But one more frail (in that more prized, perchance), 76 Bends its rich blossoms over lonely streams In the untrodden ways of wild Romance, On earth's far confines, like the Tree of Dreams,[13] Few find the path;--O bliss! O woe to find! What bliss the blossom!--ah! what woe the wind! Oh, the short spring!--the eternal winter!--All 77 Branch,--stem all shatter'd; fragile as the bloom! Yet this the love that charms us to recall Life's golden holiday before the tomb; Yea! _this_ the love which age again lives o'er, And hears the heart beat loud with youth once more! Before them, at the distance, o'er the blue 78 Of the sweet waves which girt the rosy isle, Flitted light shapes the inwoven alleys through: Remotely mellow'd, musical the while, Floated the hum of voices, and the sweet Lutes chimed with timbrels to dim-glancing feet. The calm swan rested on the breathless glass 79 Of dreamy waters, and the snow-white steer Near the opposing margin, motionless, Stood, knee-deep, gazing wistful on its clear And life-like shadow, shimmering deep and far, Where on the lucid darkness fell the star. Near them, upon its lichen-tinted base, 80 Gleam'd one of those fair fancied images Which art hath lost--no god of Idan race, But the wing'd symbol which, by Caspian seas, Or Susa's groves, its parable addrest To the wild faith of Iran's Zendavest.[14] Light as the soul, whose archetype it was 81 The Genius touch'd, yet spurn'd the pedestal; Behind, the foliage, in its purple mass, Shut out the flush'd horizon; clasping all, Nature's hush'd giants stood to guard and girth The only home of peace upon the earth. And when, at last, from AEgle's lips, the voice 82 Came soft as murmur'd hymns at closing day, The sweet sound seem'd the sweet air to rejoice-- To give the sole charm wanting,--to convey The crowning music to the Musical; As with the soul of love infusing all! And to the Northman's ear that antique tongue, 83 Which from the Augur's lips fell weird and cold, Seem'd as the thread in fairy tales,[15] which strung Enchanted pearls, won from the caves of old, And woven round a sunbeam;--so was wrought O'er cordial love the pure and delicate thought. She spoke of youth's lost years, so lone before, 84 And coming to the present, paused and blush'd; As if Time's wing were spell-bound evermore, And Life, the restless, in the hour were hush'd: The pause, the blush, said more than words, "And thou Art found!--thou lov'st me!--Fate is powerless now!"