Cyprian monologue — The Wonder-Working Magician

The fair cradle of the skies, Where the infant sun reposes, Ere he rises, decked with roses, Robed in snow, to dry heaven's eyes. The green prison-bud that tries To restrain the conscious rose, When the crimson captive knows April treads its gardens near, Turning dawn's half frozen tear To a smile where sunshine glows. The sweet streamlet gliding by, Though it scarcely dares to breathe Softest murmurs through its teeth, From the frosts that on it lie. The bright pink, in its small sky Shining like a coral star. The blithe bird that flies afar, Drest in shifting shades and blooms-- Soaring cithern of plumes Harping high o'er heaven's blue bar. The white rock that cheats the sun When it tries to melt it down, What it melts is but the crown Which from winter's snow it won. The green bay that will not shun, Though the heavens are all aglow, For its feet a bath of snow,-- Green Narcissus of the brook, Fearless leaning o'er to look, Though the stream runs chill below In a word, the crimson dawn, Sun, mead, streamlet, rosebud, May Bird that sings his amorous lay, April's laugh that gems the lawn, Pink that sips the dews up-drawn, Rock that stands in storm and shine, Bay-tree that delights to twine Round its fadeless leaves the sun, All are parts which met in one Form this woman most divine. For myself, in blind unrest, (Guess my madness if you can) I, to seem another man, In these courtly robes am drest, Studious calm I now detest, Fame no longer fires my mind, Passion reigns where thought refined, I my firmness fling to tears, Courage I resign to fears, And my hopes I give the wind. I have said, and so will do, That to some infernal sprite I would offer with delight (And the pledge I now renew) Even my soul for her I woo. But my offer is in vain, Hell rejects it with disdain, For my soul, it may allege, Is a disproportionate pledge For the interest I would gain.