day things,
  One more beat of the soul's broad wings,
  One deeper sorrow sometimes brings
  The spirit into that great Vast
  Where neither future is nor past;
  None knoweth how he entered there,
  But, waking, finds his spirit where
  He thought an angel could not soar,
  And, what he called false dreams before,
  The very air about his door.

                   X.

  These outward seemings are but shows
  Whereby the body sees and knows;
  Far down beneath, forever flows
  A stream of subtlest sympathies
  That make our spirits strangely wise
  In awe, and fearful bodings dim
  Which, from the sense's outer rim,
  Stretch forth beyond our thought and sight,
  Fine arteries of circling light,
  Pulsed outward from the Infinite.

1. Fancies about a Rosebud, Pressed in an Old Copy of Spenser
2. Fourth of July Ode
3. My Friend, Adown Life's Valley, Hand in Hand
4. Verse Cannot Say How Beautiful Thou Art
5. Sayest Thou, Most Beautiful, That Thou Wilt Wear

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