- *T S ^T ^T rrfs^. v*z**. m$^ *~**> k ; >*- B \r^* \ HE Si- in ! [:Y ' - j j j- - i ' i .. ' >,.*.- i *eautiful in naked purity, The perfect semblance of its bodily frame; Instinct with inexpressible beauty and grace Each stain of earthliness Had passed away it reassumed Its native dignity and stood Immortal amid ruin. Upon the couch the body lay, Wrapt in the depth of slumber; i 4 e Its features were fixed and meaningless, Yet animal life was there, And every organ yet performed Its natural functions; 'twas a sight Of wonder to behold the body and the soul. The self-same lineaments, the same Marks of identity were there ; Yet, oh, how different ! One aspires to Heaven, Pants for its sempiternal heritage, And, ever changing, ever rising still, 150 Wantons in endless being: The other, for a time the unwilling sport Of circumstance and passion, struggles on; Fleets through its sad duration rapidly; Then like an useless and worn-out machine. Hots, perishes, and passes. ' Spirit ! who hast dived so deep; Spirit ! who hast soared so high; Thou the fearless, thou the mild, Accept the boon thy worth hath earned, Ascend the car with me ! ' 161 SPIRIT ' Do I dream ? Is this new feeling But a visioned ghost of slumber ? If indeed I am a soul, A free, a disembodied soul, Speak again to me.' ' I am the Fairy MAB: to me 'tis given The wonders of the human world to keep; The secrets of the immeasurable past, In the unfailing consciences of men, 170 Those stern, unflattering chroniclers, I find; The future, from the causes which arise In each event, I gather; not the sting Which retributive memory implants In the hard bosom of the selfish man, Nor that ecstatic and exulting throb Which virtue's votary feels when he sums up The thoughts and actions of a well-spent day, QUEEN MAB Are unforeseen, unregistered by me; And it is yet permitted me to rend 180 The veil of mortal frailty, that the spirit, Clothed in its changeless purity, may know How soonest to accomplish the great end For which it hath its being, and may taste That peace which in the end all life will share. This is the meed of virtue ; happy Soul, Ascend the car with me ! ' The chains of earth's immurement Fell from lanthe's spirit; They shrank and brake like bandages of straw 190 Beneath a wakened giant's strength. She knew her glorious change, And felt in apprehension uncontrolled New raptures opening round; Each day-dream of her mortal life, Each frenzied vision of the slumbers That closed each well-spent day, Seemed now to meet reality. The Fairy and the Soul proceeded; The silver clouds disparted ; 200 And as the car of magic they ascended, Again the speechless music swelled, Again the coursers of the air Unfurled thsir azure peimous, and the Queen, Shaking the beamy reins, Bade them pursue their way. The magic car moved on. The night was fair, and countless stars Studded heaven's dark blue vault; Just o'er the eastern wave 210 Peeped the first faint smile of morn. The magic car moved on From the celestial hoofs The atmosphere in flaming sparkles flew, And where the burning wheels Eddied above the mountain'sloftiest peak, Was traced a line of lightning. Now it flew far above a rock, The utmost verge of earth, 219 The rival of the Andes, whose dark brow Lowered o'er the silver sea. Far, far below the chariot's path, Calm as a slumbering babe, Tremendous Ocean lay. The mirror of its stillness showed The pale and waning stars, The chariot's fiery track, And the gray light of morn Tinging those fleecy clouds That canopied the dawn. 330 Seemed it that the chariot's way Lay through the midst of an immense con- cave Radiant with million constellations, tinged With shades of infinite color, And semicircled with a belt Flashing incessant meteors. The magic car moved on. As they approached their goal, 238 The coursers seemed to gather speed; The sea no longer was distinguished; earth Appeared a vast and shadowy sphere; The sun's unclouded orb Rolled through the black concave; Its rays of rapid light Parted around the chariot's swifter course, And fell, like ocean's feathery spray Dashed from the boiling surge Before a vessel's prow. The magic car moved on. Earth's distant orb appeared 250 The smallest light that twinkles in the heaven ; Whilst round the chariot's way Innumerable systems rolled And countless spheres diffused An ever-varying glory. It was a sight of wonder: some Were horned like the crescent moon; Some shed a mild and silver beam Like Hesperns o'er the western sea; 259 Some dashed athwart with trains of flame, Like worlds to death and ruin driven; Some shone like suns, and as the chariot passed, Eclipsed all other light. Spirit of Nature f here In this interminable wilderness Of worlds, at whose immensity Even soaring fancy staggers, Here is thy fitting temple! Yet not the lightest leaf 26g That quivers to the passing breeze Is less instinct with thee; Yet not the meanest worm QUEEN MAB That lurks in graves and fattens on the dead, Less shares thy eternal breath! Spirit of Nature! thou, Imperishable as this scene Here is thy fitting temple! If solitude hath ever led thy steps To the wild ocean's echoing shore, And thou hast lingered there, Until the sun's broad orb Seemed resting on the burnished wave, Thou must have marked the lines Of purple gold that motionless Hung o'er the sinking sphere; Thou must have marked the billowy clouds, Edged with intolerable radiancy, 10 Towering like rocks of jet Crowned with a diamond wreath; And yet there is a moment, When the sun's highest point Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western edge, When those far clouds of feather} 7 gold, Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea; Then has thy fancy soared above the earth And furled its wearied wing 20 Within the Fairy's fane. Yet not the golden islands Gleaming in yon flood of light, Nor the feathery curtains Stretching o'er the sun's bright couch, Nor the burnished ocean-waves Paving that gorgeous dome, So fair, so wonderful a sight As Mab's ethereal palace could afford. 29 Yet likest evening's vault, that faery Hall! As Heaven, low resting on the wave, it spread Its floors of flashing light, Its vast and azure dome, Its fertile golden islands Floating on a silver sea; Whilst suns their mingling beamings darted Through clouds of circumambient darkness, And pearly battlements around Looked o'er the immense of Heaveii. The magic car no longer moved. 40 TLe Fairy and the Spirit Entered the Hall of Spells. Those golden clouds That rolled in glittering billows Beneath the azure canopy, With the ethereal footsteps trembled not; The light and crimson mists, Floating to strains of thrilling melody Through that unearthly dwelling, Yielded to every movement of the will; 50 Upon their passive swell the Spirit leaned, And, for the varied bliss that pressed around, Used not the glorious privilege Of virtue and of wisdom. 'Spirit!' the Fairy said, And pointed to the gorgeous dome, ' This is a wondrous sight And mocks all human grandeur; But, were it virtue's only meed to dwell In a celestial palace, all resigned 60 To pleasurable impulses, immured Within the prison of itself, the will Of changeless Nature would be unfulfilled. Learn to make others happy. Spirit, come! This is thine high reward: the past shall rise; Thou shalt behold the present; I will teach The secrets of the future.' The Fairy and the Spirit Approached the overhanging battlement. Below lay stretched the universe! 70 There, far as the remotest line That bounds imagination's flight, Countless and unending orbs In mazy motion intermingled, Yet still fulfilled immutably Eternal Nature's law. Above, below, .around, The circling systems formed A wilderness of harmony; Each with undeviating aim, 80 In eloquent silence, through the depths of space Pursued its wondrous way. There was a little light That twinkled in the misty distance. None but a spirit's eye Might ken that rolling orb. None but a spirit's eye, And in no other place But that celestial dwelling, might behold Each action of this earth's inhabitants. 90 But matter, space, and time, In those aerial mansions cease to act; QUEEN MAB And all-prevailing wisdom, when it reaps The harvest of its excellence, o'erbounds Those obstacles of which an earthly soul Fears to attempt the conquest. The Fairy pointed to the earth. The Spirit's intellectual eye Its kindred beings recognized. 99 The thronging thousands, to a passing view, Seemed like an ant-hill's citizens. How wonderful ! that even The passions, prejudices, interests, That sway the meanest being the weak touch That moves the finest nerve And in one human brain Causes the faintest thought, becomes a link In the great chain of Nature! ' Behold,' the Fairy cried, 'Palmyra's ruined palaces! no Behold where grandeur frowned! Behold where pleasure smiled! What now remains ? the memory Of senselessness and shame. What is immortal there ? Nothing it stands to tell A melancholy tale, to give An awful warning; soon Oblivion will steal silently The remnant of its fame. 120 Monarchs and conquerors there Proud o'er prostrate millions trod The earthquakes of the human race; Like them, forgotten when the ruin That marks their shock is past. ' Beside the eternal Nile The Pyramids have risen. Nile shall pursue his changeless way; Those Pyramids shall fall. Yea! not a stone shall stand to tell 130 The spot whereon they stood; Their very site shall be forgotten, As is their builder's name! ' Behold yon sterile spot, Where now the wandering Arab's tent Flaps in the desert blast! There once old Salem's haughty fane Reared high to heaven its thousand golden domes, And in the blushing face of day Exposed its shameful glory. 140 Oh! many a widow, mauyaii orphan cursed The building of that fane ; and many a father, Worn out with toil and slavery, implored The poor man's God to sweep it from the earth And spare his children the detested task Of piling stone on stone and poisoning The choicest days of life To soothe a dotard's vanity. There an inhuman and uncultured race 149 Howled hideous praises to their Demon- God; They rushed to war, tore from the mother's womb The unborn child old age and infancy Promiscuous perished ; their victorious arms Left not a soul to breathe. Oh! the}' were fiends! But what was he who taught them that the God Of Nature and benevolence had given A special sanction to the trade of blood? His name and theirs are fading, and the tales Of this barbarian nation, which impos- ture Recites till terror credits, are pursuing 160 Itself into forgetf ulness. ' Where Athens, Rome, and Sparta stood, There is a moral desert now. The mean and miserable huts, The yet more wretched palaces, Contrasted with those ancient fanes Now crumbling to oblivion, The long and lonely colonnades Through which the ghost of Freedom stalks, Seem like a well-known tune, 170 Which in some dear scene we have loved to hear, Remembered now in sadness. But, oh ! how much more changed, How gloomier is the contrast Of human nature there ! Where Socrates expired, a tyrant's slave, A coward and a fool, spreads death around Then, shuddering, meets his own. Where Cicero and Antoninus lived, A cowled and hypocritical monk 180 Prays, curses and deceives. ' Spirit ! ten thousand years Have scarcely passed away, 8 QUEEN MAB Since in the waste, where now the savage drinks His enemy's blood, and, aping Europe's sons, Wakes the unholy song of war, Arose a stately city, Metropolis of the western continent. There, now, the mossy column-stone, Indented by time's unrelaxing grasp, 190 Which once appeared to brave All, save its country's ruin, There the wide forest scene, Rude in the uncultivated loveliness Of gardens long run wild, Seems, to the unwilling sojourner whose steps Chance in that desert has delayed, Thus to have stood since earth was what it is. Yet once it was the busiest haunt, 199 Whither, as to a common centre, flocked Strangers, and ships, and merchandise ; Once peace and freedom blest The cultivated plain; But wealth, that curse of man, Blighted the bud of its prosperity; Virtue and wisdom, truth and liberty, Fled, to return not, until man shall know That they alone can give the bliss Worthy a soul that claims Its kindred with eternity. 210 * There 's not one atom of yon earth But once was living man ; Nor the minutest drop of rain, That hangeth in its thinnest cloud, But flowed in human veins; And from the burning plains Where Libyan monsters yell, From the most gloomy glens Of Greenland's sunless clime, To where the golden fields 220 Of fertile England spread Their harvest to the day, Thou canst not find one spot Whereon no city stood. ' How strange is human pride ! I tell thee that those living things, To whom the fragile blade of grass That springeth in the morn And perisheth ere noon, Is an unbounded world; 230 I tell thee that those viewless beings, Whose mansion is the smallest particle Of the impassive atmosphere, Think, feel and live like man; That their affections and antipathies, Like his, produce the laws Ruling their moral state; And the minutest throb That through their frame diffuses The slightest, faintest motion, 240 Is fixed and indispensable As the majestic laws That rule yon rolling orbs.' The Fairy paused. The Spirit, In ecstasy of admiration, felt All knowledge of the past revived; the events Of old and wondrous times, Which dim tradition interruptedly Teaches the credulous vulgar, were un- folded In just perspective to the view; 250 Yet dim from their infinitude. The Spirit seemed to stand High on an isolated pinnacle; The flood of ages combating below, The depth of the unbounded universe Above, and all around Nature's unchanging harmony. in ' Fairy ! ' the Spirit said, And on the Queen of Spells Fixed her ethereal eyes, ' I thank thee. Thou hast given A boon which I will not resign, and taught A lesson not to be unlearned. I know The past, and thence I will essay to glean A warning for the future, so that man May profit by his errors and derive Experience from his folly; 10 For, when the power of imparting joy Is equal to the will, the human soul Requires no other heaven.' ' Turn thee, surpassing Spirit ! Much yet remains unscanned. Thou knowest how great is man, Thou knowest his imbecility; Yet learn thou what he is; Yet learn the lofty destiny Which restless Time prepares 20 For every living soul. ' Behold a gorgeous palace that amid Yon populous city rears its thousand towers QUEEN MAB And seems itself a city. Gloomy troops Of sentinels in stern and silent ranks Encompass it around; the dweller there Cannot be free aud happy; nearest thou not The curses of the fatherless, the groans Of those who have no friend ? He passes on The King, the wearer of a gilded chain 30 That binds his soul to abjectness, the fool Whom courtiers nickname monarch, whilst a slave Even to the basest appetites that man Heeds not the shriek of penury; he smiles At the deep curses which the destitute Mutter in secret, and a sullen joy Pervades his bloodless heart when thou- sands groan But for those morsels which his wantonness Wastes in unjoyous revelry, to save All that they love from famine ; when he hears 40 The tale of horror, to some ready-made face Of hypocritical assent he turns, Smothering the glow of shame, that, spite of him, Flushes his bloated cheek. Now to the meal Of silence, grandeur and excess he drags His palled unwilling appetite. If gold, Gleaming around, and numerous viands culled From every clime could force the loathing sense To overcome satiety, if wealth The spring it draws from poisons not, or vice, 50 Unfeeling, stubborn vice, converteth not Its food to deadliest venom ; then that king Is happy ; and the peasant who fulfils His unforced task, when he returns at even And by the blazing fagot meets again Her welcome for whom all his toil is sped, Tastes not a sweeter meal. Behold him now Stretched on the gorgeous couch ; his fe- vered brain Reels dizzily awhile ; but ah ! too soon The slumber of intemperance subsides, 60 And conscience, that undying serpent, calls Her venomous brood to their nocturnal task. Listen ! he speaks 1 oh ! mark that frenzied eye Oh I mark that deadly visage ! ' KINO ' No cessation 1 Oh ! must this last forever ! Awful death, I wish, yet fear to clasp thee ! Not one moment Of dreamless sleep ! O dear and blessed Peace, Why dost thou shroud thy vestal purity In penury and dungeons ? Wherefore lurkest With danger, death, and solitude ; yet sbuu'st 70 The palace I have built thee ? Sacred Peace J Oh, visit me but once, but pitying shed One drop of balm upon my withered soul ! ' THE FAIRY * Vain man ! that palace is the virtuous heart, And Peace defileth not her snowy robes In such a shed as thine. Hark ! yet he mutters ; His slumbers are but varied agonies ; They prey like scorpions on the springs of life. There needeth not the hell that bigots frame To punish those who err ; earth in itself 80 Contains at once the evil and the cure ; And all-sufficing Nature can chastise Those who transgress her law ; she only knows How justly to proportion to the fault The punishment it merits. Is it strange That this poor wretch should pride him in his woe ? Take pleasure in his abjectness, and hug The scorpion that consumes him ? Is it strange That, placed on a conspicuous throne of thorns, Grasping an iron sceptre, and immured 90 Within a splendid prison whose stern bounds Shut him from all that's good or dear on earth, His soul asserts not its humanity ? That man's mild nature rises not in war 10 QUEEN MAB Against a king's employ ? No 'tis not strange. He, like the vulgar, thinks, feels, acts, and lives Just as his father did ; the uncouquered powers Of precedent and custom interpose Between a king and virtue. Stranger yet, To those who know not Nature nor de- duce 100 The future from the present, it may seem, That not one slave, who suffers from the crimes Of this unnatural being, not one wretch, Whose children famish and whose nuptial bed Is earth's unpitying bosom, rears an arm To dash him from his throne ! Those gilded flies That, basking in the sunshine of a court, Fatten on its corruption ! what are they ? The drones of the community ; they feed Oil the mechanic's labor ; the starved hind no For them compels the stubborn glebe to yield Its unshared harvests ; and you squalid form, Leaner than fleshless misery, that wastes A sunless life in the unwholesome mine, Drags out in labor a protracted death To glut their grandeur ; many faint with toil That few may know the cares and woe of sloth. Whence, thinkest thou, kings and parasites arose ? Whence that unnatural line of drones who heap Toil and unvanquishable penury 120 On those who build their palaces and bring Their daily bread ? From vice, black loathsome vice ; From rapine, madness, treachery, and wrong ; From all that genders misery, and makes Of earth this thorny wilderness ; from lust, Revenge, and murder. And when reason's voice, Loud as the voice of Nature, shall have waked The nations ; and mankind perceive that vice Is discord, war and misery ; that virtue Is peace and happiness and harmony ; i 30 When man's inaturer nature shall disdain The playthings of its childhood ; kingly glare Will lose its power to dazzle ; its authority Will silently pass by ; the gorgeous throne Shall stand unnoticed in the regal hall, Fast falling to decay ; whilst falsehood's trade Shall be as hateful and unprofitable As that of truth is now. Where is the fame Which the vain-glorious mighty of the earth Seek to eternize ? Oh ! the faintest sound i 4 o From time's light footfall, the minutest wave That swells the flood of ages, whelms in nothing The unsubstantial bubble. Ay ! to-day Stern is the tyrant's mandate, red the gaze That flashes desolation, strong the arm That scatters multitudes. To - morrow comes ! That mandate is a thunder-peal that died In ages past ; that gaze, a transient flash On which the midnight closed ; and on that arm 149 The worm has made his meal. The virtuous man, Who, great in his humility as kings Are little in their grandeur; he who leads Invincibly a life of resolute good And stands amid the silent dungeon-depths More free and fearless than the trembling judge Who, clothed in venal power, vainly strove To bind the impassive spirit; when he falls, His mild eye beams benevolence no more; Withered the hand outstretched but to re- lieve; 159 Sunk reason's simple eloquence that rolled But to appall the guilty. Yes! the grave Hath quenched that eye and death's relent- less frost Withered that arm; but the unfading fame Which virtue hangs upon its votary's tomb, The deathless memory of that man whom kings Call to their minds and tremble, the re- membrance With which the hnppy spirit contemplates QUEEN MAB ii Its well-spent pilgrimage on earth, Shall never pass away. 169 ' Nature rejects the monarch, not the man; The subject, not the citizen; for kings And subjects, mutual foes, forever play A losing game into each other's hands, Whose stakes are vice and misery. The man Of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys. Power, like a desolating pestilence, Pollutes vvhate'er it touches; and obedience, Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame 1-9 A mechanized automaton. When Nero High over flaming Rome with savage joy Lowered like a tiend, drank with enrap- tured ear The shrieks of agonizing death, beheld The frightful desolation spread, and felt A new-created sense within his soul Thrill to the sight and vibrate to the sound, Thinkest thou his grandeur had not over- come The force of human kindness ? And when Rome With one stern blow hurled not the tyrant down, Crushed not the arm red with her dearest blood, 190 Had not submissive abjectness destroyed Nature's suggestions ? Look on yonder earth : The golden harvests spring; the unfailing sun Sheds light and life; the fruits, the flowers, the trees, Arise in due succession; all things speak Peace, harmony and love. The universe, In Nature's silent eloquence, declares That all fulfil the works of love and joy, All but the outcast, Man. He fabricates The sword which stabs his peace; he cherisheth 200 The snakes that gnaw his heart; he raiseth up The tyrant whose delight is in his woe, Whose sport is in his agony. Yon sun, Lights it the great alone ? Yon silver beams, Sleep they less sweetly on the cottage thatch Than on the dome of kings ? Is mother earth A step-dame to her numerous sons who earn Her unshared gifts with unremitting toil; A mother only to those puling babes 209 Who, nursed in ease and luxury, make men The playthings of their babyhood and mar In self-important childishness that peace Which men alone appreciate ? ' Spirit of Nature, no ! The pure diffusion of thy essence throbs Alike in every human heart. Thou aye erectest there Thy throne of power unappealable; Thou art the judge beneath whose nod Man's brief and frail authority 220 Is powerless as the wind That passeth idly by; Thine the tribunal which surpasseth The show of human justice As God surpasses man! ' Spirit of Nature! thou Life of interminable multitudes; Soul of those mighty spheres Whose changeless paths through Heaven's deep silence lie; Soul of that smallest being, 230 The dwelling of whose life Is one faint April sun-gleam ; Man, like these passive things, Thy will unconsciously fulfilleth; Like theirs, his age of endless peace, Which time is fast maturing, Will swiftly, surely, come; And the unbounded frame which thou per- vadest, Will be without a flaw Marring its perfect symmetry! 240 IV ' How beautiful this night ! the balmiest sigh, Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear, Were discord to the speaking quietude That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault, Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded gran- deur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love had spread To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills. 12 QUEEN MAB Robed in a garment of untrodden snow; 9 Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend So stainless that their white and glittering spires Tinge uot the moon's pure beam ; yon castled steep Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower So idly that rapt fancy deemeth it A metaphor of peace ; all f 0rm a scene Where musing solitude might love to lift Her soul above this sphere of earthliuess; Where silence undisturbed might watch alone So cold, so bright, so still. The orb of day In southern climes o'er ocean's waveless field 20 Sinks sweetly smiling ; uot the faintest breath Steals o'er the unruffled deep ; the clouds of eve Reflect unmoved the lingering beam of day; And Vesper's image on the western main Is beautifully still. To-morrow conies: Cloud upon cloud, in dark and deepening mass, Roll o'er the blackened waters; the deep roar Of distant thunder mutters awfully; Tempest unfolds its pinion o'er the gloom That shrouds the boiling surge; the pitiless fiend, 30 With nil his winds and lightnings, tracks his prey; The torn deep yawns, the vessel finds a grave Beneath its jagged gulf. Ah ! whence yon glare That fires the arch of heaven ? that drk red smoke Blotting the silver moon ? The stars are quenched In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round. Hark to that roar whose swift and deafen- ing peals In countless echoes through the mountains ring, Startling pale Midnight on her starry throne t 40 Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar Frequent and frightful of the bursting bomb; The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout, The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men Inebriate with rage: loud and more loud The discord grows; till pale Death shuts the scene And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws His cold and bloody shroud. Of all the men Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there In proud and vigorous health; of all the hearts 50 That beat with anxious life at sunset there; How few survive, how few are beating now ! All is deep silence, like the fearful calm That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause; Save when the frantic wail of widowed love Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay Wrapt round its struggling powers. The gray morn Dawns on the mournful scene; the sulphur- ous smoke Before the icy wind slow rolls away, 60 And the bright beams of frosty morning dance Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms, And lifeless warriors, whose hard linea- ments Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path Of the outsallying victors; far behind Black ashes note where their proud city stood. Within yon forest is a gloomy glen Each tree which guards its darkness from the day, 69 Waves o'er a warrior's tomb. I see thee shrink, Surpassing Spirit t wert thou human else? QUEEN MAB I see a shade of doubt and horror fleet Across thy stainless features; yet fear not; This is no unconnected misery, Nor stands uncaused and irretrievable. Man's evil nature, that apology Which kings who rule, and cowards who crouch, set up For their unnumbered crimes, sheds not the blood Which desolates the discord- wasted land. From kings and priests and statesmen war arose, 80 Whose safety is man's deep unbettered woe, Whose grandeur his debasement. Let the axe Strike at the root, the poison-tree will fall ; And where its venomed exhalations spread Ruin, and death, and woe, where millions lay Quenching the serpent's famine, and their bones Bleaching unburied in the putrid blast, A garden shall arise, in loveliness Surpassing fabled Eden. Hath Nature's soul, That formed this world so beautiful, that spread 90 Earth's lap with plenty, and life's smallest chord Strung to unchanging unison, that gave The happy birds their dwelling iu the grove, That yielded to the wanderers of the deep The lovely silence of the unfathomed main, And filled the meanest worm that crawls in dust With spirit, thought and love, on Man alone, Partial in causeless malice, wantonly Heaped ruin, vice, and slavery; his soul 99 Blasted with withering curses; placed afar The meteor-happiness, that shuns his grasp, But serving on the frightful gulf to glare Rent wide beneath his footsteps ? Nature ! no ! Kings, priests and statesmen blast the hu- man flower Even in its tender bud; their influence darts Like subtle poison through the bloodless veins Of desolate society. The child, Ere he can lisp his mother's sacred name, Swells with the unnatural pride of crime, and lifts His baby-sword even in a hero's mood, no This infant arm becomes the bloodiest scourge Of devastated earth ; whilst specious names, Learnt in soft childhood's unsuspecting hour, Serve as the sophisms with which manhood dims Bright reason's ray and sanctifies the sword Upraised to shed a brother's innocent blood. Let priest-led slaves cease to proclaim that man Inherits vice and misery, when force And falsehood hang even o'er the cradled babe, 1 19 Stifling with rudest grasp all natural good. ' Ah ! to the stranger-soul, when first it peeps From its new tenement and looks abroad For happiness and sympathy, how stern And desolate a tract is this wide world ! How withered all the buds of natural good ! No shade, no shelter from the sweeping storms Of pitiless power ! On its wretched frame Poisoned, perchance, by the disease and woe Heaped on the wretched parent whence it sprung 129 By morals, law and custom, the pure winds Of heaven, that renovate the insect tribes, May breathe not. The untainting light of day May visit not its longings. It is bound Ere it has life; yea, all the chains are forged Long ere its being; all liberty and love And peace is torn from its defencelessness; Cursed from its birth, even from its cradle doomed To abjectness and bondage ! ' Throughout this varied and eternal world Soul is the only element, the block 140 That for uncounted ages has remained. The moveless pillar of a mountain's weight Is active living spirit. Every grain Is sentient both in unity and part, And the minutest atom comprehends A world of loves and hatreds; these begef QUEEN MAB Evil and good; hence truth and falsehood spring; Hence will and thought and action, all the germs Of pain or pleasure, sympathy or hate, That variegate the eternal universe. 150 Soul is not more polluted than the beams Of heaven's pure orb ere round their rapid lines The taint of earth-born atmospheres arise. ' Man is of soul and body, formed for deeds Of high resolve; on fancy's boldest wing To soar unwearied, fearlessly to turn The keenest pangs to peacefulness, and taste The joys which mingled sense and spirit yield; Or he is formed for abjectness and woe, To grovel on the dunghill of his fears, 160 To shrink at every sound, to quench the flame Of natural love in sensualism, to know That hour as blest when on his worthless days The frozen hand of death shall set its seal, Yet fear the cure, though hating the disease. The one is man that shall hereafter be; The other, man as vice has made him now. ' War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, The lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade, And to those royal murderers whose mean thrones 170 Are bought by crimes of treachery and gore, The bread they eat, the staff on which they lean. Guards, garbed in blood-red livery, sur- round Their palaces, participate the crimes That force defends and from a nation's rage Secures the crown, which all the curses reach That famine, frenzy, woe and penury breathe. These are the hired bravos who defend The tyrant's throne the bullies of his fear; These are the sinks and channels of worst vice, 180 The refuse of society, the dregs Of all that is most vile; their cold hearts blend Deceit with sternness, ignorance with pride, All that is mean and villainous with rage Which hopelessness of good and self-con- tempt Alone might kindle; they are decked in wealth, Honor and power, then are sent abroad To do their work. The pestilence that stalks In gloomy triumph through some eastern land 189 Is less destroying. They cajole with gold And promises of fame the thoughtless youth Already crushed with servitude; he knows His wretchedness too late, and cherishes Repentance for his ruin, when his doom Is sealed in gold and blood ! Those too the tyrant serve, who, skilled to snare The feet of justice in the toils of law, Stand ready to oppress the weaker still, And right or wrong will vindicate for gold, Sneering at public virtue, which beneath Their pitiless tread lies torn and trampled where 201 Honor sits smiling at the sale of truth. ' Then grave and hoary-headed hypocrites, Without a hope, a passion or a love, Who through a life of luxury and lies Have crept by flattery to the seats of power, Support the system whence their honors flow. They have three words well tyrants know their use, Well pay them for the loan with usury Torn from a bleeding world ! God, Hell and Heaven: 210 A vengeful, pitiless, and almighty fiend, Whose mercy is a nickname tor the rage Of tameless tigers hungering for blood ; Hell, a red gulf of everlasting fire, Where poisonous and undying worms pro- long Eternal misery to those hapless slaves Whose life has been a penance for its crimes; And Heaven, a meed for those who dare belie Their human nature, quake, believe and cringe Before the mockeries of earthly power. 120 These tools the tyrant tempers to his work, Wields in his wrath, and as he wills de- stroys, QUEEN MAB Omnipotent in wickedness; the while Youth springs, age moulders, manhood tamely does His bidding, bribed by short-lived joys to lend Force to the weakness of his trembling arm. They rise, they fall; one generation comes Yielding its harvest to destruction's scythe. It fades, another blossoms; yet behold ! Red glows the tyrant's stamp-mark on its bloom, 230 Withering and cankering deep its passive prime. He has invented lying words and modes, Empty and vain as his own coreless heart; Evasive meanings, nothings of much sound, To lure the heedless victim to the toils Spread round the valley of its paradise. 'Look to thyself, priest, conqueror or prince! Whether thy trade is falsehood, and thy lusts Deep wallow in the earnings of the poor, With whom thy master was; or thou de- light'st 240 In numbering o'er the myriads of thy slain, All misery weighing nothing in the scale Against thy short-lived fame; or thou dost load With cowardice and crime the groaning land, A pomp-fed king. Look to thy wretched self! Ay, art thou not the veriest slave that e'er Crawled on the loathing earth ? Are not thy days Days of unsatisfying listlessness ? Dost thou not cry, ere night's long rack is o'er, " When will the morning come ? " Is not thy youth 25 o A vain and feverish dream of sensualism ? Thy manhood blighted with unripe disease ? Are not thy views of unregretted death Drear, comfortless and horrible ? Thy mind, Is it not morbid as thy nerveless frame, Incapable of judgment, hope or love ? And dost thou wish the errors to survive, That bar thee from all sympathies of good, After the miserable interest Thou hold'st in their protraction ? When the gravo 260 Has swallowed up thy memory and thyself, Dost thou desire the bane that poisons earth To twine its roots around thy coffined clay, Spring from thy bones, and blossom on thy tomb, That of its fruit thy babes may eat and die? ' Thus do the generations of the earth Go to the grave and issue from the womb, Surviving still the imperishable change That renovates the world ; even as the leaves Which the keen frost-wind of the waning year Has scattered on the forest-soil and heaped For many seasons there though long they choke, Loading with loathsome rottenness the land, All germs of promise, yet when the tall trees From which they fell, shorn of their lovely shapes, to Lie level with the earth to moulder there, They fertilize the land they long deformed; Till from the breathing lawn a forest springs Of youth, integrity and loveliness, Like that which gave it life, to spring and die. Thus suicidal selfishness, that blights The fairest feelings of the opening heart, Is destined to decay, whilst from the soil Shall spring all virtue, all delight, all love, And judgment cease to wage unnatural war 20 With passion's unsubduable array. Twin-sister of Religion, Selfishness ! Rival in crime and falsehood, aping all The wanton horrors of her bloody play; Yet frozen, nnim passioned, spiritless, Shunning the light, and owning not its name, Compelled by its deformity to screen With flimsy veil of justice and of right Its unattractive lineaments that scare All save the brood of ignorance; at once 39 The cause and the effect of tyranny; Unblushing, hardened, sensual and vile; Dead to all love but of its abjectness; With heart impassive by more noble powers Than unshared pleasure, sordid gain, ox fame; i6 QUEEN MAB Despising its own miserable being, Which still it longs, yet fears, to disen- thrall. * Hence commerce springs, the venal inter- change Of all that human art or Nature yield ; Which wealth should purchase not, but want demand, 40 And natural kindness hasten to supply From the full fountain of its boundless love, Forever stifled, drained and tainted now. Commerce ! beneath whose poison-breath- ing shade No solitary virtue dares to spring, But poverty and wealth with equal hand Scatter their withering curses, and unfold The doors of premature and violent death To pining famine and full-fed disease, To all that shares the lot of human life, 50 Which, poisoned body and soul, scarce drags the chain That lengthens as it goes and clanks be- hind. 'Commerce has set the mark of selfishness, The signet of its all-enslaving power, Upon a shining ore, and called it gold ; Before whose image bow the vulgar great, The vainly rich, the miserable proud, The mob of peasants, nobles, priests and kings, And with blind feelings reverence the power That grinds them to the dust of misery. 60 But iu the temple of their hireling hearts Gold is a living god and rules in scorn All earthly things but virtue. ' Since tyrants by the sale of human life Heap luxuries to their sensualism, and fame To their wide-wasting and insatiate pride, Success has sanctioned to a credulous world The ruin, the disgrace, the woe of war. His hosts of blind and unresisting dupes The despot numbers ; from his cabinet 70 These puppets of his schemes he moves at will, Even as the slaves by force or famine driven, Beneath a vulgar master, to perform A task of cold and brutal drudgery ; Hardened to hope, insensible to fear, Scarce living pulleys of a dead machine, Mere wheels of work and articles of trade, That grace the proud and noisy pomp of wealth ! ' The harmony and happiness of man Yields to the wealth of nations; that which lifts so His nature to the heaven of its pride, Is bartered for the poison of his soul; The weight that drags to earth his tower- ing hopes, Blighting all prospect but of selfish gain, Withering all passion but of slavish fear, Extinguishing all free and generous love Of enterprise and daring, even the pulse That fancy kindles in the beating heart To mingle with sensation, it destroys, Leaves nothing but the sordid lust of self, 9 o The grovelling hope of interest and gold, Unqualified, uumingled, unredeemed Even by hypocrisy. And statesmen boast Of wealth ! The wordy eloquence that lives After the ruin of their hearts, can gild The bitter poison of a nation's woe ; Can turn the worship of the servile mob To their corrupt and glaring idol, fame, From virtue, trampled by its iron tread, Although its dazzling pedestal be raised 100 Amid the horrors of a limb-strewn field, With desolated dwellings smoking round. The man of ease, who, by his warm fire- side, To deeds of charitable intercourse And bare fulfilment of the common laws Of decency and prejudice confines The struggling nature of his human heart, Ts duped by their cold sophistry; he sheds A passing tear perchance upon the wreck Of earthly peace, when near his dwelling's door 1 10 The frightful waves are driven, when his son Is murdered by the tyrant, or religion Drives his wife raving mad. But the poor man Whose life is misery, and fear and care; Whom the morn wakens but to fruitless toil; Who ever hears his famished offspring's scream ; QUEEN MAB Whom their pale mother's uncomplaining gaze Forever meets, and the proud rich man's eye Flashing command, and the heart-breaking scene Of thousands like himself ; he little heeds The rhetoric of tyranny ; his hate 121 Is quenchless as his wrongs ; he laughs to scorn The vain and bitter mockery of words, Feeling the horror of the tyrant's deeds, And unrestrained but by the arm of power, That knows and dreads his enmity. ' The iron rod of penury still compels Her wretched slave to bow the knee to wealth, And poison, with unprofitable toil, A life too void of solace to confirm 130 The very chains that bind him to his doom. Nature, impartial in munificence, Has gifted man with all-subduing will. Matter, with all its transitory shapes, Lies subjected and plastic at his feet, That, weak from bondage, tremble as they tread. How many a rustic Milton has passed by, Stifling the speechless longings of his heart, In unremitting drudgery and care ! How many a vulgar Cato has compelled 140 His energies, no longer tameless then, To mould a pin or fabricate a nail ! How many a Newton, to whose passive ken Those mighty spheres that gem infinity Were only specks of tinsel fixed in heaven To light the midnights of his native town ! ' Yet every heart contains perfection's germ. The wisest of the sages of the earth, That ever from the stores of reason drew Science and truth, and virtue's dreadless tone, 150 Were but a weak and inexperienced boy, Proud, sensual, unimpassioned, unimbued With pure desire and universal love, Compared to that high being, of cloudless brain, Untainted passion, elevated will, Which death (who even would linger long in awe Within his noble presence and beneath His changeless eye-beam) might alone sub- due. Him, every slave now dragging through the filth Of some corrupted city his sad life, 160 Pining with famine, swoln with luxury, Blunting the keenness of bis spiritual sense With narrow schemiugs and unworthy cares, Or madly rushing through all violent crime To move the deep stagnation of his soul, Might imitate and equal. But mean lust Has bound its chains so tight about the earth That all within it but the virtuous man Is venal ; gold or fame will surely reach The price prefixed by Selfishness to all 170 But him of resolute and unchanging will ; Whom nor the plaudits of a servile crowd, Nor the vile joys of tainting luxury, Can bribe to yield his elevated soul To Tyranny or Falsehood, though they wield With blood-red hand the sceptre of the world. ' All things are sold : the very light of heaven Is venal ; earth's unsparing gifts of love, The smallest and most despicable things That lurk in the abysses of the deep, 180 All objects of our life, even life itself, And the poor pittance which the laws al- low Of liberty, the fellowship of man, Those duties which his heart of human love Should urge him to perform instinctively, Are bought and sold as in a public mart Of undisguising Selfishness, that sets On each its price, the stamp-mark of her reign. Even love is sold ; the solace of all woe Is turned to deadliest agony, old age 190 Shivers in selfish beauty's loathing arms, And youth's corrupted impulses prepare A life of horror from the blighting bane Of commerce ; whilst the pestilence that springs From unenjoying sensualism, has filled All human life with hydra-headed woes. 'Falsehood demands but gold to pay the pangs Of outraged conscience; for the slavish priest iS QUEEN MAB Sets no great value on his hireling faith ; A little passing pomp, some servile SOuls, 200 Whom cowardice itself might safely chain Or the spare mite of avarice could bribe To deck the triumph of their languid zeal, Can make him minister to tyranny. More daring crime requires a loftier meed. Without a shudder the slave-soldier lends His arm to murderous deeds, and steels his heart, When the dread eloquence of dying men, Low mingling on the lonety field of fame, Assails that nature whose applause he sells 210 For the gross blessings of the patriot mob, For the vile gratitude of heartless kings, And for a cold world's good word, viler still ! ' There is a nobler glory which survives Until our being fades, and, solacing All human care, accompanies its change; Deserts not virtue in the dungeon's gloom, And in the precincts of the palace guides Its footsteps through that labyrinth of crime ; Imbues his lineaments with dauntless- ness, 220 Even when from power's avenging hand he takes Its sweetest, last and noblest title death ; The consciousness of good, which neither gold, Nor sordid fame, nor hope of heavenly bliss, Can purchase ; but a life of resolute good, Unalterable will, quenchless desire Of universal happiness, the heart That beats with it in unison, the brain Whose ever-wakeful wisdom toils to change Reason's rich stores for its eternal weal. 230 ' This commerce of sincerest virtue needs No meditative signs of selfishness, No jealous intercourse of wretched gain, No balancings of prudence, cold and long ; In just and equal measure all is weighed, One scale contains the sum of human weal, And one, the good man's heart. How vainly seek The selfish for that happiness denied To might but virtue ! Blind and hardened, they, Who hope for peace amid the storms of care, 240 Who covet power they know not how to use, And sigh for pleasure they refuse to give, Madly they frustrate still their own de- signs; And, where they hope that quiet to en- joy Which virtue pictures, bitterness of soul, Pining regrets, and vain repentances, Disease, disgust and lassitude pervade Their valueless and miserable lives. ' But hoary-headed selfishness has felt Its death-blow and is tottering to the grave ; 250 A brighter morn awaits the human day, When every transfer of earth's natural gifts Shall be a commerce of good words and works ; When poverty and wealth, the thirst of fame, The fear of infamy, disease and woe, War with its million horrors, and fierce hell, Shall live but in the memory of time, Who, like a penitent libertine, shall start, Look back, and shudder at his younger years.' VI All touch, all eye, all ear, The Spirit felt the Fairy's burning speech. O'er the thin texture of its frame The varying periods painted changing glows, As on a summer even, When soul-enfolding music floats around, The stainless mirror of the lake Re-images the eastern gloom, Mingling convulsively its purple hues With sunset's burnished gold. 10 Then thus the Spirit spoke : 1 It is a wild and miserable world ! Thorny, and full of care, Which every fiend can make his prey at will ! O Fairy ! in the lapse of years, Is there no hope in store ? Will yon vast suns roll on Interminably, still illuming The night of so many wretched soul?, And see no hope for them ? 20 QUEEN MAB Will iiot the universal Spirit e'er Revivify this withered limb of Heaven ? ' The Fairy calmly smiled In comfort, and a kindling gleam of hope Suffused the Spirit's lineaments. ' Oh ! rest thee tranquil; chase those fear- ful doubts Which ne'er could rack an everlasting soul That sees the chains which bind it to its doom. Yes 1 crime and misery are in yonder earth, Falsehood, mistake and lust; 30 But the eternal world Contains at once the evil and the cure. Some eminent in virtue shall start up, Even in perversest time; The truths of their pure lips, that never die, Shall bind the scorpion falsehood with a wreath Of ever-living flame, Until the monster sting itself to death. ' How sweet a scene will earth become ! Of purest spirits a pure dwelling-place, 40 Symphoniotis with the planetary spheres; When man, with changeless Nature coa- lescing, Will undertake regeneration's work, When its ungenial poles no longer point To the red and baleful sun That faintly twinkles there ! ' Spirit, on yonder earth, Falsehood now triumphs; deadly power Has fixed its seal upon the lip of truth ! Madness and misery are there ! 50 The happiest is most wretched ! Yet con- fide Until pure health-drops from the cup of . Jy Fall like a dew of balm upon the world. Now, to the scene I show, in silence turn, And read the blood-stained charter of all woe, Which Nature soon with recreating hand Will blot in mercy from the book of earth. How bold the flight of passion's wandering wing, How swift the step of reason's firmer tread, How calm and sweet the victories of life, How terrorless the triumph of the grave ! How powerless were the mightiest mon- arch's arm, 62 Vain his loud threat, and impotent his frown ! How ludicrous the priest's dogmatic roar ! The weight of his exterminating curse How light 1 and his affected charity, To suit the pressure of the changing times, What palpable deceit ! but for thy aid, Religion ! but for thee, prolific fiend, Who peoplest earth with demons, hell with men, 70 And heaven with slaves ! ' Thou taintest all thou lookest upon ! the stars, Which on thy cradle beamed so brightly sweet, Were gods to the distempered playfulness Of thy untutored infancy; the trees, The grass, the clouds, the mountains and the sea, All living things that walk, swim, creep or fly, Were gods; the sun had homage, and the moon Her worshipper. Then thou . becamest, a boy, 79 More daring in thy frenzies ; every shape, Monstrous or vast, or beautifully wild, Which from sensation's relics fancy culls; The spirits of the air, the shuddering ghost, The genii of the elements, the powers That give a shape to Nature's varied works, Had life and place in the corrupt belief Of thy blind heart; yet still thy youthful hands Were pure of human blood. Then man- hood gave Its strength and ardor to thy frenzied brain; Thine eager gaze scanned the stupendous scene, 90 Whose wonders mocked the knowledge of thy pride; Their everlasting and unchanging laws Reproached thine ignorance. Awhile thou stood'st Baffled and gloomy; then thou didst sum up The elements of all that thou didst know; The changing seasons, winter's leafless reign, The budding of the heaven-breathing trees, The eternal orbs that beautify the night, The sunrise, and the setting of the moon, 20 QUEEN MAB Earthquakes and wars, and poisons and disease, 100 And all their causes, to an abstract point Converging thou didst bend, and called it God! The self-sufficing, the omnipotent, The merciful, and the avenging God ! Who, prototype of human misrule, sits High in heaven's realm, upon a golden throne, Even like an earthly king; and whose dread work, Hell, gapes forever for the unhappy slaves Of fate, whom he created in his sport To triumph in their torments when they fell ! Earth heard the name; earth trembled as the smoke Of his revenge ascended up to heaven, Blotting the constellations; and the cries Of millions butchered in sweet confidence And unsuspecting peace, even when the bonds Of safety were confirmed by wordy oaths Sworn in his dreadful name, rung through the land; Whilst innocent babes writhed on thy stub- born spear, And thou didst laugh to hear the mother's shriek Of maniac gladness, as the sacred steel 120 Felt cold in her torn entrails ! * Religion ! thou wert then in manhood's prime; But age crept on; one God would not suf- fice For senile puerility; thou framedst A tale to suit thy dotage and to glut Thy misery-thirsting soul, that the mad fiend Thy wickedness had pictured might afford A plea for sating the unnatural thirst For murder, rapine, violence and crime, 129 That still consumed thy being, even when Thou heard 'st the step of fate; that flames might light Thy funeral scene; and the shrill horrent shrieks Of parents dying on the pile that bnrned To light their children to thy paths, the roar Of the encircling flames, the exulting cries Of thine apostles loud commingling there, Might sate thine hungry ear Even on the bed of death ! ' But now contempt is mocking thy gray hairs; Thou art descending to the darksome grave, i 4a Unhonored and unpitied but by those Whose pride is passing by like thine, and sheds, Like thine, a glare that fades before the sun Of truth, and shines but in the dreadful night That long has lowered above the ruined world. ' Throughout these infinite orbs of mingling light Of whicli yon earth is one, is wide diffused A Spirit of activity and life, That knows no term, cessation or decay; That fades not when the lamp of earthly life, 150 Extinguished in the dampness of the grave, Awhile there slumbers, more than when the babe In the dim newness of its being feels The impulses of sublunary things, And all is wonder to unpractised sense; But, active, steadfast and eternal, still Guides the fierce whirlwind, in the tempest roars, Cheers in the day, breathes in the balmy groves, Strengthens in health, and poisons in dis- ease; And in the storm of change, that cease- lessly 160 Rolls round the eternal universe and shakes Its undecaying battlement, presides, Apportioning with irresistible law The place each spring of its machine shall fill; So that, when waves on waves tumultuous heap Confusion to the clouds, and fiercely driven Heaven's lightnings scorch the uprooted ocean-fords Whilst, to the eye of shipwrecked mariner, Lone sitting on the bare and shuddering rock, All seems unlinked contingency and chance 170 No atom of this turbulence fulfils A vague and unuecessitated task Or acts but as it must and ought to act. Even the minutest molecule of light, QUEEN MAB 21 That in an April sunbeam's fleeting glow Fulfils its destined though invisible work, The universal Spirit guides; uor less When merciless ambition, or mad zeal, Has led two hosts of dupes to battle-field, That, blind, they there may dig each other's graves 180 And call the sad work glory, does it rule All passions; not a thought, a will, an act, No working of the tyrant's moody mind, Nor one misgiving of the slaves who boast Their servitude to hide the shame they feel, Nor the events enchaining every will, That from the depths of unrecorded time Have drawn all-influencing virtue, pass Unrecognized or unforeseen by thee, Soul of the Universe ! eternal spring 190 Of life and death, of happiness and woe, Of all that chequers the phantasmal scene That floats before our eyes in wavering light, Which gleams but on the darkness of our prison Whose chains and massy walls We feel but cannot see. * Spirit of Nature ! all-sufficing Power, Necessity ! thou mother of the world ! Unlike the God of human error, thou Requirest no prayers or praises; the ca- price 200 Of man's weak will belongs no more to thee Than do the changeful passions of his breast To thy unvarying harmony; the slave, Whose horrible lusts spread misery o'er the world, And the good man, who lifts with virtuous pride His being in the sight of happiness That springs from his own works; the poison-tree, Beneath whose shade all life is withered up, And the fair oak, whose leafy dome affords A temple where the vows of happy love zio Are registered, are equal in thy sight; No love, no hate thou cherishest; revenge And favoritism, and worst desire of fame Thou knowest not; all that the wide world contains Are but thy passive instruments, and thou Regard'st them all with an impartial eye, Whose joy or pain thy nature cannot feel, Because thou hast not human sense, Because thou art not human mind. ' Yes ! when the sweeping storm of time 220 Has sung its death-dirge o'er the ruined fanes And broken altars of the almighty fiend, Whose name usurps thy honors, and the blood Through centuries clotted there has floated down The tainted flood of ages, shalt thou live Unchangeable! A shrine is raised to thee, Which nor the tempest breath of time, Nor the interminable flood Over earth's slight pageant rolling, Availeth to destroy, 230 The sensitive extension of the world; That wondrous and eternal fane, Where pain and pleasure, good and evil join, To do the will of strong necessity, And life, in multitudinous shapes, Still pressing forward where no term can be, Like hungry and unresting flame Curls round the eternal columns of its strength.' VII SPIRIT ' I was an infant when my mother went To see an atheist burned. She took me there. The dark-robed priests were met around the pile; The multitude was gazing silently; And as the culprit passed with dauntless mien, Tempered disdain in his unaltering eye, Mixed with a quiet smile, shone calmly forth; The thirsty fire crept round his manly limbs; His resolute eyes were scorched to blind- ness soon; His death-pang rent my heart! the insen- sate mob 10 Uttered a cry of triumph, and I wept " Weep not, child! " cried my mother, " for that man Has said, There is no God." ' 22 QUEEN MAB FAIRY ' There is no God ! Nature confirms the faith his death-groau sealed. Let heaveu and earth, let man's revolving race, His ceaseless generations, tell their tale; Let every part depending on the chain That links it to the whole, point to the hand That grasps its term! Let every seed that falls In silent eloquence unfold its store 20 Of argument; infinity within, Infinity without, belie creation; The exterminate spirit it contains Is Nature's only God; but human pride Is skilful to invent most serious names To hide its ignorance. ' The name of God Has fenced about all crime with holiness, Himself the creature of his worshippers, Whose names and attributes and passions change, 29 Seeva, Buddh, Foh, Jehovah, God, or Lord, Even with the human dupes who build his shrines, Still serving o'er the war-polluted world For desolation's watchword; whether hosts Stain his death-blushing chariot-wheels, as on Triumphantly they roll, whilst Brahmins raise A sacred hymn to mingle with the groans; Or countless partners of his power divide His tyranny to weakness; or the smoke Of burning towns, the cries of female help- lessness, 39 Unarmed old age, and youth, and infancy, Horribly massacred, ascend to heaven In honor of his name; or, last and worJ;, Earth groans beneath religion's iron age, And priests dare babble of a God of peace, Even whilst their hands are red with guilt- less blood, Murdering the while, uprooting every germ Of truth, exterminating, spoiling all, Making the earth a slaughter-house! ' O Spirit! through the sense By which thy inner nature was apprised 50 Of outward shows, vague dreams have rolled, And varied reminiscences have waked Tablets that never fade; All things have been imprinted there, The stars, the sea, the earth, the sky, Even the unshapeliest lineaments Of wild and fleeting visions Have left a record there To testify of earth. ' These are my empire, for to me is given 60 The wonders of the human world to keep, And fancy's thin creations to endow With manner, being and reality; Therefore a wondrous phantom from the dreams Of human error's dense and purblind faith I will evoke, to meet thy questioning. Ahasuerus, rise!' A strange and woe-worn wight Arose beside the battlement, And stood unmoving there. 70 His inessential figure cast no shade Upon the golden floor; His port and mien bore mark of many years, And chronicles of untold ancientness Were legible within his beamless eye; Yet his cheek bore the mark of youth; Freshness and vigor knit his manly frame; The wisdom of old age was mingled there With youth's primeval dauutlessness; And inexpressible woe, &> Chastened by fearless resignation, gave An awful grace to his all-speaking brow. SPIRIT ' Is there a God ? ' AHASUERUS 'Is there a God! ay, an almighty God, And vengeful as almighty! Once his voice Was heard on earth; earth shuddered at the sound; The fiery-visaged firmament expressed Abhorrence, and the grave of Nature yawned To swallow all the dauntless and the good That dared to hurl defiance at his throne, Girt as it was with power. None but slaves 9 1 Survived, cold-blooded slaves, who did the work Of tyrannous omnipotence; whose souls No honest indignation ever urged To elevated daring, to one deed QUEEN MAB Which gross and sensual self did not pol- lute. These slaves built temples for the omnipo- tent fiend, Gorgeous and vast ; the costly altars smoked With human blood, and hideous paeans rung Through all the long-drawn aisles. A mur- derer heard 100 His voice in Egypt, one whose gifts and arts Had raised him to his eminence in power, Accomplice of omnipotence in crime And confidant of the all-knowing one. These were Jehovah's words. ' " From an eternity of idleness I, God, awoke ; in seven days' toil made earth From nothing; rested, and created man; I placed him in a paradise, and there Planted the tree of evil, so that he no Might eat and perish, and my soul procure Wherewith to sate its malice and to turn, Even like a heartless conqueror of the earth, All misery to my fame. The race of men, Chosen to my honor, with impunity May sate the lusts I planted in their heart. Here I command thee hence to lead them on, Until with hardened feet their conquering troops Wade on the promised soil through wo- man's blood, And make my name be dreaded through the land. 120 Yet ever-burning flame and ceaseless woe Shall be the doom of their eternal souls, With every soul on this ungrateful earth, Virtuous or vicious, weak or strong, even all Shall perish, to fulfil the blind revenge (Which you, to men, call justice) of their God." ' The murderer's brow Quivered with horror. ' " God omnipotent, Is there no mercy ? must our punishment Be endless ? will long ages roll away, 130 And see no term ? Oh ! wherefore hast thou made In mockery and wrath this evil earth ? Mercy becomes the powerful be but just ! O God ! repent and save ! " ' " One way remains: I will beget a son and he shall bear The sins of all the world; he shall arise In an unnoticed corner of the earth, And there shall die upon a cross, and purge The universal crime; so that the few On whom my grace descends, those who are marked 140 As vessels to the honor of their God, May credit this strange sacrifice and save Their souls alive. Millions shall live and die, Who ne'er shall call upon their Saviour's name, But, unredeemed, go to the gaping grave, Thousands shall deem it an old woman's tale, Such as the nurses frighten babes withal; These in a gulf of anguish and of flame Shall curse their reprobation endlessly, Yet tenfold pangs shall force them to avow, 150 Even on their beds of torment where they howl, My honor and the justice of their doom. What then avail their virtuous deeds, their thoughts Of purity, with radiant genius bright Or lit with human reason's earthly ray ? Many are called, but few will I elect. Do thou my bidding, Moses ! " ' Even the murderer's cheek Was blanched with horror, and his quiver- ing lips Scarce faintly uttered " O almighty one, I tremble and obey ! " 160 ' O Spirit ! centuries have set their seal On this heart of many wounds, and loaded brain, Since the Incarnate came ; humbly he came, Veiling his horrible Godhead in the shape Of man, scorned by the world, Ins name unheard Save by the rabble of his native town, Even as a parish demagogue. He led The crowd ; he taught them justice, truth and peace, In semblance ; but he lit within their souls The quenchless flames of zeal, and blessed the sword 170 He brought on earth to satiate with the blood Of truth and freedom his malignant soul QUEEN MAB At length his mortal frame was led to death. I stood beside him; on the torturing cross No pain assailed his unterrestrial sense; And yet he groaned. Indignantly I summed The massacres and miseries wbich his name Had sanctioned in my country, and I cried, " Go ! go ! " in mockery. A smile of godlike malice reillumined 180 His fading lineaments. "I go," he cried, "But them shalt wander o'er the unquiet earth Eternally." The dampness of the grave Bathed my imperishable front. I fell, And long lay tranced upon the charmed soil. When I awoke hell burned within my brain Which staggered on its seat; for all around The mouldering relics of my kindred lay, Even as the Almighty's ire arrested them, And in their various attitudes of death 190 My murdered children's mute and eyeless skulls Glared ghastily upon me. But my soul, From sigbt and sense of the polluting woe Of tyranny, had long learned to prefer Hell's freedom to the servitude of heaven. Therefore I rose, and dauntlessly began My lonely and unending pilgrimage, Resolved to wage nnweariable war With my almighty tyrant and to hurl Defiance at his impotence to harm 200 Beyond the curse I bore. The very hand, That barred my passage to the peaceful grave, Has crushed the earth to misery, and given Its empire to the chosen of his slaves. These I have seen, even from the earliest dawn Of weak, unstable and precarious power, Then preaching pt ace, as now they practise war; So, when they turned but from the mas- sacre Of unoffending infidels to quench Their thirst for ruin in the very blood 210 That flowed in their own veins, and pitiless zeal Froze every human feeling as the wife Sheathed in her husband's heart the sacred steel, Even whilst its hopes were dreaming of her love; And friends to friends, brothers to brothers stood Opposed in bloodiest battle-field, and war, Scarce satiable by fate's last death-draught, waged, Drunk from the wine-press of the Al- mighty's wrath; Whilst the red cross, in mockery of peace, Pointed to victory! When the fray was done, 220 No remnant of the exterminated faith Survived to tell its ruin, but the flesh, With putrid smoke poisoning the atmo- sphere, That rotted on the half-extinguished pile. ' Yes ! I have seen God's worshippers un- sheathe The sword of his revenge, when grace de- scended, Confirming all unnatural impulses, To sanctify their desolating deeds; And frantic priests waved the ill-omened cross O'er the unhappy earth ; then shone the sun 230 On showers of gore from the upflashing steel Of safe assassination, and all crime Made stingless by the spirits of the Lord, And blood-red rainbows canopied the laud. 'Spirit! no year of my eventful being Has passed unstained by crime and misery, Which flows from God's own faith. I've marked his slaves With tongues, whose lies are venomous, beguile The insensate mob, and, whilst one hand was red 239 With murder, feign to stretch the other out For brotherhood and peace; and that they now Babble of love and mercy, whilst their deeds Are marked with all the narrowness and crime That freedom's young arm dare not yet chastise, Reason may claim our gratitude, who now, Establishing the imperishable throne Of truth and stubborn virtue, maketh vain The unprevailing malice of my foe, Whose bootless rage heaps torments for the brave, Adds impotent eternities to pain, 250 QUEEN MAB Whilst keenest disappointment racks his breast To see the smiles of peace around them To frustrate or to sanctify their doom. Thus have I stood, through a wild waste of years Struggling with whirlwinds of mad agony, Yet peaceful, and serene, and self-en- shrined, Mocking my powerless tyrant's horrible curse With stubborn and unalterable will, Even as a giant oak, which heaven's fierce flame Had scathed in the wilderness, to stand 260 A monument of fadeless ruin there ; Yet peacefully and movelessly it braves The midnight conflict of the wintry storm, As in the sunlight's calm it spreads Its worn and withered arms on high To meet the quiet of a summer's noon.' The Fairy waved her wand; Ahasuerus fled Fast as the shapes of mingled shade and mist, 269 That lurk in the glens of a twilight grove, Flee from the morning beam ; The matter of which dreams are made Not more endowed with actual life Than this phantasmal portraiture Of wandering human thought. VIII THE FAIRY ' The present and the past thou hast beheld. It was a desolate sight. Now, Spirit, learn, The secrets of the future. Time! Unfold the brooding pinion of thy gloom, Render thou up thy half-devoured babes, And from the cradles of eternity, Where millions lie lulled to their portioned sleep By the deep murmuring stream of passing things, Tear thou that gloomy shroud. Spirit, behold Thy glorious destiny!' 10 Joy to the Spirit came. Through the wide rent in Time's eternal veil, Hope was seen beaming through the mists of fear; Earth was no longer hell; Love, freedom, health had given Their ripeness to the manhood of its prime, And all its pulses beat Symphonious to the planetary spheres; Then dulcet music swelled 19 Concordant with the life-strings of the soul; It throbbed in sweet and languid beatings there, Catching new life from transitory death; Like the vague sighings of a wind at even That wakes the wavelets of the slumbering sea And dies on the creation of its breath, Anfl sinks and rises, falls and swells by fits, Was the pure stream of feeling That sprung from these sweet notes, And o'er the Spirit's human sympathies 29 With mild and gentle motion calmly flowed. Joy to the Spirit came, Such joy as when a lover sees The chosen of his soul in happiness And witnesses her peace Whose woe to him were bitterer than death; Sees her unfaded cheek Glow mantling in first luxury of health, Thrills with her lovely eyes, Which like two stars amid the heaving main Sparkle through liquid bliss. 40 Then in her triumph spoke the Fairy Queen ' I will not call the ghost of ages gone To unfold the frightful secrets of its lore; The present now is past, And those events that desolate the earth Have faded from the memory of Time, Who dares not give reality to that Whose being I annul. To me is given The wonders of the human world to keep, Space, matter, time and mind. Futurity 50 Exposes now its treasure ; let the sight Renew and strengthen all thy failing hope. O human Spirit! spur thee to the goal Where virtue fixes universal peace, And, 'midst the ebb and flow of human things, Show somewhat stable, somewhat certain still, A light-house o'er the wild of dreary waves. QUEEN MAB * The habitable earth is full of bliss ; Those wastes of frozen billows that were hurled By everlasting snow-storms round the poles, 60 Where matter dared not vegetate or live, But ceaseless frost round the vast solitude Bound its broad zone of stillness, are un- loosed ; And fragrant zephyrs there from spicy isles Ruffle the placid ocean-deep, that rolls Its broad, bright surges to the sloping sand, Whose roar is wakened into echoings sweet To murmur through the heaven-breathing groves And melodize with man's blest nature there. ' Those deserts of immeasurable sand, 70 Whose age-collected fervors scarce allowed A bird to live, a blade of grass to spring, Where the shrill chirp of the green lizard's love Broke on the sultry silentness alone, Now teem with countless rills and shady woods, Cornfields and pastures and white cottages; And where the startled wilderness beheld A savage conqueror stained in kindred blood, A tigress sating with the flesh of lambs The unnatural famine of her toothless cubs, 80 Whilst shouts and bowlings through the desert rang, Sloping and smooth the daisy-spangled lawn, Offering sweet incense to the sunrise, smiles To see a babe before his mother's door, Sharing his morning's meal With the green and golden basilisk That comes to lick his feet. ' Those trackless deeps, where many a weary sail Has seen above the illimitable plain Morning on night and night on morning rise, 90 Whilst still no land to greet the wanderer spread Its shadowy mountains on the sun-bright sea, Where the loud roarings of the tempest- waves So long have mingled with the gusty wind In melancholy loneliness, and swept The desert of those ocean solitudes But vocal to the sea-bird's harrowing shriek, The bellowing monster, and the rushing storm ; Now to the sweet and many - mingling sounds Of kindliest human impulses respond. 100 Those lonely realms bright garden-isles begem, With lightsome clouds and shining seas between, And fertile valleys, resonant with bliss, Whilst green woods overcanopy the wave, Which like a toil-worn laborer leaps to shore To meet the kisses of the flowrets there. ' All things are recreated, and the flame Of consentaneous love inspires all life. The fertile bosom of the earth gives suck To myriads, who still grow beneath her care, 1 10 Rewarding her with their pure perfectness; The balmy breathings of the wind inhale Her virtues and diffuse them all abroad; Health floats amid the gentle atmosphere, Glows in the fruits and mantles on the stream ; No storms deform the beaming brow of heaven, Nor scatter in the freshness of its pride The foliage of the ever- verdant trees; But fruits are ever ripe, flowers ever fair, And autumn proudly bears her matron grace, 120 Kindling a flush on the fair cheek of spring, Whose virgin bloom beneath the ruddy fruit Reflects its tint and blushes into love. ' The lion now forgets to thirst for blood ; There might you see him sporting in the sun Beside the dreadless kid; his claws are sheathed, His teeth are harmless, custom's force has made His nature as the nature of a lamb. Like passion's fruit, the nightshade's tempt- ing bane Poisons no more the pleasure it be- stows; 13* All bitterness is past; the cup of joy QUEEN MAB 27 Unraingled mantles to the goblet's brim And courts the thirsty lips it fled before. 'But chief, ambiguous man, he that can know More misery, and dream more joy than all; Whose keen sensations thrill within his breast To mingle with a loftier instinct there, Lending their power to pleasure and to pain, Yet raising, sharpening, and refining each; Who stands amid the ever-varying world, The burden or the glory of the earth; 141 He chief perceives the change; his being notes The gradual renovation and defines Each movement of its progress on his mind. ' Man, where the gloom of the long polar night Lowers o'er the snow -clad rocks and frozen soil, Where scarce the hardiest herb that braves the frost Basks in the moonlight's ineffectual glow, Shrank with the plants, and darkened with the night; His chilled and narrow energies, his heart 150 Insensible to courage, truth or love, His stunted stature and imbecile frame, Marked him for some abortion of the earth, Fit compeer of the bears that roamed around, Whose habits and enjoyments were his own ; His life a feverish dream of stagnant woe, Whose meagre wants, but scantily ful- filled, Apprised him ever of the joyless length Which his short being's wretchedness had reached ; His death a pang which famine, cold and toil 160 Long on the mind, whilst yet the vital spark Clung to the body stubbornly, had brought: All was inflicted here that earth's revenge Could wreak on the inf ringers of her law; One curse alone was spared the name of God. ' Nor, where the tropics bound the realms of day With a broad belt of mingling cloud and flame, Where blue mists through the unmoving atmosphere Scattered the seeds of pestilence and fed Unnatural vegetation, where the land 170 Teemed with all earthquake, tempest and disease, Was man a nobler being; slavery Had crushed him to his country's blood- stained dust; Or he was bartered for the fame of power, Which, all internal impulses destroying, Makes human will an article of trade; Or he was changed with Christians for their gold And dragged to distant isles, where to the sound Of the flesh-mangling scourge "he does the work Of all-polluting luxury and wealth, 180 Which doubly visits on the tyrants' heads The long-protracted fulness of their woe; Or he was led to legal butchery, To turn to worms beneath that burning sun Where kings first leagued against the rights of men And priests first traded with the name of God. ' Even where the milder zone afforded man A seeming shelter, yet contagion there, Blighting his being with unnumbered ills, Spread like a quenchless fire ; nor truth till late 190 Availed to arrest its progress or create That peace which first in bloodless victory waved Her snowy standard o'er this favored clime; There man was long the train-bearer of slaves, The mimic of surrounding misery, The jackal of ambition's lion-rage, The bloodhound of religion's hungry zeal. ' Here now the human being stands adorn- ing This loveliest earth with taintless body and mind; Blest from his birth with all bland im- pulses, .00 Which gently in his noble bosom wake QUEEN MAB All kindly passions and all pure desires. Him, still from hope to hope the bliss pur- suing Which from the exhaustless store of human weal Draws on the virtuous mind, the thoughts that rise In time-destroying infiniteness gift With self-enshrined eternity, that mocks The unprevailing hoariness of age ; And man, once fleeting o'er the transient scene Swift as an unremembered vision, stands 210 Immortal upon earth; no longer now He slays the lamb that looks him in the face, And horribly devours his mangled flesh, Which, stiU avenging Nature's broken law, Kindled all putrid humors in his frame, All evil passions and all vain belief, Hatred, despair and loathing in his mind, The germs of misery, death, disease and crime. No longer now the winged habitants, That in the woods their sweet lives sing away, 220 Flee from the form of man ; but gather round, And prune their sunny feathers on the hands Which little children stretch in friendly sport Towards these dreadless partners of their play. All things are void of terror; man has lost His terrible prerogative, and stands An equal amidst equals; happiness And science dawn, though late, upon the earth; Peace cheers the mind, health renovates the frame; 229 Disease and pleasure cease to mingle here, Reason and passion cease to combat there ; Whilst each unfettered o'er the earth ex- tend Their all-subduing energies, and wield The sceptre of a vast dominion there; Whilst every shape and mode of matter lends Its force to the omnipotence of mind, Which from its dark mine drags the gem of truth To decorate its paradise of peace.' IX 'O happy Earth, reality of Heaven! To which those restless souls that cease- lessly Throng through the human universe, aspire! Thou consummation of all mortal hope! Thou glorious prize of blindly working will, Whose rays, diffused throughout all space and time, Verge to one point and blend forever there! Of purest spirits thou pure dwelling-place Where care and sorrow, impotence and crime, Languor, disease and ignorance dare not come ! J0 O happy Earth, reality of Heaven! 'Genins has seen thee in her passionate dreams; And dim forebodings of thy loveliness, Haunting the human heart, have there en- twined Those rooted hopes of some sweet place of bliss, Where friends and lovers meet to part no more. Thou art the end of all desire and will, The product of all action; and the souls, That by the paths of an aspiring change 19 Have reached thy haven of perpetual peace, There rest from the eternity of toil That framed the fabric of thy perfectness. ' Even Time, the conqueror, fled thee in his fear; That hoary giant, who in lonely pride So long had ruled the world that nations fell Beneath his silent footstep. Pyramids, That for millenniums had withstood the tide Of human things, his storm-breath drove in sand Across that desert where their stones sur- vived The name of him whose pride had heaped them there. 30 Yon monarch, in his solitary pomp, Was but the mushroom of a summer day, That his light-winged footstep pressed to dust; Time was the king of earth ; all things gave way Before him but the fixed and virtuous will, The sacred sympathies of soul and sense, That mocked his fury and prepared his fall QUEEN MAB 29 Yet slow and gradual dawned the morn of love; Long lay the clouds of darkness o'er the scene, Till from its native heaven they rolled away : 40 First, crime triumphant o'er all hope ca- reered Unblushing, undisguising, bold and strong, Whilst falsehood, tricked in virtue's attri- butes, Long sanctified all deeds of vice and woe, Till, done by her own venomous sting to death, She left the moral world without a law, No longer fettering passion's fearless wing, Nor searing reason with the brand of God. Then steadily the happy ferment worked; Reason was free; and wild though passion went 50 Through tangled glens and wood-embos- omed meads, Gathering a garland of the strangest flow- ers, Yet, like the bee returning to her queen, She bound the sweetest on her sister's brow, Who meek and sober kissed the sportive child, No longer trembling at the broken rod. 1 Mild was the slow necessity of death. The tranquil spirit failed beneath its grasp, Without a groan, almost without a fear, Calm as a voyager to some distant land, 60 And full of wonder, full of hope as he. The deadly germs of languor and disease Died in the human frame, and purity Blessed with all gifts her earthly worship- pers. How vigorous then the athletic form of age! How clear its open and unwrinkled brow ! Where neither avarice, cunning, pride or care Had stamped the seal of gray deformity On all the mingling lineaments of time. How lovely the intrepid front of youth, 70 Which meek-eyed courage decked with freshest grace; Courage of soul, that dreaded not a name, And elevated will, that journeyed on Through life's phantasmal scene in fear- lessness, With virtue, love and pleasure, haad in hand ! ' Then, that sweet bondage which is free- dom's self, And rivets with sensation's softest tie The kindred sympathies of human souls, Needed no fetters of tyrannic law. Those delicate and timid impulses 80 In Nature's primal modesty arose, And with undoubting confidence disclosed The growing longings of its dawning love, Unchecked by dull and selfish chastity, That virtue of the cheaply virtuous, Who pride themselves in senselessness and frost. No longer prostitution's venomed bane Poisoned the springs of happiness and life; Woman and man, in confidence and love, Equal and free and pure together trod 90 The mountain - paths of virtue, which no more Were stained with blood from many a pil' grim's feet. ' Then, where, through distant ages, long in pride The palace of the monarch - slave had mocked Famine's faint groan and penury's silent tear, A heap of crumbling ruins stood, and threw Year after year their stones upon the field, Wakening a lonely echo; and the leaves Of the old thorn, that on the topmost tower Usurped the royal ensign's grandeur, shook In the stern storm that swayed the topmost tower, 10 1 And whispered strange tales in the whirl- wind's ear. * Low through the lone cathedral's roofless aisles The melancholy winds a death-dirge sung. It were a sight of awfulness to see The works of faith and slavery, so vast, So sumptuous, yet so perishing withal, Even as the corpse that rests beneath its wall! A thousand mourners deck the pomp of death 109 To-day, the breathing marble glows above To decorate its memory, and tongues Are busy of its life; to-morrow, worms In silence and in darkness seize their prey. QUEEN MAB ' Within the massy prison's mouldering courts, Fearless and free the ruddy children played, Weaving gay chaplets for their innocent brows With the green ivy and the red wall-flower That mock the dungeon's unavailing gloom; The ponderous chains and gratings of strong iron 119 There rusted amid heaps of broken stone That mingled slowly with their native earth ; There the broad beam of day, which feebly once Lighted the cheek of lean captivity With a pale and sickly glare, then freely shone On the pure smiles of infant playfulness; No more the shuddering voice of hoarse despair Pealed through the echoing vaults, but soothing notes Of ivy-fingered winds and gladsome birds And merriment were resonant around. 129 ' These ruins soon left not a wreck behind ; Their elements, wide-scattered o'er the globe, To happier shapes were moulded, and be- came Ministrant to all blissful impulses; Thus human things were perfected, and earth, Even as a child beneath its mother's love, Was strengthened in all excellence, and grew Fairer and nobler with each passing year. ' Now Time his dusky pennons o'er the scene Closes in steadfast darkness, and the past Fades from our charmed sight. My task is done; 140 Thy lore is learned. Earth's wonders are thine own With all the fear and all the hope they bring. My spells are passed; the present now re- curs. Ah me ! a pathless wilderness remains Yet unsubdued by man's reclaiming hand. 'Yet, human Spirit! bravely hold thy course; Let virtue teach thee firmly to pursue The gradual paths of an aspiring change ; For birth and life and death, and that strange state i 49 Before the naked soul has found its home, All tend to perfect happiness, and urge The restless wheels of being on their way, Whose flashing spokes, instinct with infi- nite life, Bicker and burn to gain their destined goal; For birth but wakes the spirit to the sense Of outward shows, whose unexperienced shape New modes of passion to its frame may lend ; Life is its state of action, and the store Of all events is aggregated there That variegate the eternal universe; 160 Death is a gate of dreariness and gloom, That leads to azure isles and beaming skies And happy regions of eternal hope. Therefore, O Spirit ! fearlessly bear on. Though storms may break the primrose on its stalk, Though frosts may blight the freshness of its bloom, Yet spring's awakening breath will woo the earth To feed with kindliest dews its favorite flower, That blooms in mossy bank and darksome glens, Lighting the greenwood with its sunny smile. 170 ' Fear not then, Spirit, death's disrobing hand, So welcome when the tyrant is awake, So welcome when the bigot's hell-torch burns; 'T is but the voyage of a darksome hour, The transient gulf-dream of a startling sleep. Death is no foe to virtue; earth has seen Love's brightest roses on the scaffold bloom, Mingling with freedom's fadeless laurels there, And presaging the truth of visioned bliss. Are there not hopes within thee, which this scene 180 Of linked and gradual being has confirmed ? Whose stingings bade thy heart look further still, ALASTOR When, to the moonlight walk by Henry led, Sweetly and sadly thou didst talk of death ? And wilt thou rudely tear them from thy breast, Listening supinely to a bigot's creed, Or tamely crouching to the tyrant's rod, Whose iron thongs are red with human gore ? Never : but bravely bearing on, thy will Is destined an eternal war to wage 190 With tyranny and falsehood, and uproot The germs of misery from the human heart. Thine is the hand whose piety would soothe The thorny pillow of unhappy crime, Whose impotence an easy pardon gains, Watching its wanderings as a friend's dis- ease ; Thine is the brow whose mildness would defy Its fiercest rage, and brave its sternest will, When fenced by power and master of the world. Thou art sincere and good ; of resolute mind, 200 Free from heart-withering custom's cold control, Of passion lofty, pure and unsubdued. Earth's pride and meanness could not van- quish thee, And therefore art thou worthy of the boon Which thou hast now received; virtue shall keep Thy footsteps in the path that thou hast trod, And many days of beaming hope shall bless Thy spotless life of sweet and sacred love. Go, happy one, and give that bosom joy, Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch 210 Light, life and rapture from thy smile ! ' The Fairy waves her wand of charm. Speechless with bliss the Spirit mounts the car, That rolled beside the battlement, Bending her beamy eyes in thankfulness. Again the enchanted steeds were yoked ; Again the burning wheels inflame The steep descent of heaven's untrodden way. Fast and far the chariot flew; The vast and fiery globes that rolled 220 Around the Fairy's palace-gate Lessened by slow degrees, and soon ap- peared Such tiny twinklers as the planet orbs That there attendant on the solar power With borrowed light pursued their nar- rower way. Earth floated then below; The chariot paused a moment there; The Spirit then descended; The restless coursers pawed the ungenial soil, Snuffed the gross air, and then, their errand done, 230 Unfurled their pinions to the winds of heaven. The Body and the Soul united then. A gentle start convulsed lanthe's frame; Her veiny eyelids quietly unclosed; Moveless awhile the dark blue orbs re- mained. She looked around in wonder, and beheld Henry, who kneeled in silence by her couch, Watching her sleep with looks of speech- less love, And the bright beaming stars That through the case meat shoue. 240 ALASTOR OR THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE Nondum amabam, et amare atnabam, tjuserebam quid amarem, amans amare. Con/ess. St. August, Alastor was published nearly three years nations of Shelley's own aspiring and melan. after the issue of Queen Mab, in 1816, in a thin volume with a few other poems. It is strongly opposed to the earlier poem, and begins that eriea of ideal portraits, in the main, incar- choly spirit, which contain his personal charm and shadow forth his own history of isolation in the world ; they are interpretations of the hero rather than prommciaruentos of the cause. ALASTOR and are free from the entanglements of politi- cal and social reform and religious strife. The poetical antecedents of Alastor are Wordsworth and Coleridge. The deepening of the poet's self- consciousness is evident in every line, and the growth of his genius in grace and strength, in the element of expression, is so marked as to give a different cadence to his verse. He composed the poem in the autumn of 1815, when he was twenty-three years old and after the earlier misfortunes of his life had befallen him. Mrs. Shelley's account of the poem is the best, and nothing has since been added to it : ' Alastor is written in a very different tone from Queen Mab. In the latter, Shelley poured out all the cherished speculations of his youth all the irrepressible emotions of sympathy, censure, and hope, to which the present suffer- ing, and what he considers the proper destiny of his fellow - creatures, gave birth. Alastor, on the contrary, contains an individual interest only. A very few years, with their attendant events, had checked the ardor of Shelley's hopes, though he still thought them well- grounded, and that to advance their fulfilment was the noblest task man could achieve. ' This is neither the time nor place to speak of the misfortunes that checkered his life. It will be sufficient to say, that in all he did, he at the time of doing it believed himself justi- fied to his own conscience ; while the various ills of poverty and loss of friends brought home to him the sad realities of life. Physical suf- fering had also considerable influence in caus- ing him to turn his eyes inward ; inclining him rather to brood over the thoughts and emotions of his own soul, than to glance abroad, and to make, as in Queen Mab, the whole universe the object and subject of his song. In the spring of 1815, an eminent physician pronounced that he was dying rapidly of a consumption ; ab- scesses were formed on his lungs, and he suf- fered acute spasms. Suddenly a complete change took place ; and though through life he was a martyr to pain and debility, every symp- tom of pulmonary disease vanished. His nerves, which nature had formed sensitive to an unex- ampled degree, were rendered still more suscep- tible by the state of his health. ' As soon as the peace of 1814 had opened the Continent, he went abroad. He visited some of the more magnificent scenes of Swit- zerland, and returned, to England from Lucerne by the Reuss and the Rhine. This river-navi- gation enchanted him. In his favorite poem of Thalaba his imagination had been excited by a description of such a voyage. In the summer of 1815, after a tour along the south- ern coast of Devonshire and a visit to Clifton, he rented a house on Bishopgate Heath, on the borders of Windsor Forest, where he enjoyed several months of comparative health and tran- quil happiness. The later summer mouths were warm and dry. Accompanied by a few friends, he visited the source of the Thames, making a voyage in a wherry from Windsor to Crichlade. His beautiful stanzas in the church- yard of Leclilade were written on that occa- sion. Alastor was composed on his return. He spent his days under the oak-shades of Wind- sor Great Park ; and the magnificent woodland was a fitting study to inspire the various de- scriptions of forest scenery we find in the poem. 1 None of Shelley's poems is more character- istic than this. The solemn spirit that reigns throughout, the worship of the majesty of nature, the broodings of a poet's heart in soli- tude the mingling of the exulting joy which the various aspect of the visible universe in- spires, with the sad and struggling pangs which human passion imparts, give a touching interest to the whole. The death -which he had often contemplated during the last months as certain and near, he here represented in such colors as had, in his lonely musings, soothed his soul to peace. The versification sustains the solemn spirit which breathes throughout : it is pecu- liarly melodious. The poem ought rather to be considered didactic than narrative : it was the outpouring of his own emotions, embodied in the purest form he could conceive, painted in the ideal hues which his brilliant imagina- tion inspired, and softened by the recent antici- pation of death.' Peacock explains the title : ' At this time Shelley wrote his Alastor. He was at a loss for a title, and I proposed that which he adopted : Alastor ; or, the Spirit of Solitude. The Greek word, 'AAeJcrrajp, is an evil genius, Ka.Koo'a.iu.uv. though the sense of the two words is somewhat different, as in the Gavels 'AAocrTwp fj KO.KOS Sa(fj.uv iroOtv of ^Eschylus. The poem treated the spirit of solitude as a spirit of evil. I mention the true meaning of the word because many have supposed Alastor to be the name of the hero of the poem.' In his Preface Shelley thus describes the main character, and draws its moral : ' The poem entitled Alastor may be con- sidered as allegorical of one of the most inter- esting situations of the human mind. It re- presents a youth of uncomipted feelings and adventurous genius led forth by an imagination inflamed and purified through familiarity -with all that is excellent and majestic to the con- templation of the universe. He drinks deep of the fountains of knowledge and is still in- satiate. The magnificence and beauty of the external world sinks profoundly into the frame of his conceptions and affords to their modifi- cations a variety not to be exhausted. So long ALASTOR 33 as it is possible for his desires to point towards objects thus infinite and unmeasured, he is joyous and tranquil and self-possessed. But the period arrives when these objects cease to suffice. His mind is at length suddenly awakened and thirsts for intercourse with an intelligence similar to itself. He images to himself the Being whom he loves. Conversant with speculations of the sublimest and most perfect natures, the vision in which he em- bodies his own imaginations unites all of won- derful or wise or beautiful, which the poet, the philosopher or the lover could depicture. The intellectual faculties, the imagination, the functions of sense have their respective re- quisitions on the sympathy of corresponding powers in other human beings. The Poet is represented as uniting these requisitions and attaching them to a single image. He seeks in vain for a prototype of his conception. Blasted by his disappointment, he descends to an untimely grave. ' The picture is not barren of instruction to actual men. The Poet's self-centred seclusion was avenged by the furies of an irresistible passion pursuing him to speedy ruin. But that Power, which strikes the luminaries of the world with sudden darkness and extinction by awakening them to too exquisite a perception of its influences, dooms to a slow and poisonous decay those meaner spirits that dare to abjure its dominion. Their destiny is more abject and inglorious as their delinquency is more contemptible and pernicious. They who. de- luded by no generous error, instigated by no sacred thirst of doubtful knowledge, duped by no illustrious superstition, loving nothing on this earth, and cherishing no hopes beyond, yet keep aloof from sympathies with their kind, rejoicing neither in human joy nor mourning with human grief ; these, and such as they, have their apportioned curse. They languish, because none feel with them their common nature. They are morally dead. They are neither friends, nor lovers, nor fathers, nor citizens of the world, nor benefactors of their country. Among those who attempt to exist without human sympathy, the pure and tender- hearted perish through the intensity and pas- sion of their search after its communities, when the vacancy of their spirit suddenly makes itself felt. All else, selfish, blind and torpid, are those unforeseeing multitudes who con- stitute, together with their own, the lasting misery and loneliness of the world. Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives and prepare for their old age a miserable grave. ' The good die first, And those whose hearts are dry as summer dust Burn to the socket ! 'December U, 1815.' EARTH, Ocean, Air, beloved brotherhood! If our great Mother has imbued my soul With aught of natural piety to feel Your love, and recompense the boon with mine ; If dewy morn, and odorous noon, and even, With sunset and its gorgeous ministers, And solemn midnight's tingling silent- ness; If Autumn's hollow sighs in the sere wood, And Winter robing with pure snow and crowns Of starry ice tho gray grass and bare boughs ; 10 If Spring's voluptuous pantings when she breathes Her first sweet kisses, have been dear to me; If no bright bird, insect, or gentle beast I consciously have injured, but still loved And cherished these my kindred; then for- give This boast, beloved brethren, and with- draw No portion of your wonted favor now? Mother of this unfathomable world! Favor my solemn song, for I have loved ig Thee ever, and thee only; I have watched Thy shadow, and the darkness of thy steps, And my heart ever gazes on the depth Of thy deep mysteries. I have made my bed In enamels and on coffins, where black death Keeps record of the trophies won from thee, Hoping to still these obstinate questionings Of thee and thine, by forcing some lone ghost, Thy messenger, to render up the tale Of what we are. In lone and silent hours, When night makes a weird sound of its own stillness, 30 Like an inspired and desperate alchemist Staking his very life on some dark hope, Have I mixed awful talk and asking looks With my most innocent love, until strange tears, Uniting with those breathless kisses, made Such magic as compels the charmed night 34 ALASTOR To render up thy charge; and, though ne'er yet Thou hast unveiled thy inmost sanctuary, .Enough from incommunicable dream, And twilight phantasms, and deep noonday thought, 40 Has shone within me, that serenely now And moveless, as a long-forgotten lyre Suspended in the solitary dome Of some mysterious and deserted fane, I wait thy breath, Great Parent, that my strain May modulate with murmurs of the air, And motions of the forests and the sea, And voice of living beings, aud woven hymns Of night and day, and the deep heart of man. 49 There was a Poet whose untimely tomb No human bauds with pious reverence reared, But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyra- mid Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilder- ness : A lovely youth, no mourning maiden decked With weeping flowers, or votive cypress wreath, The lone couch of his everlasting sleep : Gentle, and brave, and generous, no lorn bard Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh : He lived, he died, he sung in solitude. 60 Strangers have wept to hear his passionate notes, And virgins, as unknown he passed, have pined And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes. The fire of those soft orbs has ceased to burn, And Silence, too enamoured of that voice, Locks its mute music in her rugged cell. By solemn vision and bright silver dream His infancy was nurtured. Every sight And sound from the vast earth aud ambient air Sent to his heart its choicest impulses. 70 The fountains of divine philosophy Fled not his thirsting lips, and all of great, Or good, or lovely, which the sacred past In truth or fable consecrates, he felt And knew. When early youth had passed, he left His cold fireside and alienated home To seek strange truths in undiscovered lands. Many a wide waste and tangled wilder- ness Has lured his fearless steps; and he has bought With his sweet voice and eyes, from savage men, go His rest aud food. Nature's most secret steps He like her shadow has pursued, where'er The red volcano overcanopies Its fields of snow and pinnacles of ice With burning smoke, or where bitumen lakes On black bare pointed islets ever beat With sluggish surge, or where the secret caves, Rugged and dark, winding among the springs Of fire and poison, inaccessible To avarice or pride, their starry domes 90 Of diamond and of gold expand above Numberless and immeasurable halls, Frequent with crystal column, aud clear shrines Of pearl, and thrones radiant with chryso- lite. Nor had that scene of ampler majesty Than gems or gold, the varying roof of heaven And the green earth, lost in his heart its claims To love and wonder; he would linger long In lonesome vales, making the wild his home, Until the doves and squirrels would par- take 100 From his innocuous hand his bloodless food, Lured by the gentle meaning of his looks, And the wild antelope, that starts when- e'er The dry leaf rustles in the brake, suspend Her timid steps, to gaze upon a form More graceful than her own. His wandering step, Obedient to high thoughts, has visited The awful ruins of the days of old : Athens, and Tyre, and Balbec, and the waste 109 ALASTOR 35 Where stood Jerusalem, the fallen towers Of Babylou, the eternal pyramids, Memphis and Thebes, and whatsoe'er of strange, Sculptured on alabaster obelisk Or jasper tomb or mutilated sphinx, Dark ^Ethiopia in her desert hills Conceals. Among the ruined temples there, Stupendous columns, and wild images Of more than man, where marble daemons watch The Zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around, 120 He lingered, poring on memorials Of the world's youth: through the long burning day Gazed on those speechless shapes; nor, when the moon Filled the mysterious halls with floating shades Suspended he that task, but ever gazed And gazed, till meaning on his vacant mind Flashed like strong inspiration, and he saw The thrilling secrets of the birth of time. Meanwhile an Arab maiden brought his food, 129 Her daily portion, from her father's tent, And spread her matting for his couch, and stole From duties and repose to tend his steps, Enamoured, yet not daring for deep awe To speak her love, and watched his nightly sleep, Sleepless herself, to gaze npon his lips Parted in slumber, whence the regular breath Of innocent dreams arose; then, when red morn Made paler the pale moon, to her cold home Wildered, and wan, and panting, she re- turned. The Poet, wandering on, through Ara- bie, 140 And Persia, and the wild Carmanian waste, And o'er the aerial mountains which pour down Indus and Oxus from their icy caves, In joy and exultation held his way; Till in the vale of Cashmire, far within Its loneliest dell, where odorous plants en- twiue Beneath the hollow rocks a natural bower, Beside a sparkling rivulet he stretched His languid limbs. A vision on his sleep There came, a dream of hopes that never yet 150 Had flushed his cheek. He dreamed a veiled maid Sate near him, talking in low solemn tones. Her voice was like the voice of his own soul Heard in the calm of thought; its music long, Like woven sounds of streams and breezes, held His inmost sense suspended in its web Of many-colored woof and shifting hues. Knowledge and truth and virtue were her theme, And lofty hopes of divine liberty, 159 Thoughts the most dear to him, and poesy, Herself a poet. Soon the solemn mood Of her pure mind kindled through all her frame A permeating fire; wild numbers then She raised, with voice stifled in tremulous sobs Subdued by its own pathos; her fair hands Were bare alone, sweeping from some strange harp Strange symphony, and in their branching veins The eloquent blood told an ineffable tale. The beating of her heart was heard to fill The pauses of her music, and her breath Tumultuously accorded with those fits i/i Of intermitted song. Sudden she rose, As if her heart impatiently endured Its bursting burden ; at the sound he turned, And saw by the warm light of their own life Her glowing limbs beneath the sinuous veil Of woven wind, her outspread arms now bare, Her dark locks floating in the breath of night, Her beamy bending eyes, her parted lips Outstretched, and pale, and quivering eagerly. i&i His strong heart sunk and sickened with excess Of love. He reared his shuddering limbs, and quelled ALASTOR His gasping breath, and spread bis arms to meet Her panting bosom : she drew back awhile, Then, yielding to the irresistible joy, With frantic gesture and short breathless cry Folded his frame in her dissolving arms. Now blackness veiled his dizzy eyes, and night Involved and swallowed up the vision ; sleep, 189 Like a dark flood suspended in its course, Rolled back its impulse on his vacant brain. Roused by the shock, he started from his trance The cold white light of morning, the blue moon Low in the west, the clear and garish hills, The distinct valley and the vacant woods, Spread round him where he stood. Whither have fled The hues of heaven that canopied his bower Of yesternight ? The sounds that soothed his sleep, The mystery and the majesty of Earth, The joy, the exultation ? His wan eyes 200 Gaze on the empty scene as vacantly As ocean's moon looks on the moon in heaven. The spirit of sweet human love has sent A vision to the sleep of him who spurned Her choicest gifts. He eagerly pursues Beyond the realms of dream that fleeting shade ; He overleaps the bounds. Alas ! alas ! Were limbs and breath and being inter- twined Thus treacherously ? Lost, lost, forever lost 209 In the wide pathless desert of dim sleep, That beautiful shape ! Does the dark gate of death Conduct to thy mysterious paradise, O Sleep ? Does the bright arch of rain- bow clouds And pendent mountains seen in the calm lake Lead only to a black and watery depth, While death's blue vault with loathliest vapors hung, Where every shade which the foul grave exhales Hides its dead eye from the detested day, Conducts, O Sleep, to thy delightful realms? This doubt with sudden tide flowed on his heart; 220 The insatiate hope which it awakened stung His brain even like despair. While daylight held The sky, the Poet kept mute conference With his still soul. At night the passion came, Like the fierce fiend of a distempered dream, And shook him from his rest, and led him forth Into the darkness. As an eagle, grasped In folds of the green serpent, feels her breast Burn with the poison, and precipitates Through night and day, tempest, and calm, and cloud, 230 Frantic with dizzying anguish, her blind flight O'er the wide aery wilderness: thus driven By the bright shadow of that lovely dream, Beneath the cold glare of the desolate night, Through tangled swamps and deep preci- pitous dells, Startling with careless step the moon-light snake, He fled. Red morning dawned upon his flight, Shedding the mockery of its vital hues . Upon his cheek of death. He wandered on 339 Till vast Aornos seen from Petra's steep Hung o'er the low horizon like a cloud; Through Balk, and where the desolated tombs Of Parthian kings scatter to every wind Their wasting dust, wildly he wandered on, Day after day, a weary waste of hours, Bearing within his life the brooding care That ever fed on its decaying flame. And now his limbs were lean; his scattered hair, Sered by the autumn of strange suffering, Sung dirges in the wind; his listless hand Hung like dead bone within its withered skin; 251 Life, and the lustre that consumed it. shone, As in a furnace burning secretly, ALASTOR 37 From his dark eyes alone. The cottagers, Who ministered with human charity His human wants, beheld with wondering awe Their fleeting visitant. The mountaineer, Encountering on some dizzy precipice That spectral form, deemed that the Spirit of Wind, With lightning eyes, and eager breath, and feet 260 Disturbing not the drifted snow, had paused In its career; the infant would conceal His troubled visage in his mother's robe In terror at the glare of those wild eyes, To remember their strange light in many a dream Of after times ; but youthful maidens, taught By nature, would interpret half the woe That wasted him, would call him with false names Brother and friend, would press his pallid hand At parting, and watch, dim through tears, the path 270 Of his departure from their father's door. At length upon the lone Chorasmian shore He paused, a wide and melancholy waste Of putrid marshes. A strong impulse urged His steps to the sea-shore. A swan was there, Beside a sluggish stream among the reeds. It rose as he approached, and, with strong wings Scaling the upward sky, bent its bright course High over the immeasurable main. His eyes pursued its flight : ' Thou hast a home, 280 Beautiful bird ! thou voyagest to thine home, Where thy sweet mate will twine her downy neck With thine, and welcome thy return with eyes Bright in the lustre of their own fond joy. And what am I that I should linger here, With voice far sweeter than thy dying notes, Spirit more vast than thine, frame more attuned To beauty, wasting these surpassing powers In the deaf air, to the blind earth, and heaven That echoes not my thoughts ? ' A gloomy smile 290 Of desperate hope wrinkled his quivering lips. For sleep, he knew, kept most relentlessly Its precious charge, and silent death ex- posed, Faithless perhaps as sleep, a shadowy lure, With doubtful smile mocking its own strange charms. Startled by his own thoughts, he looked around. There was no fair fiend near him, not a sight Or sound of awe but in his own deep mind. A little shallop flo.ating near the shore Caught the impatient wandering of his gaze. 300 It had been long abandoned, for its sides Gaped wide with many a rift, and its frail joints Swayed with the undulations of the tide. A restless impulse urged him to embark And meet lone Death on the drear ocean's waste ; For well he knew that mighty Shadow loves The slimy caverns of the populous deep. The day was fair and sunny; sea and sky Drank its inspiring radiance, and the wind Swept strongly from the shore, blackening the waves. 310 Following his eager soul, the wanderer Leaped in the boat ; he spread his cloak aloft On the bare mast, and took his lonely seat, And felt the boat speed o'er the tranquil sea Like a torn cloud before the hurricane. As one that in a silver vision floats Obedient to the sweep of odorous winds Upon resplendent clouds, so rapidly Along the dark and ruffled waters fled The straining boat. A whirlwind swept it on, 320 With fierce gusts and precipitating force, Through the white ridges of the chafed sea. The waves arose. Higher and higher still Their fierce necks writhed beneath the tempest's scourge Like serpents struggling in a vulture's grasp. ALASTOR Calm and rejoicing iu the fearful war Of wave ruining on wave, and blast on blast Descending, and black flood on whirlpool driven With dark obliterating course, he sate: As if their genii were the ministers 330 Appointed to conduct him to the light Of those beloved eyes, the Poet sate, Holding the steady helm. Evening came on; The beams of sunset hung their rainbow hues High 'mid the shifting domes of sheeted spray That canopied his path o'er the waste deep; Twilight, ascending slowly from the east, Entwined in duskier wreaths her braided locks O'er the fair front and radiant eyes of Day; Night followed, clad with stars. On every side 340 More horribly the multitudinous streams Of ocean's mountainous waste to mutual war Rushed in dark tumult thundering, as to mock The calm and spangled sky. The little boat Still fled before the storm; still fled, like foam Down the steep cataract of a wintry river; Now pausing on the edge of the riven wave; Now leaving far behind the bursting mass That fell, convulsing ocean; safely fled As if that frail and wasted human form 350 Had been an elemental god. At midnight The moon arose; and lo! the ethereal cliffs Of Caucasus, whose icy summits shone Among the stars like sunlight, and around Whose caverned base the whirlpools and the waves Bursting and eddying irresistibly Rage and resound forever. Who shall save ? The boat fled on, the boiling torrent drove, The crags closed round with black and jagged arms, 359 The shattered mountain overhung the sea, And faster still, beyond all human speed, Suspended on the sweep of the smooth wave, The little boat was driven. A cavern there Yawned, and amid its slant and winding depths Ingulfed the rushing sea. The boat fled on With unrelaxing speed. ' Vision and Love!' The Poet cried aloud, ' I have beheld The path of thy departure. Sleep and death Shall not divide us long.' The boat pursued The windings of the cavern. Daylight shone 370 At length upon that gloomy river's flow; Now, where the fiercest war among the waves Is calm, on the unfathomable stream The boat moved slowly. Where the moun- tain, riven, Exposed those black depths to the azure sky, Ere yet the flood's enormous volume fell Even to the base of Caucasus, with sound That shook the everlasting rocks, the mass Filled with one whirlpool all that ample chasm: 379 Stair above stair the eddying waters rose, Circling immeasurably fast, and laved With alternating dash the gnarled roots Of mighty trees, that stretched their giant arms In darkness over it. I' the midst was left, Reflecting yet distorting every cloud, A pool of treacherous and tremendous calm. Seized by the sway of the ascending stream, With dizzy swiftness, round and round and round, Ridge after ridge the straining boat arose, Till on the verge of the extremest curve, Where through an opening of the rocky bank 391 The waters overflow, and a smooth spot Of glassy quiet 'mid those battling tides Is left, the boat paused shuddering. Shall it sink Down the abyss ? Shall the reverting stress Of that resistless gulf embosom it ? Now shall it fall ? A wandering stream of wind Breathed from the west, has caught the expanded sail, And, lo ! with gentle motion between banks Of mossy slope, and on a placid stream, 400 ALASTOR 39 Beneath a woven grove, it sails, and, hark ! The ghastly torrent mingles its far roar With the breeze murmuring in the musical woods. Where the embowering trees recede, and leave A little space of green expanse, the cove Is closed by meeting banks, whose yellow flowers Forever gaze on their own drooping eyes, Reflected in the crystal calm. The wave Of the boat's motion marred their pensive task, Which naught but vagrant bird, or wanton wiiif], 410 Or falling spear-grass, or their own decay jiad e'er disturbed before. The Poet longed To deck with their bright hues his withered hair, But on his heart its solitude returned, And he forbore. Not the strong impulse hid In those flushed cheeks, bent eyes, and shadowy frame, Had yet performed its ministry; it hung Upon his life, as lightning in a cloud Gleams, hovering ere it vanish, ere the floods 419 Of night close over it. The noonday sun Now shone upon the forest, one vast mass Of mingling shade, whose brown magnifi- cence A narrow vale embosoms. There, huge caves, Scooped in the dark base of their aery rocks, Mocking its moans, respond and roar for- ever. The meeting boughs and implicated leaves Wove twilight o'er the Poet's path, as, led By love, or dream, or god, or mightier Death, He sought in Nature's dearest haunt some bank, 429 Her cradle and his sepulchre. More dark And dark the shades accumulate. The oak, Expanding its immense and knotty arms, Embraces the light beech. The pyramids Of the tall cedar overarching frame Most solemn domes within, and far below, Like clouds suspended in an emerald sky, The ash and the acacia floating hang Tremulous and pale. Like restless ser- pents, clothed In rainbow and in fire, the parasites, Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around 44 o The gray trunks, and, as gamesome infants' eyes, With gentle meanings, and most innocent wiles, Fold their beams round the hearts of those that love, These twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs, Uniting their close union; the woven leaves Make network of the dark blue light of day And the night's noontide clearness, mutable As shapes in the weird clouds. Soft mossy lawns Beneath these canopies extend their swells, Fragrant with perfumed herbs, and eyed with blooms 450 Minute yet beautiful. One darkest glen Sends from its woods of musk-rose twined with jasmine A soul-dissolving odor to invite To some more lovely mystery. Through the dell Silence and Twilight here, twin-sisters, keep Their noonday watch, and sail among the shades, Like vaporous shapes half-seen; beyond, a well, Dark, gleaming, and of most translucent wave, Images all the woven boughs above, 459 And each depending leaf, and every speck Of azure sky darting bet ween their chasms; Nor aught else in the liquid mirror laves Its portraiture, but some inconstant star, Between one foliaged lattice twinkling fair, Or painted bird, sleeping beneath the moon, Or gorgeous insect floating motionless, Unconscious of the day, ere yet his wings Have spread their glories to the gaze of noon. Hither the Poet came. His eyes beheld Their own wan light through the reflected lines 470 Of his thin hair, distinct in the dark depth Of that still fountain; as the human heart, Gazing in dreams over the gloomy grave, Sees its own treacherous likeness there. He heard ALASTOR The motion of the leaves the grass that sprung Startled and glanced and trembled even to feel An unaccustomed presence and the sound Of the sweet brook that from the secret springs Of that dark fountain rose. A Spirit seemed To stand beside him clothed in no bright robes 480 Of shadowy silver or enshrining light, Borrowed from aught the visible world affords Of grace, or majesty, or mystery; But undulating woods, and silent well, And leaping rivulet, and evening gloom Now deepening the dark shades, for speech assuming, Held commune with him, as if he and it Were all that was ; only when his regard Was raised by intense pensiveuess two eyes, Two starry eyes, hung in the gloom of thought, 490 And seemed with their serene and azure smiles To beckon him. Obedient to the light That shone within his soul, he went, pur- suing The windings of the dell. The rivulet, Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine Beneath the forest flowed. Sometimes it fell Among the moss with hollow harmony Dark and profound. Now on the polished stones It danced, like childhood laughing as it went ; Then, through the plain in tranquil wan- derings crept, 500 Reflecting every herb and drooping bud That overhung its quietness. ' O stream ! Whose source is inaccessibly profound, Whither do thy mysterious waters tend ? Thou imagest my life. Thy darksome still- ness, Thy dazzling waves, thy loud and hollow gulfs, Thy searchless fountain and invisible course, Have each their type in me ; and the wide sky And measureless ocean may declare as soon What oozy cavern or what wandering cloud 5 10 Contains thy waters, as the universe Tell where these living thoughts reside, when stretched Upon thy flowers my bloodless limbs shall waste I' the passing wind ! ' Beside the grassy shore Of the small stream he went ; he did im- press On the green moss his tremulous step, that caught Strong shuddering from his burning limbs. As one Roused by some joyous madness from the couch Of fever, he did move ; yet not like him Forgetful of the grave, where, when the flame 520 Of his frail exultation shall be spent, He must descend. With rapid steps he went Beneath the shade of trees, beside the flow Of the wild babbling rivulet ; and now The forest's solemn canopies were changed For the uniform and lightsome evening sky. Gray rocks did peep from the spare moss, and stemmed The struggling brook ; tall spires of win- dlestrae Threw their thin shadows down the rugged slope, And nought but gnarled roots of ancient pines 530 Branchless and blasted, clenched with grasping roots The unwilling soil. A gradual change was here Yet ghastly. For, as fast years flow away, The smooth brow gathers, and the hair grows thin And white, and where irradiate dewy eyes Had shone, gleam stony orbs : so from his steps Bright flowers departed, and the beautiful shade Of the green groves, with all their odorous winds And musical motions. Calm he still pur- sued The stream, that with a larger volume now S4 ALASTOR Rolled through the labyrinthine dell ; and there Fretted a path through its descending curves With its wintry speed. On every side now rose Rocks, which, in unimaginable forms, Lifted their black and barren pinnacles In the light of evening, and its preci- pice Obscuring the ravine, disclosed above, 'Mid toppling stones, black gulfs and yawn- ing caves, Whose windings gave ten thousand various tongues To the loud stream. Lo ! where the pass expands 550 Its stony jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks, And seems with its accumulated crags To overhang the world ; for wide expand Beneath the wan stars and descending moon Islanded seas, blue mountains, mighty streams, Dim tracts and vast, robed in the lustrous gloom Of leaden-colored even, and fiery hills Mingling their flames with twilight, on the verge Of the remote horizon. The near scene, In naked and severe simplicity, 560 Made contrast with the universe. A pine, Rock-rooted, stretched athwart the vacancy Its swinging boughs, to each inconstant blast Yielding one only response at each pause In most familiar cadence, with the howl, The thunder and the hiss of homeless streams Mingling its solemn song, whilst the broad river Foaming and hurrying o'er its rugged path, Fell into that immeasurable void, Scattering its waters to the passing winds. 57 o Yet the gray precipice and solemn pine And torrent were not all; one silent nook Was there. Even on the edge of that vast mountain, Upheld by knotty roots and fallen rocks, It overlooked in its serenity The dark earth and the bending vault of stars. It was a tranquil spot that seemed to smile Even in the lap of horror. Ivy clasped The fissured stones with its entwining arms, And did embower with leaves forever green 580 And berries dark the smooth and even space Of its iuviolated floor ; and here The children of the autumnal whirlwind bore In wanton sport those bright leaves whose decay, Red, yellow, or ethereally pale, Rivals the pride of summer. 'T is the haunt Of every gentle wind whose breath can teach The wilds to love tranquillity. One step, One human step alone, has ever broken The stillness of its solitude ; one voice 590 Alone inspired its echoes ; even that voice Which hither came, floating among the winds, And led the loveliest among human forms To make their wild haunts the depository Of all the grace and beauty that endued Its motions, render up its majesty, Scatter its music on the unfeeling storm, And to the damp leaves and blue cavern mould, Nurses of rainbow flowers and branching moss, Commit the colors of that varying cheek, 6co That snowy breast, those dark and droop- ing eyes. The dim and horned moon hnng low, and poured A sea of lustre on the horizon's verge That overflowed its mountains. Yellow mist Filled the unbounded atmosphere, and drank Wan moonlight even to fulness ; not a star Shone, not a sound was heard ; the very winds, Danger's grim playmates, on that precipice Slept, clasped in his embrace. O storm of death, Whose sightless speed divides this sullen night ! 610 And thou, colossal Skeleton, that, still Guiding its irresistible career In thy devastating omnipotence, Art king of this frail world ! from the red field Of slaughter, from the reeking hospital, The patriot's sacred couch, the snowy bed Of innocence, the scaffold and the throne, ALASTOR A mighty voice invokes thee ! Ruin calls His brother Death ! A rare and regal prey He hath prepared, prowling around the world ; 620 Glutted with which thou mayst repose, and men Go to their graves like flowers or creeping worms, Nor ever more offer at thy dark shrine The unheeded tribute of a broken heart. When on the threshold of the green recess The wanderer's footsteps fell, he knew that death Was on him. Yet a little, ere it fled, Did he resign his high and holy soul To images of the majestic past, 629 That paused within his passive being now, Like winds that bear sweet music, when they breathe Through some dim latticed chamber. He did place His pale lean hand upon the rugged trunk Of the old pine; upon an ivied stone Reclined his languid head; his limbs did rest, Diffused and motionless, on the smooth brink Of that obscurest chasm; and thus he lay. Surrendering to their final impulses The hovering powers of life. Hope and Despair, The torturers, slept; no mortal pain or fear 640 Marred his repose ; the influxes of sense And his own being, unalloyed by pain, Yet feebler and more feeble, calmly fed The stream of thought, till he lay breath- ing there At peace, and faintly smiling. His last sight Was the great moon, which o'er the western line Of the wide world her mighty horn sus- pended, With whose dun beams inwoven darkness seemed To mingle. Now upon the jagged hills It rests; and still as the divided frame 650 Of the vast meteor sunk, the Poet's blood, That ever beat in mystic sympathy With Nature's ebb and flow, grew feebler still; And when two lessening points of ligh' alone Gleamed through the darkness, the altei nate gasp Of his faint respiration scarce did stir The stagnate night : till the minutest ray Was quenched, the pulse yet lingered in his heart. It paused it fluttered. But when hea- ven remained 659 Utterly black, the murky shades involved An image silent, cold, and motionless, As their own voiceless earth and vacant air. Even as a vapor fed with golden beams That ministered on sunlight, ere the west Eclipses it, was now that wondrous frame No sense, no motion, no divinity A fragile lute, on whose harmonious strings The breath of heaven did wander a bright stream Once fed with many-voiced waves a dream Of youth, which night and time have quenched forever 670 Still, dark, and dry, and unremembered now. Oh, for Medea's wondrous alchemy, Which wheresoe'er it fell made the earth gleam With bright flowers, and the wintry boughs exhale From vernal blooms fresh fragrance ! Oh, that God, Profuse of poisons, would concede the chalice Which but one living man has drained, whc now, Vessel of deathless wrath, a slave that feelt No proud exemption in the blighting curse He bears, over the world wanders for- ever, 680 Lone as incarnate death ! Oh, that the dream Of dark magician in his visioned cave, Raking the cinders of a crucible For life and power, even when his feeble hand Shakes in its last decay, were the tme law Of this so lovely world I But thou art fled, Like some frail exhalation, which the dawn Robes in its golden beams, ah ! thou hast fled ! The brave, the gentle and the beautiful, THE REVOLT OF ISLAM: INTRODUCTORY NOTE 43 The child of grace and genius. Heartless things 690 Are done and said i' the world, and many worms And beasts and men live on, and mighty Earth From sea and mountain, city and wilder- ness, In vesper low or joyous orison, Lifts still its solemn voice : but thou art fled Thou canst no longer know or love the shapes Of this phantasmal scene, who have to thee Been purest ministers, who are, alas ! Now thou art not ! Upon those pallid lips So sweet even in their silence, on those eyes 700 That image sleep in death, upon that form Yet safe from the worm's outrage, let no tear Be shed not even in thought. Nor, when those hues Are gone, and those divinest lineaments, Worn by the senseless wind, shall live alone In the frail pauses of this simple strain, Let not high verse, mourning the memory Of that which is no more, or painting's woe Or sculpture, speak in feeble imagery Their own cold powers. Art and elo- quence, 710 And all the shows o' the world, are frail and vain To weep a loss that turns their lights tc shade. It is a woe "too deep for tears," whei all Is reft at once, when some surpassing Spirit, Whose light adorned the world around it,, leaves Those who remain behind, not sobs or groans, The passionate tumult of a clinging hope; But pale despair and cold tranquillity, Nature's vast frame, the web of human things, Birth and the grave, that are not as they were. 720 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM A POEM IN TWELVE CANTOS 02AI2 AE BPOTON E0NO2 APAAIAI2 AIITOME20A, IIEPAINEI IIPO2 E2XATON HAOON- NAY2I A OYTE HEZO2 ION AN EYPOI2 E2 YJIEPBOPEflN AFliNA AYMATAN OAON. PINDAR, Pytk. X. The Revolt of Islam is a return to the social and political propaganda of Queen Mab, though the narrative element is stronger and the ideal characterization is along the more human lines of Alastor. It belongs distinctly in the class of reform poems and obeys a didactic motive in the same way as does the Faerie Qurene, in the stanza of which it is written. It was com- posed in the spring and summer of 1817, and embodies the opinions of Shelley nearly as completely as Queen Mab had done, five years earlier. It was printed under the title Laon and Cythna ; or, The Revolution of the Golden City : A Vision of the Nineteenth Century ; a few copies only were issued, when the pub- lisher refused to proceed with the work unless radical alterations were made in the text. Shelley reluctantly consented to this, and made the required changes. The title was altered, and the work published. The circumstances under which the poem was written are told by Mrs. Shelley, with a word upon the main characters : ' He chose for his hero a youth nourished in dreams of liberty, some of whose actions are in direct opposition to the opinions of the world, but who is animated throughout by an ardent love of virtue, and a resolution to confer the boons of political and intellectual freedom on his fellow-creatures. He created for this youth a woman such as he delighted to imagine full of enthusiasm for the same objects; and they both, with will unvanquished and the deepest sense of the justice of their cause, met adversity and death. There exists in this poem a memorial of a friend of his youth. The character of the old man who liberates Laon from his tower prison, and tends on him in 44 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM sickness, is founded on that of Doctor Lind, who, when Shelley was at Eton, had often stood by to befriend and support him, and whose name he never mentioned without love and veneration. ' During the year 1817 we were established at Marlow, in Buckinghamshire. Shelley's choice of abode was fixed chiefly by this town being at no great distance from London, and its neighborhood to the Thames. The poem was written in his boat, as it floated under the beech groves of Bisham, or during wanderings in the neighboring country, which is .distin- guished for peculiar beauty. The chalk hills break into cliffs that overhang the Thames, or form valleys clothed with beech ; the wilder portion of the country is rendered beautiful by exuberant vegetation ; and the cultivated part is peculiarly fertile. With all this wealth of nature which, either in the form of gentle- men's parks or soil dedicated to agriculture, flourishes around, Marlow was inhabited (I hope it is altered now) by a very poor popu- lation. The women are lacemakers, and lose their health by sedentary labor, for which they were very ill paid. The poor-laws ground to the dust not only the paupers, but those who had risen just above that state, and were obliged to pay poor-rates. The changes pro- duced by peace following a long war, and a bad harvest, brought with them the most heart-rending evils to the poor. Shelley af- forded what alleviation he could. In the winter, while bringing out his poem, he had a severe attack of ophthalmia, caught while visiting the poor cottages. I mention these things, for this minute and active sympathy with his fellow-creatures gives a thousand-fold interest to his speculations, and stamps with reality his pleadings for the human race.' Shelley himself gave two accounts of the poem, of which the most interesting occurs in a letter to Godwin, December 11, 1817: ' The Poem was produced by a series of thoughts which filled my mind with unbounded and sustained enthusiasm. I felt the preca- riousness of my life, and I engaged in this task, resolved to leave some record of myself. Much of what the volume contains was written with the same feeling, as real, though not. so prophetic, as the communications of a dying man. I never presumed indeed to consider it anything approaching to faultless ; but when I consider contemporary productions of the same apparent pretensions, I own I was filled with confidence. I felt that it was in many respects a genuine picture of my own mind. I felt that the sentiments were true, not assumed. And in this have I long believed that my power consists ; in sympathy and that part of the imagination which relates to sentiment and contemplation. I am formed, if for anything not in common with the herd of mankind, to apprehend minute and remote distinctions of feeling, whether relative to external nature or the living beings which surround us, and to communicate the conceptions which result from considering either the moral or the material universe as a whole. Of course, I believe these faculties, which perhaps comprehend all that is sublime in man, to exist very imperfectly in my own mind.' The second is contained in an earlier letter to a publisher, October 13, 1817 : 'The whole poem, with the exception of the first canto and part of the last, is a mere human story without the smallest intermixture of supernatural interference. The first canto is, indeed, in some measure a distinct poem, though very necessary to the wholeness of the work. I say this because, if it were all written in the manner of the first canto, I could not expect that it would be interesting to any great number of people. I have attempted in the progress of my work to speak to the com' mon elementary emotions of the human heart, so that, though it is the story of violence and revolution, it is relieved by milder pictures of friendship and love and natural affections. The scene is supposed to be laid in Constantinople and modern Greece, but without much attempt at minute delineation of Mahometan manners. It is. in fact, a tale illustrative of such a revo- lution as might be supposed to take place in an European nation, acted upon by the opinions of what has been called (erroneously, as I think) the modern philosophy, and contend- ing with ancient notions and the supposed advantage derived from them to those who support them. It is a Revolution of this kind that is the beau ideal, as it were, of the French Revolution, but produced by the influence of individual genius and out of general know- ledge.' Peacock supplements Mrs. Shelley's note, with some details of the revision : ' In the summer of 1817 he wrote The Revolt of Islam, chiefly on a seat on a high promi- nence in Bisham Wood where he passed whole mornings with a blank book and a pencil. This work when completed was printed under the title of Laon and Cytkna. In this poem he had carried the expression of his opinions, moral, political, and theological, beyond the bounds of discretion. The terror which, in those days of persecution of the press, the perusal of the book inspired in Mr. Oilier, the publisher, induced him to solicit the alteration of many passages which he had marked. Shelley was for some time inflexible ; but Mr. Ollier's refusal to publish the poem as it was, AUTHOR'S PREFACE backed by the advice of all his friends, induced him to submit to the required changes.' Shelley subsequently revised the poem still more, in expectation of a second edition, but the changes so made are now unknown. PREFACE The Poem which I now present to the world is an attempt from which I scarcely dare to expect success, and in which a writer of es- tablished fame might fail without disgrace. It is an experiment on the temper of the public mind as to how far a thirst for a happier con- dition of moral and political society survives, among the enlightened and refined, the tem- pests which have shaken the age in which we live. I have sought to enlist the harmony of metrical language, the ethereal combinations of the fancy, the rapid and subtle transitions of human passion, all those elements which essentially compose a poem, in the cause of a liberal and comprehensive morality ; and in the view of kindling within the bosoms of my readers a virtuous enthusiasm for those doc- trines of liberty and justice, that faith and hope hi something good, which neither vio- lence, nor misrepresentation, nor prejudice, can ever totally extinguish among mankind. For this purpose I have chosen a story of human passion in its most universal character, diversified with moving and romantic adven- tures, and appealing, in contempt of all arti- ficial opinions or institutions, to the common sympathies of every human breast. I have made no attempt to recommend the motives which I would substitute for those at present governing mankind, by methodical and sys- tematic argument. I would only awaken the feelings, so that the reader should see the beauty of true virtue, and be incited to those i nquiries which have led to my moral and po- litical creed, and that of some of the sublimest intellects in the world. The Poem therefore (with the exception of the first Canto, which is purely introductory) is narrative, not didactic. It is a succession of pictures illustrating the growth and progress of individual mind aspir- ing after excellence and devoted to the love of mankind ; its influence in refining and making pure the most daring and uncommon impulses of the imagination, the understanding, and the senses ; its impatience at ' all the oppressions which are done under the sun ; ' its tendency to awaken public hope and to enlighten and improve mankind ; the rapid effects of the application of that tendency ; the awakening of an immense nation from their slavery and degradation to a true sense of moral dignity and freedom ; the bloodless dethronement of their oppressors and the unveiling of the reli- gious frauds by which they had been deluded into submission ; the tranquillity of successful patriotism and the universal toleration and benevolence of true philanthropy ; the treach ery and barbarity of hired soldiers ; vice not the object of punishment and hatred, but kindness and pity ; the faithlessness of tyrants ; the confederacy of the Rulers of the World and the restoration of the expelled Dynasty by foreign arms ; the massacre and extermination of the Patriots and the victory of established power ; the consequences of legitimate despo- tism, civil war, famine, plague, superstition , and an utter extinction of the domestic affec- tions ; the judicial murder of the advocates of liberty ; the temporary triumph of oppression, that secure earnest of its final and inevitable fall ; the transient nature of ignorance and error and the eternity of genius and virtue. Such is the series of delineations of which the Poem consists. And if the lofty passions with which it has been my scope to distinguish this story shall not excite in the reader a gener- ous impulse, an ardent thirst for excellence, an interest profound and strong, such as belongs to no meaner desires, let not the failure be imputed to a natural unfitness for human sympathy in these sublime and animating themes. It is the business of the poet to com- municate to others the pleasure and the enthu- siasm arising out of those images and feelings in the vivid presence of which within his own mind consists at once his inspiration and his reward. The panic which, like an epidemic transport, seized upon all classes of men during the ex- cesses consequent upon the French Revolution, is gradually giving place to sanity. It has ceased to be believed that whole generations of mankind ought to consign themselves to a hope- less inheritance of ignorance and misery be- cause a nation of men who had been dupes and slaves for centuries were incapable of conduct- ing themselves with the wisdom and tranquil- lity of f reemeii so soon as some of their fetters were partially loosened. That their conduct could not have been marked by any other characters than ferocity and thoughtlessness is the historical fact from which liberty derives all its recommendations, and falsehood the worst features of its deformity. There is a reflux in the tide of human things which bears the shipwrecked hopes of men into a secure haven after the storms are past. Methinks those who now live have survived an age of despair. The French Revolution may be considered as one of those manifestations of a general state of feeling among civilized mankind, pro- duced by a defect of correspondence between the knowledge existing in society and the inv 4 6 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM provement or gradual abolition of political institutions. The year 1788 may be assumed as the epoch of one of the most important crises produced by this feeling. The sympa- thies connected with that event extended to every bosom. The most generous and amia- ble natures were those which participated the most extensively in these sympathies. But such a degree of unmingled good was expected as it was impossible to realize. If the Revolu- tion had been in every respect prosperous, then misrule and superstition would lose half their claims to our abhorrence, as fetters which the captive can unlock with the slightest motion of his fingers, and which do not eat with poison- ous rust into the soul. The revulsion occa- sioned by the atrocities of the demagogues and the reestablishment of successive tyrannies in France was terrible, and felt in the remot- est corner of the civilized world. Could they listen to the plea of reason who had groaned under the calamities of a social state, according to the provisions of which one man riots in lux- ury whilst another famishes for want of bread ? Can he who the day before was a trampled slave suddenly become liberal-minded, forbear- ing, and independent ? This is the consequence of the habits of a state of society to be pro- duced by resolute perseverance and indefatiga- ble hope, and long-suffering and long-believing courage, and the systematic efforts of genera- tions of men of intellect and virtue. Such is the lesson which experience teaches now. But on the first reverses of hope in the progress of French liberty, the sanguine eagerness for good overleapt the solution of these questions, and for a time extinguished itself in the unex- pectedness of their result. Thus many of the most ardent and tender-hearted of the wor- shippers of public good have been morally ruined by what a partial glimpse of the events they deplored appeared to show as the melan- choly desolation of all their cherished hopes. Hence gloom and misanthropy have become the characteristics of the age in which we live, the solace of a disappointment that uncon- sciously finds relief only in the wilf nl exagger- ation of its own despair. This influence has tainted the literature of the age with the hope- lessness of the minds from which it flows. Metaphysics, 1 and inquiries into moral and political science, have become little else than vain attempts to revive exploded superstitions, or sophisms like those 2 of Mr. Malthns, calcu- lated to lull the oppressors of mankind into a 1 I ought to except Sir W. Drummond's Academical Questions ; a volume of very acute and powerful meta- physical criticism. 1 It is remarkable, as a symptom of the revival of public hope, that Mr. Malthus has assigned, in the later tditions of his work, an indefinite dominion to moral security of everlasting triumph. Our works of fiction and poetry have been overshadowed by the same infectious gloom. But mankind appear to me to be emerging from their trance. I am aware, methinks, of a slow, gradual, silent change. In that belief I have composed the following Poem. I do not presume to enter into competition with our greatest contemporary poets. Yet I am unwilling to tread in the footsteps of anv who have preceded me. I have sought to avoid the imitation of any style of language or versification peculiar to the original minds of which it is the character, designing that even if what I have produced be worthless, it should still be properly my own. Nor have I permit- ted any system relating to mere words to divert the attention of the reader from whatever in- terest I may have succeeded in creating, to my own ingenuity in contriving to disgust them according to the rules of criticism. I have simply clothed my thoughts in what appeared to me the most obvious and appropriate lan- guage. A person familiar with Nature, and with the most celebrated productions of the human mind, can scarcely err in following the instinct, with respect to selection of language, produced by that familiarity. There is an education peculiarly fitted for a poet, without which genius and sensibility can hardly fill the circle of their capacities. No ed- ucation indeed can entitle to this appellation a dull and unobservant mind, or one, though neither dull nor unobservant, in which the chan- nels of communication between thought and expression have been obstructed or closed. How far it is my fortune to belong to either of the latter classes I cannot know. I aspire to be something better. The circumstances of my ac- cidental education have been favorable to this ambition. I have been familiar from boyhood with mountains and lakes, and the sea, and the solitude of forests ; Danger which sports upon the brink of precipices has been my playmate. I have trodden the glaciers of the Alps, and lived under the eye of Mont Blanc. I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers, and seen the sur rise and set, and the stars come forth, whilst I have sailed night and day down a rapid stream among mountains. I have seen populous cities, and have watched the passions which rise and spread, and sink and change, amongst assem- bled multitudes of men. I have seen the thea- tre of the more visible ravages of tyranny and restraint over the principle of population. This con- cession answers all the inferences from his doctrine unfavorable to human Improvement, and reduces the Etsay on Population to a commentary illustrative of the unauswerableness of Political Junilcc. AUTHOR'S PREFACE 47 war, cities and villages reduced to scattered groups of black and roofless houses, and the naked inhabitants sitting famished upon their desolated thresholds. I have conversed with living men of genius. The poetry of ancient Greece and Rome, and modern Italy, and our own country, has been to me like external nature, a passion and an enjoyment. Such are the sources from which the materials for the imagery of my Poem have been drawn. I have considered poetry in its most comprehen- sive sense, and have read the poets and the his- torians, and the metaphysicians l whose writ- ings have been accessible to me, and have looked upon the beautiful and majestic scenery of the earth, as common sources of those ele- ments which it is the province of the poet to embody and combine. Yet the experience and the feelings to which I refer do not in them- selves constitute men poets, but only prepares them to be the auditors of those who are. How far I shall be found to possess that more essential attribute of poetry, the power of awakening in others sensations like those which animate my own bosom, is that which, to speak sincerely, I know not ; and which, with an acquiescent and contented spirit, I expect to be taught by the effect which I shall produce upon those whom I now address. I have avoided, as I have said before, the imitation of any contemporary style. But there must be a resemblance, which does not depend upon their own will, between all the writers of any particular age. They cannot escape from subjection to a common influence which arises out of an infinite combination of circumstances belonging to the times in which they live, though each is in a degree the author of the very influence by which his being is thus per- vaded. Thus, the tragic poets of the age of Pericles ; the Italian revivers of ancient learn- ing ; those mighty intellects of our own country that succeeded the Reformation, the translators of the Bible, Shakespeare, Spenser, the Dra- matists of the reign of Elizabeth, and Lord Bacon ; 2 the colder spirits of the interval that succeeded ; all resemble each other, and dif- fer from every other in their several classes. In this view of things, Ford can no more be called the imitator of Shakespeare than Shake- speare the imitator of Ford. There were per- haps few other points of resemblance between these two men than that which the universal and inevitable influence of their age produced. And this is an influence which neither the mean- est scribbler nor the sublimest genius of any * In this sense there may be such a thing as perfecti- bility in works of fiction, notwithstanding the conces- sion often made by the advocates of human improve- era can escape ; and which I have not attempted to escape. I have adopted the stanza of Spenser (a measure inexpressibly beautiful) not because I consider it a finer model of poetical harmony than the blank verse of Shakespeare and Mil- ton, but because in the latter there is no shelter for mediocrity ; you must either succeed or fail. This perhaps an aspiring spirit should desire. But I was enticed also by the brilliancy and magnificence of sound which a mind that has been nourished upon musical thoughts can pro- duce by a just and harmonious arrangement of the pauses of this measure. Yet there will be found some instances where I have completely failed in this attempt, and one, which I here request the reader to consider as an erratum, where there is left most inadvertently an alex- andrine in the middle of a stanza. But in this, as in every other respect, I have written fearlessly. It is the misfortune of this age that its writers, too thoughtless of immor- tality, are exquisitely sensible to temporary praise or blame. They write with the fear of Reviews before their eyes. This system of criticism sprang up in that torpid interval when poetry was not. Poetry and the art which professes to regulate and limit its powers cannot subsist together. Longinus could not have been the contemporary of Homer, nor Boileau of Horace. Yet this species of crit- icism never presumed to assert an understand- ing of its own ; it has always, unlike true science, followed, not preceded the opinion of mankind, and would even now bribe with worthless adulation some of our greatest poets to impose gratuitous fetters on their own im- aginations and become unconscious accom- plices in the daily murder of all genius either not so aspiring or not so fortunate as their own. I have sought therefore to write, as I believe that Homer, Shakespeare, and MiltiTO wrote, with an utter disregard of anonymcnf censure. I am certain that calumny and mis representation, though it may move me to com- passion, cannot disturb my peace. I shall understand the expressive silence of those sa- gacious enemies who dare not trust themselves to speak. I shall endeavor to extract from the midst of insult and contempt and maledic- tions those admonitions which may tend to correct whatever imperfections such censurers may discover in this my first serious appeal to the public. If certain critics were as clear- sighted as they are malignant, how great would be the benefit to be derived from their virulent ment, that perfectibility is a term \pplicable only to science. * Milton stands alone in the age which he illumined. 4 8 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM writings ! As it is, I fear I shall be malicious enough to be amused with their paltry tricks and lame invectives. Should the public judge that my composition is worthless, I shall in- deed bow before the tribunal from which Mil- ton received his crown of immortality, and shall seek to gather, if I live, strength from that defeat, which may nerve me to some new enterprise of thought which may not be worth- less. I cannot conceive that Lucretius, when he meditated that poem whose doctrines are yet the basis of our metaphysical knowledge and whose eloquence has been the wonder of mankind, wrote in awe of such censure as the hired sophists of the impure and superstitious noblemen of Rome might affix to what he should produce. It was at the period when Greece was led captive and Asia made tribu- tary to the Republic, fast verging itself to slavery and ruin, that a multitude of Syrian captives, bigoted to the worship of their ob- scene Ashtaroth, and the unworthy successors of Socrates and Zeno, found there a precarious subsistence by administering, under the name of freedmen, to the vices and vanities of the great. These wretched men were skilled to plead, with a superficial but plausible set of sophisms, in favor of that contempt for virtue which is the portion of slaves, and that faith in portents, the most fatal substitute for benevo- lence in the imaginations of men, which arising from the enslaved communities of the East then first began to overwhelm the western na- tions in its stream. Were these the kind of men whose disapprobation the wise and lofty - minded Lucretius should have regarded with a salutary awe ? The latest and perhaps the meanest of those who follow in his footsteps would disdain to hold life on such conditions. The Poem now presented to the public oc- cupied little more than six months in the composition. That period has been devoted to the task with unremitting ardor and enthu- siasm. I have exercised a watchful and ear- nest criticism on my work as it grew Tinder my hands. I would willingly have sent it forth to the world with that perfection which long labor and revision is said to bestow. But I found that if I should gain something in exactness by this method, I might lose much of the newness and energy of imagery and language as it flowed fresh from my mind. And although the mere composition occupied no more than six months, the thoughts thus arranged were slowly gathered in as many years. I trust that the reader will carefully dis- tinguish between those opinions which have a dramatic propriety in reference to the char- acters which they are designed to elucidate, and such as are properly my own. The erro- neous and degrading idea which men have con- ceived of a Supreme Being, for instance, is spoken against, but not the Supreme Being itself. The belief which some superstitious persons whom I have brought upon the stage entertain of the Deity, as injurious to the character of his benevolence, is widely different from my own. In recommending also a great and important change in the spirit which ani- mates the social institutions of mankind, I have avoided all flattery to those violent and malignant passions of our nature which are ever on the watch to mingle with and to alloy the most beneficial innovations. There is no quarter given to revenge, or envy, or prejudice. Love is celebrated everywhere as the sole law which should govern the moral world. In Laon and Cythna the following passage was added, in conclusion : In the personal conduct of my hero and heroine, there is one circumstance which was intended to startle the reader from the trance of ordinary life.. It was my object to break through the crust of those outworn opinions on which established institutions depend. I have appealed therefore to the most universal of all feelings, and have endeavored to strengthen the moral sense by forbidding it to waste its energies in seeking to avoid actions which are only crimes of convention. It is because there is so great a multitude of artificial vices that there are so few real virtues. Those feelings alone which are benevolent or malevolent are essentially good or bad. The circumstance of which I speak was introduced, however, merely to accustom men to that charity and tolera- tion which the exhibition of a practice widely differing from their own has a tendency to promote. 1 Nothing indeed can be more mis- chievous than many actions innocent in them- selves which might bring down upon indi- viduals the bigoted contempt and rage of the multitude. 1 The sentiments connected with and characteristic of this circumstance have no personal reference to the writer. DEDICATION There is no danger to a man that knows What life and death is : there's not_any law Exceeds his knowledge ; neither is it lawful That he should stoop to any other law. CHAPMAN. TO MARY 49 TO MARY So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, And I return to thee, mine own heart's home; As to his Queen some victor Knight of Faery, Earning bright spoils for her enchanted dome; Nor thou disdain, that ere ray fame be- come A star among the stars of mortal night, If it indeed may cleave its natal gloom, Its doubtful promise thus I would unite With thy beloved name, thou Child of love and light. The toil which stole from thee so many an hour, Is ended, and the fruit is at thy feet ! No longer where the woods to frame a bower With interlaced branches mix and meet, Or where, with sound like many voices sweet, Water-falls leap among wild islands green, Which framed for my lone boat a lone retreat Of moss-grown trees and weeds, shall I be seen; But beside thee, where still my heart has ever been. Ill Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear Friend, when first The clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep. A fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why; until there rose From the near school-room voices that, alas! Were but one echo from a world of woes He harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. IV And then I clasped my hands and looked around, But none was near to mock my streaming eyes, Which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground So without shame I spake: 'I will be wise, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannize Without reproach or check.' I then con- trolled My tears, my heart grew calm, and I was meek and bold. And from that hour did I with earnest thought Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore; Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught I cared to learn, but from that secret store Wrought linked armor for my soul, be- fore It might walk forth to war among man- kind; Thus power and hope were strengthened more and more Within me, till there came upon my mind A sense of loneliness, a thirst with which I pined. VI Alas, that love should be a blight and snare To those who seek all sympathies in one ! Such once I sought in vain; then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone: Yet never found I one not false to me, Hard hearts, and cold, like weights of icy stone Which crushed and withered mine, that could not be Aught but a lifeless clog, until revived by thee. THE REVOLT OF ISLAM VII Thou Friend, whose presence on my win- try heart Fell, like bright Spring upon some herb- less plain; How beautiful and calm and free thou wert In thy young wisdom, when the mortal chain Of Custom thou didst burst and read in twain, And walked as free as light the clouds among, Which many an envious slave then breathed in vain From his dim dungeon, and my spirit sprung To meet thee from the woes which had begirt it long ! VIII No more alone through the world's wil- derness, Although I trod the paths of high intent, I journeyed now; no more companion- less, Where solitude is like despair, I went. There is the wisdom of a stern content When Poverty can blight the just and good, When Infamy dares mock the innocent, And cherished friends turn with the mul- titude To trample: this was ours, and we un- shaken stood ! IX Now has descended a serener hour, And with inconstant fortune, friends re- turn; Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power Which says, Let scorn be not repaid with scorn. And from thy side two gentle babes are born To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we Most fortunate beneath life's beaming moru; And these delights, and thou, have been to me Ihe parents of the Song I consecrate to thee. Is it that now my inexperienced fingers But strike the prelude of a loftier strain? Or must the lyre on which my spirit lin- gers Soon pause in silence, ne'er to sound again, Though it might shake the Anarch Cus- tom's reign, And charm the minds of men to Truth's own sway, Holier than -was Amphion's ? I would fain Reply in hope but I am worn away, And Death and Love are yet contending for their prey. XI And what art thou ? I know, but dare not speak: Time may interpret to his silent years. Yet in the paleness of thy thoughtful cheek, And in the light thine ample forehead wears, And in thy sweetest smiles, and in thy tears, And in thy gentle speech, a prophecy Is whispered to subdue my fondest fears; And, through thine eyes, even in thy soul I see A lamp of vestal fire burning internally. XII They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, Of glorious parents thou aspiring Child ! 1 wonder not for One then left this earth Whose life was like a setting planet mild, Which clothed thee in the radiance unde- filed Of its departing glory; still her fame Shines on thee, through the tempests dark and wild Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name. XIII One voice came forth from many a mighty spirit, CANTO FIRST Which was the echo of three thousand years; And the tumultuous world stood mute to hear it, As some loue man who in a desert hears The music of his home : unwonted fears Fell on the pale oppressors of our race, And Faith, and Custom, and low- thoughted cares, Like thunder -stricken dragons, for a space Left the torn human heart, their food and dwelling-place. XIV Truth's deathless voice pauses among mankind! If there must be no response to my cry If men must rise and stamp with fury blind On his pure name who loves them, thou and I, Sweet Friend ! can look from our tran- quillity Like lamps into the world's tempestuous night, Two tranquil stars, while clouds are passing by Which wrap them from the foundering seaman's sight, That burn from year to year with unextin- guished light. CANTO FIRST WHEN the last hope of trampled France had failed Like a brief dream of unremaining glory, From visions of despair I rose, and scaled The peak of an aerial promontory, Whose caverned base with the vexed surge was hoary; And saw the golden dawn break forth, and waken Each cloud and every wave: but tran- sitory The calm; for sudden, the firm earth was shaken, As if by the last wreck its frame were over- taken. So as I stood, one blast of muttering thunder Burst in far peals along the waveless deep, When, gathering fast, around, above and under, Long trains of tremulous mist began to creep, Until their complicating lines did steep The orient sun in shadow: not a sound Was heard; one horrible repose did keep The forests and the floods, and all around Darkness more dread than night was poured upon the ground. HI Hark ! 't is the rushing of a wind that sweeps Earth and the ocean. See! the light- nings yawn, Deluging Heaven with fire, and the lashed deeps Glitter and boil beneath! it rages on, One mighty stream, whirlwind and waves upthrown, Lightning, and hail, and darkness eddy- ing by! There is a pause the sea-birds, that were gone Into their caves to shriek, come forth to spy What calm has fall'n on earth, what light is in the sky. For, where the irresistible storm had cloven That fearful darkness, the blue sky was seen, Fretted with many a fair cloud inter- woven Most delicately, and the ocean green, Beneath that opening spot of blue serene, Quivered like burning emerald; calm was spread On all below; but far on high, between Earth and the upper air, the vast clouds fled, Countless and swift as leaves on autumn's tempest shed. v For ever as the war became more fierce Between the whirlwinds and the rack on high, 5 2 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM That spot grew more serene; blue light did pierce The woof of those white clouds, which seemed to lie Far, deep and motionless; while through the sky The pallid semicircle of the moon Passed on, in slow and moving majesty; Its upper horn arrayed iu mists, which soon, But slowly, fled, like dew beneath the beams of noon. VI I could not choose but gaze; a fascina- tion Dwelt in that moon, and sky, and clouds, which drew My fancy thither, and in expectation Of what I knew not, I remained. The hue Of the white moon, amid that heaven so blue Suddenly stained with shadow did ap- pear; A speck, a cloud, a shape, approaching grew, Like a great ship in the sun's sinking sphere Beheld afar at sea, and swift it came anear. VII Even like a bark, which from a chasm of mountains, Dark, vast and overhanging, on a river Which there collects the strength of all its fountains, Comes forth, whilst with the speed its frame doth quiver, Sails, oars and stream, tending to one endeavor; So, from that chasm of light a winged Form On all the winds of heaven approaching ever Floated, dilating as it came; the storm Pursued it with fierce blasts, and light- nings swift and warm. VIII A course precipitous, of dizzy speed, Suspending thought and breath; a mon- strous sight! For in the air do I behold indeed Ail Eagle and a Serpent wreathed in tight: And now, relaxing its impetuous flight, Before the aerial rock on which I stood, The Eagle, hovering, wheeled to left and right, And hung with lingering wings over the flood, And startled with its yells the wide air's solitude. IX A shaft of light upon its wings de- scended, And every golden feather gleamed therein Feather and scale inextricably blended. The Serpent's mailed and many-colored skin Shone through the plumes its coils were twined within By many a swollen and knotted fold, and high And far, the neck receding lithe and thin, Sustained a crested head, which warily Shifted and glanced before the Eagle's steadfast eye. Around, around, iu ceaseless circles wheeling With clang of wings and scream, the Eagle sailed Incessantly sometimes on high con- cealing Its lessening orbs, sometimes as if it failed, Drooped through the air; and still it shrieked and wailed, And casting back its eager head, with beak And talon unremittingly assailed The wreathed Serpent, who did ever seek Upon his enemy's heart a mortal wound to wreak. XI What life, what power, was kindled and arose Within the sphere of that appalling fray! For, from the encounter of those won- drous foes, A vapor like the sea's suspended spray CANTO FIRST 53 Huug gathered ; in the void air, far away, Floated the shattered plumes ; bright scales did leap, Where'er the Eagle's talons made their way, Like sparks into the darkness; as they sweep, Blood stains the snowy foam of the tumul- tuous deep. XII Swift chances in that combat many a check, And many a change, a dark and wild turmoil! Sometimes the Snake around his enemy's neck Locked in stiff rings his adamantine coil, Until the Eagle, faint with pain and toil, Remitted his strong flight, and near the sea Languidly fluttered, hopeless so to foil His adversary, who then reared on high His red and burning crest, radiant with victory. XIII Then on the white edge of the bursting surge, Where they had sunk together, would the Snake Relax his suffocating grasp, and scourge The wind with his wild writhiiigs; for, to break That chain of torment, the vast bird would shake The strength of his unconquerable wings As in despair, and with his sinewy neck Dissolve in sudden shock those linked rings Then soar, as swift as smoke from a vol- cano springs. XIV Wile baffled wile, and strength encoun- tered strength, Thus long, but unprevailiug. The event Of that portentous fight appeared at length. Until the lamp of day was almost spent It had endured, when lifeless, stark and rent, Hung high that mighty Serpent, and at last Fell to the sea, while o'er the continent With clang of wings and scream the Eagle passed, Heavily borne away on the exhausted blast. XV And with it' fled the tempest, so that ocean And earth and sky shone through the atmosphere; Only, 't was strange to see the red com- motion Of waves like mountains o'er the sinking sphere Of sunset sweep, and their fierce roar to hear Amid the calm ; down the steep path I wound To the sea-shore the evening was most clear And beautiful, and there the sea I found Calm as a cradled child in dreamless slum- ber bound. XVI There was a Woman, beautiful as morn- .icg, Sitting beneath the rocks upon the sand Of the waste sea fair as one flower adorning An icy wilderness; each delicate hand Lay crossed upon her bosom, and the band Of her dark hair had fall'n, and so sne sate Looking upon the waves ; on the bare strand Upon the sea-mark a small boat did wait, Fair as herself, like Love by Hope left desolate. XVII It seemed that this fair Shape had looked upon That unimaginable fight, and now That her sweet eyes were weary of the sun, As brightly it illustrated her woe; For in the tears, which silently to flow Paused not, its lustre hung: she, watch- ing aye The foam-wreaths which the faint tide wove below 54 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Upon the spangled sands, groaned heav- iiy, And after every groan looked up over the sea. XVIII And when she saw the wounded Serpent make His path between the waves, her lips grew pale, Parted and quivered; the teaM ceased to break From her immovable eyes; no voice of wail Escaped her; but she rose, and on the gale Loosening her star -bright robe and shadowy hair, Poured forth her voice; the caverns of the vale That opened to the ocean, caught it there, And filled with silver sounds the overflow- ing air. XIX She spake in language whose strange melody Might not belong to earth. I heard alone What made its music more melodious be, The pity and the love of every tone; But to the Snake those accents sweet were known His native tongue and hers; nor did he beat The hoar spray idly then, but winding on Through the green shadows of the waves that meet Near to the shore, did pause beside her snowy feet. XX Then on the sands the Woman sate again, And wept and clasped her hands, and, all between, Renewed the unintelligible strain Of her melodious voice and eloquent mien; And she unveiled her bosom, and the green And glancing shadows of the sea did play O'er its marmoreal depth one moment seen. For ere the next, the Serpent did obey Her voice, and, coiled in rest, in her em brace it lay. XXI Then she arose, and smiled on me with eyes Serene yet sorrowing, like that planet fair, While yet the daylight lingereth in the skies, Which cleaves with arrowy beams the dark-red air, And said: ' To grieve is wise, but the de- spair Was weak and vain which led thee here from sleep. This shalt thou know, and more, if thou dost dare With me and with this Serpent, o'er the deep, A voyage divine and strange, companion- ship to keep.' XXII Her voice was like the wildest, saddest tone, Yet sweet, of some loved voice heard long ago. I wept. Shall this fair woman all alone Over the sea with that fierce Serpent go ? His head is on her heart, and who can know How soon he may devour his feeble prey ? Such were my thoughts, when the tide 'gan to flow ; And that strange boat like the moon's shade did sway Amid reflected stars that in the waters lay. XXIII A boat of rare device, which had no sail But its own curved prow of thin moon- stone, Wrought like a web of texture fine and frail, To catch those gentlest winds which are not known To breathe, but by the steady speed alone With which it clenves the sparkling sea; and now We are embarked the mountains hang and frown CANTO FIRST 55 Over the starry deep that gleams below A vast and dim expanse, as o'er the waves we go. XXIV And as we sailed, a strange and awful tale That Woman told, like such mysterious dream As makes the slumberer's cheek with wonder pale ! 'T was midnight, and around, a shoreless stream, Wide ocean rolled, when that majestic theme Shrined in her heart found utterance, and she bent Her looks on mine; those eyes a kin- dling beam Of love divine into my spirit sent, And, ere her lips could move, made the air eloquent. xxv ' Speak not to me, but hear ! much shalt thou learn, Much must remain unthought, and more untold, In the dark Future's ever-flowing urn. Know then that from the depth of ages old Two Powers o'er mortal things dominion hold, Ruling the world with a divided lot, Immortal, all-pervading, manifold, Twin Genii, equal Gods when life and thought Sprang forth, they burst the womb of in- essential Nought. XXVI ' The earliest dweller of the world alone Stood on the verge of chaos. Lo ! afar O'er the wide wild abyss two meteors shone, Sprung from the depth of its tempestu- ous jar A blood-red Comet and the Morning Star Mingling their beams in combat. As he stood All thoughts within his mind waged mu- tual war In dreadful sympathy when to the flood That fair Star fell, he turned and shed his brother's blood. XXVII ' Thus Evil triumphed, and the Spirit of Evil, One Power of many shapes which 110116 may know, One Shape of many names; the Fiend did revel In victory, reigning o'er a world of woe, For the new race of man went to and fro, Famished and homeless, loathed and loathing, wild, And hating good for his immortal foe, He changed from starry shape, beauteous and mild, To a dire Snake, with man and beast un- reconciled. XXVIII ' The darkness lingering o'er the dawn of things Was Evil's breath and life ; this made him strong To soar aloft with overshadowing wings ; And the great Spirit of Good did creep among The nations of mankind, and every tongue Cursed and blasphemed him as he passed; for none Knew good from evil, though their names were hung In mockery o'er the fane where many a groan, As King, and Lord, and God, the conquer- ing Fiend did own. XXIX ' The Fiend, whose name was Legion Death, Decay, Earthquake and Blight, and Want, and Madness pale, Winged and wan diseases, an array Numerous as leaves that strew the au- tumnal gale; Poison, a snake in flowers, beneath the veil Of food and mirth, hiding his mortal head; And, without whom all these might nought avail, Fear, Hatred, Faith and Tyranny, who spread Those subtle nets which snare the living and the dead. THE REVOLT OF ISLAM XXX ' His spirit is their power, and they his slaves In air, and light, and thought, and lan- guage dwell; And keep their state from palaces to graves, In all resorts of men invisible, But when, iu ebon mirror, Nightmare fell, To tyrant or impostor bids tliem rise, Black winged demon - forms whom, from the hell, His reign and dwelling beneath nether skies, He loosens to their dark and blasting min- istries. XXXI ' In the world's youth his empire was as firm As its foundations. Soon the Spirit of Good, Though in the likeness of a loathsome worm, Sprang from the billows of the formless flood, Which shrank and fled; and with that Fiend of blood Renewed the doubtful war. Thrones then first shook, And earth's immense and trampled mul- titude In hope on their own powers began to look, And Fear, the demon pale, his sanguine shrine forsook. XXXII ' Then Greece arose, and to its bards and sages, In dream, the golden - pinioned Genii came, Even where they slept amid the night of ages, Steeping their hearts in the divinest flame Which thy breath kindled, Power of holiest name! And oft in cycles since, when darkness gave New weapons to thy foe, their sunlike fame Upon the combat shone a light to save, Like Paradise spread forth beyond the shadowy grave. XXXIII ' Such is this conflict when mankind doth strive With its oppressors in a strife of blood, Or when free thoughts, like lightnings, are alive, And in each bosom of the multitude Justice and truth with custom's hydra brood Wage silent war; when priests and kings dissemble In smiles or frowns their fierce disqui- etude, When round pure hearts a host of hopes assemble, The Snake and Eagle meet the world's foundations tremble! XXXIV ' Thou hast beheld that fight when to thy home Thou dost return, steep not its hearth in tears; Though thou mayst hear that earth is now become The tyrant's garbage, which to his com- peers, The vile reward of their dishonored years, He will dividing give. The victor Fiend Omnipotent of yore, now quails, and fears His triumph dearly won, which soon will lend An impulse swift and sure to his approach- ing end. xxxv ' List, stranger, list! mine is an human form Like that thou wearest touch me shrink not now! My hand thou feel'st is not a ghost's, but warm With human blood. 'T was many years ago, Since first my thirsting soul aspired to know The secrets of this wondrous world, when deep My heart was pierced with sympathy for woe CANTO FIRST 57 Which could not be mine own, and thought did keep In dream unnatural watch beside an in- fant's sleep. XXXVI ' Woe could not be mine own, since far from men I dwelt, a free and happy orphan child, By the sea-shore, in a deep mountain glen; And near the waves aud through the for- ests wild I roamed, to storm and darkness recon- ciled; For I was calm while tempest shook the sky, But when the breathless heavens in beauty smiled, I wept sweet tears, yet too tumultuously For peace, and clasped my hands aloft in ecstasy. XXXVII ' These were forebodings of my fate. Be- fore A woman's heart beat in my virgin breast, It had been nurtured in divinest lore; A dying poet gave me books, and blessed With wild but holy talk the sweet unrest In which I watched him as he died away; A youth with hoary hair, a fleeting guest Of our lone mountains; and this lore did sway My spirit like a storm, contending there alway. XXXVIII ' Thus the dark tale which history doth unfold I knew, but not, methinks, as others know, For they weep not; and Wisdom had unrolled The clouds which hide the gulf of mortal woe; To few can she that warning vision show; For I loved all things with intense devo- tion, So that when Hope's deep source in full- est flow, Like earthquake did uplift the stagnant ocean Of human thoughts, mine shook beneath the wide emotion. XXXIX ' When first the living blood through all these veins Kindled a thought in sense, great France sprang forth, And seized, as if to break, the ponderous chains Which bind in woe the nations of the earth. I saw, and started from my cottage hearth ; And to the clouds and waves in tameless gladness Shrieked, till they caught immeasurable mirth, And laughed in light and music: soon sweet madness Was poured upon my heart, a soft and thrilling sadness. XL ' Deep slumber fell on me : my dreams were fire, Soft and delightful thoughts did rest and hover Like shadows o'er my brain ; and strange desire, The tempest of a passion, raging over My tranquil soul, its depths with light did cover, Which passed; and calm, and darkness, sweeter far, Came then I loved; but not a human lover ! For when I rose from sleep, the Morning Star Shone through the woodbine wreaths which round my casement were. XLI ' 'T was like an eye which seemed to smile on me. I watched, till by the sun made pale it sank Under the billows of the heaving sea; But from its beams deep love my spirit drank, And to my brain the boundless world now shrank Into one thought one image yes, forever! Even like the dayspring, poured on va* pors dank, THE REVOLT OF ISLAM The beams of that one Star did shoot and (jiiivcr Through my benighted mind and were extinguished never. XLII ' The day passed thus. At night, me- thought, in dream A shape of speechless beauty did ap- pear; It stood like light on a careering stream Of golden clouds which shook the atmo- sphere; A winged youth, his radiant brow did wear The Morning Star; a wild dissolving bliss Over my frame he breathed, approach- ing near, And bent his eyes of kindling tender- ness Near mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss, XLIII 'And said: "A Spirit loves thee, mortal maiden; How wilt thou prove thy worth ? " Then joy and sleep Together fled; my soul was deeply laden, And to the shore I went to muse and weep; But as I moved, over my heart did creep A joy less soft, but more profound and strong Than my sweet dream ; and it forbade to keep The path of the sea-shore; that Spirit's tongue Seemed whispering in my heart, and bore my steps along. XLIV ' How, to that vast and peopled city led, Which was a field of holy warfare then, I walked among the dying and the dead, And shared in fearless deeds with evil men, Calm as an angel in the dragon's den; How I braved death for liberty and truth, And spurned at peace, and power, and fame ; and when Those hopes had lost the glory of their youth, How sadly I returned might move the hearer's ruth. XLV Warm tears throng fast! the tale may not be said. Know then that, when this grief had been subdued, I was not left, like others, cold and dead; The Spirit whom I loved in solitude Sustained his child; the tempest-shaken wood, The waves, the fountains, and the hush of night These were his voice, and well I under- stood His smile divine, when the calm sea was bright With silent stars, and Heaven was breath- less with delight. XLVI ' In lonely glens, amid the roar of rivers, When the dim nights were moonless, have I known Joys which no tongue can tell ; my pale lip quivers When thought revisits them: know thou alone, That, after many wondrous years were flown, I was awakened by a shriek of woe; And over me a mystic robe was thrown By viewless hands, and a bright Star did glow Before my steps the Snake then met his mortal foe.' XLVII ' Thou fearest not then the Serpent on thy heart?' ' Fear it ! ' she said, with brief and pas- sionate cry, And spake no more. That silence made me start I looked, and we were sailing pleasantly, Swift as a cloud between the sea and sky, Beneath the rising moon seen faraway; Mountains of ice, like sapphire, piled on high, Hemming the horizon round, in silence lay On the still waters these we did ap- proach alway. CANTO FIRST 59 XLVIII And swift and swifter grew the vessel's motion, So that a dizzy trance fell on my brain, Wild music woke me; we bad passed the ocean Which girds the pole, Nature's remotest reign; And we glode fast o'er a pellucid plain Of waters, azure with the noontide day. Ethereal mountains shone around; a Fane Stood in the midst, girt by green isles which lay On the blue sunny deep, resplendent far away. XLIX It was a Temple, such as mortal hand Has never built, nor ecstasy, nor dream Reared in the cities of enchanted land; 'T was likest Heaven, ere yet day's purple stream Ebbs o'er the western forest, while the gleam Of the uurisen moon among the clouds Is gathering when with many a golden beam The thronging constellations rush in crowds, Paving with fire the sky and the marmo- real floods. L Like what may be conceived of this vast dome, When from the depths which thought can seldom pierce Genius beholds it rise, his native home, Girt by the deserts of the Universe; Yet, nor in painting's light, or mightier verse, Or sculpture's marble language can in- vest That shape to mortal sense such glooms immerse That incommunicable sight, and rest Upon the laboring brain and over-burdened breast. Li Winding among the lawny islands fair, Whose blosmy forests starred the shad- owy deep, The wingless boat paused where an ivory stair Its fretwork in the crystal sea did steep, Encircling that vast Fane's aerial heap. We disembarked, and through a portal wide We passed, whose roof of moonstone carved did keep A glimmering o'er the forms on every side, Sculptures like life and thought, immovable, deep-eyed. LII We came to a vast hall, whose glorious roof Was diamond which had drunk the lightning's sheen In darkness and now poured it through the woof Of spell-inwoven clouds hung there to screen Its blinding splendor through such veil was seen That work of subtlest power, divine and rare; Orb above orb, with starry shapes be- tween, And horned moons, and meteors strange and fair, On night-black columns poised one hol- low hemisphere! LIU Ten thousand columns in that quivering light Distinct, between whose shafts wound far away The long and labyrinthine aisles, more bright With their own radiance than the Heaven of Day; And on the jasper walls around there lay Paintings, the poesy of mightiest thought, Which did the Spirit's history display; A tale of passionate change, divinely taught, Which, in their winged dance, unconscious Genii wrought. LIV Beneath there sate on many a sapphire throne The Great who had departed from man- kind, A mighty Senate ; some, whose white hair shone 6o THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Like mountain snow, mild, beautiful and blind ; Some, female forms, whose gestures beamed with mind; And ardent youths, and children bright and fair; And some had lyres whose strings were intertwined With pale and clinging flames, which ever there Waked faint yet thrilling sounds that pierced the crystal air. LV One seat was vacant in the midst, a throne, Reared on a pyramid like sculptured flame, Distinct with circling steps which rested on Their own deep fire. Soon as the Woman came Into that hall, she shrieked the Spirit's name And fell; and vanished slowly from the sight. Darkness arose from her dissolving frame, Which, gathering, filled that dome of woven light, Blotting its sphered stars with supernatural night. LVI Then first two glittering lights were seen to glide In circles on the amethystine floor, Small serpent eyes trailing from side to side, Like meteors on a river's grassy shore ; They round each other rolled, dilating more And more then rose, commingling into one, One clear and mighty planet hanging o'er A cloud of deepest shadow which was thrown Athwart the glowing steps and the crystal- line throne. LVII The cloud which rested on that cone of flame Was cloven; beneath the planet sate a Form, Fairer than tongue can speak or thought may frame, The radiance of whose limbs rose-like and warm Flowed forth, and did with softest light inform The shadowy dome, the sculptures and the state Of those assembled shapes with cling- ing charm Sinking upon their hearts and mine. He sate Majestic yet most mild, calm yet compas- sionate. LVIII Wonder and joy a passing faintness threw Over my brow a hand supported me, Whose touch was magic strength ; an eye of blue Looked into mine, like moonlight, sooth- ingly; And a voice said, ' Thou must a listener be This day; two mighty Spirits now return, Like birds of calm, from the world's raging sea; They pour fresh light from Hope's im- mortal urn; A tale of human power despair not list and learn! LIX I looked, and lo! one stood forth elo- quently. His eyes were dark and deep, and the clear brow Which shadowed them was like the morning sky, The cloudless Heaven of Spring, when in their flow Through the bright air the soft winds as they blow Wake the green world ; his gestures did obey The oracular mind that made his fea- tures glow, And where his curved lips half open lay, Passion's divinest stream had made impetu- ous way. LX Beneath the darkness of his outspread hair He stood thus beautiful; but there was One CANTO SECOND Gi Who sate beside him like his shadow there, And held his hand far lovelier; she was known To be thus fair by the few lines alone Which through her floating locks and gathered cloke, Glances of soul-dissolving glory, shone; None else beheld her eyes iu him they woke Memories which found a tongue, as thus he silence broke. CANTO SECOND I THE star-light smile of children, the sweet looks Of women, the fair breast from which I fed, The murmur of the unreposing brooks, And the green light which, shifting over- head, Some tangled bower of vines around me shed, The shells on the sea-sand, and the wild flowers, The lamp - light through the rafters cheerly spread And on the twining flax in life's young hours These sights and sounds did nurse my spirit's folded powers. II In Argolis, beside the echoing sea, Such impulses within my mortal frame Arose, and they were dear to memory, Like tokens of the dead; but others came Soon, in another shape the wondrous fame Of the past world, the vital words and deeds Of minds whom neither time nor change can tame, Traditions dark and old whence evil creeds Start forth and whose dim shade a stream of poison feeds. Ill I heard, as all have heard, the various story Of human life, and wept unwilling tears. Feeble historians of its shame and glory, False disputants on all its hopes and fears, Victims who worshipped ruin, chroniclers Of daily scorn, and slaves who loathed their state, Yet, flattering Power, had given its ministers A throne of judgment in the grave 't was fate, That among such as these my youth should seek its mate. IV The land in which I lived by a fell bane Was withered up. Tyrants dwelt side by side, And stabled in our homes, until the chain Stifled the captive's cry, and to abide That blasting curse men had no shame. All vied In evil, slave and despot; fear with lust Strange fellowship through mutual hate had tied, Like two dark serpents tangled in the dust, Which on the paths of men their mingling poison thrust. Earth, our bright home, its mountains and its waters, And the ethereal shapes which are sus- pended Over its green expanse, and those fair daughters, The clouds, of Sun and Ocean, who have blended The colors of the air since first extended It cradled the young world, none wan- dered forth To see or feel ; a darkness had descended On every heart; the light which shows its worth Must among gentle thoughts and fearless take its birth. VI This vital world, this home of happy spirits, Was as a dungeon to my blasted kind; All that despair from murdered hope in- herits 62 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM They sought, and, in their helpless misery blind, A deeper prison and heavier chains did find, And stronger tyrants: a dark gulf before, The realm of a stern Ruler, yawned; behind, Terror and Time conflicting drove, and bore Dn their tempestuous flood the shrieking wretch from shore. VII Out of that Ocean's wrecks had Guilt and Woe Framed a dark dwelling for their home- less thought, And, starting at the ghosts which to and fro Glide o'er its dim and gloomy strand, had brought The worship thence which they each other taught. Well might men loathe their life! well might they turn Even to the ills again from which they sought Such refuge after death! well might they learn To gaze on this fair world with hopeless un- concern ! VIII For they all pind in bondage; body and soul, Tyrant and slave, victim and torturer, bent Before one Power, to which supreme control Over their will by their own weakness lent Made all its many names omnipotent; All symbols of things evil, all divine; And hymns of blood or mockery, which rent The air from all its fanes, did intertwine Imposture's impious toils pound each dis- cordant shrine. uc I heard, as all have heard, life's various story, And in no careless heart transcribed the tale; But, from the sneers of men who had grown hoary In shame and scorn, from groans of crowds made pale By famine, from a mother's desolate wail O'er her polluted child, from innocent blood Poured on the earth, and brows anxious and pale With the heart's warfare, did I gather food To feed my many thoughts a tameless multitude! I wandered through the wrecks of days departed Far by the desolated shore, when even O'er the still sea and jagged islets darted The light of moonrise ; in the northern Heaven, Among the clouds near the horizon driven, The mountains lay beneath one planet pale; Around me broken tombs and columns riven Looked vast in twilight, and the sorrow- ing gale Waked in those ruins gray its everlasting wail! XI I knew not who had framed these won- ders then, Nor had I heard the story of their deeds; But dwellings of a race of mightier men, And monuments of less ungentle creeds Tell their own tale to him who wiselj heeds The language which they speak; and now, to me, The moonlight making pale the blooming weeds, The bright stars shining in the breathless sea, Interpreted those scrolls of mortal mys- tery. XII Such man has been, and such may yet become! Ay, wiser, greater, gentler even than they CANTO SECOND Who on the fragments of you shattered dome Have stamped the sign of power! I felt the sway Of the vast stream of ages bear away My floating thoughts my heart beat loud and fast Even as a storm let loose beneath the ray Of the still moon, my spirit onward passed Beneath truth's steady beams upon its tu- mult cast. XIII It shall be thus no more! too long, too long, Sons of the glorious dead, have ye lain bound In darkness and in ruin! Hope is strong, Justice and Truth their winged child have found! Awake! arise! until the mighty sound Of your career shall scatter in its gust The thrones of the oppressor, and the ground Hide the last altar's unregarded dust, Whose Idol has so long betrayed your im- pious trust. XIV It must be so I will arise and waken The multitude, and like a sulphurous hill, Which on a sudden from its snows has shaken The swoon of ages, it shall burst, and fill The world with cleansing flue; it must, it will It may not be restrained ! and who shall stand Amid the rocking earthquake steadfast still But Laon? on high Freedom's desert land A tower whose marble walls the leagued storms withstand! XV One summer night, in commune with the hope Thus deeply fed, amid those ruins gray I watched beneath the dark sky's starry cope; And ever from that hour upon me lay The burden of this hope, and night or day, In vision or in dream, clove to my breast; Among mankind, or when gone far away To the lone shores and mountains, 't was a guest Which followed where I fled, and watched when I did rest. XVI These hopes found words through which my spirit sought To weave a bondage of such sympathy As might create some response to the thought Which ruled me now and as the vapors lie Bright in the outspread morning's radi- ancy, So were these thoughts invested with the light Of language; and all bosoms made reply On which its lustre streamed, whene'er it might Through darkness wide and deep those tranced spirits smite. XVII Yes, many an eye with dizzy tears was dim, And oft I thought to clasp my own heart's brother, When I could feel the listener's senses swim, And hear his breath its own swift gasp- ings smother Even as my words evoked them and another, And yet another, I did fondly deem, Felt that we all were sons of one great mother; And the cold truth such sad reverse did seem. As to awake in grief from some delightful dream. xvin Yes, oft beside the ruined labyrinth Which skirts the hoary caves of the green deep Did Laon and his friend on one gray plinth, Round whose worn base the wild waves hiss and leap, Resting at eve, a lofty converse keep; 6 4 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM And that this friend was false may now be said Caimly that he like other men could weep Tears which are lies, and could betray ana spread Snares tor that guileless heart which for his own had bled. XIX Then, had no great aim recompensed my sorrow, I must have sought dark respite from its stress In dreamless rest, in sleep that sees no morrow For to tread life's dismaying wilderness Without one smile to cheer, one voice to bless, Amid the snares and scoffs of human- kind, Is hard bnt I betrayed it not, nor less With love that scorned return sought to unbind The interwoven clouds which make its wisdom blind. XX With deathless minds, which leave where they have passed A path of light, my soul communion knew, Till from that glorious intercourse, at last, As from a mine of magic store, I drew Words which were weapons; round my heart there grew The adamantine armor of their power; And from my fancy wings of golden hue Sprang forth yet not alone from wis- dom's tower, A minister of truth, these plumes young Laon bore. XXI An orphan with my parents lived, whose eyes Were lodestars of delight, which drew roe home When I might wander forth; nor did I prize Aught human thing beneath Heaven's mighty dome Beyond this child; so when sad hours were come, And baffled hope like ice still clung to me, Since kin were cold, and friends had now become Heartless and false, I turned from all to be, Cythna, the only source of tears and smiles to thee. xxn What wert thou then? A child most infantine, Yet wandering far beyond that innocent age In all but its sweet looks and mien di- vine; Even then, methought, with the world's tyrant rage A patient warfare thy young heart did wage, When those soft eyes of scarcely con- scious thought Some tale or thine own fancies would engage To overflow with tears, or converse fraught With passion o'er their depths its fleeting light had wrought. XXIII She moved upon this earth a shape of brightness, A power, that from its objects scarcely drew One impulse of her being in her light- ness Most like some radiant cloud of morning dew Which wanders through the waste air's pathless blue To nourish some far desert; she did seem Beside me, gathering beauty as she grew, Like the bright shade of some immortal dream Which walks, when tempest sleeps, the wave of life's dark stream. XXIV As mine own shadow was this child to me, A second self, far dearer and more fair, Which clothed in undissolving radiancy All those steep paths which languor and despair CANTO SECOND Of human things had made so dark and bare, But which I trod alone nor, till be- reft Of friends, and overcome by lonely care, Knew I what solace for that loss was left, Though by a bitter wound my trusting heart was cleft. XXV Once she was dear, now she was all I had To love in human life this playmate sweet, This child of twelve years old. So she was made My sole associate, and her willing feet Wandered with mine where Earth and Ocean meet, Beyond the aerial mountains whose vast cells The unreposing billows ever beat, Through forests wild and old, and lawny dells Where boughs of incense droop over the emerald wells. XXVI And warm and light I felt her clasping hand When twined in mine; she followed where I went, Through the lone paths of our immortal land. It had no waste but some memorial lent Which strung me to my toil some monument Vital with mind; then Cythua by my side, Until the bright and beaming day were spent, Would rest, with looks entreating to abide, Too earnest and too sweet ever to be de- nied. xxvn And soon I could not have refused her. Thus Forever, day and night, we two were ne'er Parted but when brief sleep divided us; And, when the pauses of the lulling air Of noon beside the sea had made a lair For her soothed senses, in my arms she slept, And I kept watch over her slumbers there, While, as the shifting visions over her swept, Amid her innocent rest by turns she smiled and wept. XXVIII And in the murmur of her dreams was heard Sometimes the name of Laon. Suddenly She would arise, and, like the secret bird Whom sunset wakens, fill the shore and sky With her sweet accents, a wild mel- ody, Hymns which my soul had woven to Freedom, strong The source of passion whence they rose to be; Triumphant strains which, like a spirit's tongue, To the enchanted waves that child of glory sung XXIX Her white arms lifted through the shad- owy stream Of her loose hair. Oh, excellently great Seemed to me then my purpose, the vast theme Of those impassioned songs, when Cythua sate Amid the calm which rapture doth cre- ate After its tumult, her heart vibrating, Her spirit o'er the Ocean's floating state From her deep eyes far wandering, on the wing Of visions that were mine, beyond its ut- most spring ! XXX For, before Cythna loved it, had my song Peopled with thoughts the boundless uni- verse, A mighty congregation, which were strong, Where'er they trod the darkness, to dis- perse The cloud of that unutterable curse Which clings upon mankind; all things became 66 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Slaves to my holy and heroic verse, Earth, sea and sky, the planets, life and fame And fate, or whate'er else binds the world's wondrous frame. XXXI And this beloved child thus felt the sway Of my conceptions, gathering like a cloud The very wind on which it rolls away; Hers too were all my thoughts, ere yet endowed With music and with light their foun- tains flowed In poesy; and her still and earnest face, Pallid with feelings which intensely glowed Within, was turned on mine with speech- less grace, Watching the hopes which there her heart had learned to trace. XXXII In me, communion with this purest being Kindled intenser zeal, and made me wise In knowledge, which in hers mine own mind seeing Left in the human world few mysteries. How without fear of evil or disguise Was Cytlma ! what a spirit strong and mild, Which death or pain or peril could de- spise, Yet melt in tenderness ! what genius wild, 5Tet mighty, was enclosed within one simple child ! XXXIII New lore was this. Old age with its gray hair, And wrinkled legends of unworthy things, And icy sneers, is nought: it cannot dare To burst the chains which life forever flings On the entangled soul's aspiring wings; So is it cold and cruel, and is made The careless slave of that dark Power which brings Evil, like blight, on man, who, still be- trayed, Laughs o'er the grave in which his living hopes are laid. XXXIV Nor are the strong and the severe to keep The empire of the world. Thus Cythna taught Even in the visions of her eloquent sleep, Unconscious of the power through which she wrought The woof of such intelligible thought, As from the tranquil strength which cradled lay In her smile-peopled rest my spirit sought Why the deceiver and the slave has sway O'er heralds so divine of truth's arising day. xxxv Within that fairest form the female mind, Untainted by the poison clouds which rest On the dark world, a sacred home did find; But else from the wide earth's maternal breast Victorious Evil, which had dispossessed All native power, had those fair children torn, And made them slaves to soothe his vile unrest, And minister to lust its joys forlorn, Till they had learned to breathe the atmo- sphere of scorn. XXXVI This misery was but coldly felt, till she Became my only friend, who had endued My purpose with a wider sympathy. Thus Cythua mourned with me the servi- tude In wliich the half of humankind were mewed, Victims of lust and hate, the slaves of slaves ; She mourned that grace and power were thrown as food To the hyena Lust, who, among graves, Over his loathed meal, laughing in agony, raves. XXXVII And I, still gazing on that glorious child, Even as these thoughts flushed o'er her: ' Cythna sweet, Well with the world art thou unrecon- ciled; CANTO SECOND Never will peace and human nature meet Till free and equal man and woman greet Domestic peace; and ere this power can make In human hearts its calm and holy seat, This slavery must be broken ' as I spake, From Cythna's eyes a light of exultation brake. XXXVIII She replied earnestly: 'It shall be mine, This task, mine, Laon ! thou hast much to gain; Nor wilt thou at poor Cythna's pride re- pine, If she should lead a happy female train To meet thee over the rejoicing plain, When myriads at thy call shall throng around The Golden City.' Then the child did strain My arm upon her tremulous heart, and wound Her own about my neck, till some reply she found. xxxix I smiled, and spake not. 'Wherefore dost thou smile At what I say ? Laon, I am not weak, And, though my cheek might become pale the while, With thee, if thou desirest, will I seek Through their array of banded slaves to wreak Ruin upon the tyrants. I had thought It was more hard to turn my unpractised cheek To scorn and shame, and this beloved spot And thee, O dearest friend, to leave and murmur not. XL ' Whence came I what I am ? Thou, Laon, knowest How a young child should thus undaunted be; Methinks it is a power which thou be- stowest, Through which I seek, by most resem- bling thee, So to become most good, and great, and free; Yet, far beyond this Ocean's utmost roar, In towers and huts are many like to me, Who, could they see thine eyes, or feel such lore As I have learnt from them, like me would fear no more. XLI ' Think'st thou that I shall speak unskil- fully, And none will heed me ? I remember now How once a slave in tortures doomed to die Was saved because in accents sweet and low He sung a song his judge loved long ago, As he was led to death. All shall relent Who hear me ; tears as mine have flowed, shall flow, Hearts beat as mine now beats, with such intent As renovates the world; a will omnipotent! XLII ' Yes, I will tread Pride's golden palaces, Through Penury's roofless huts and squalid cells Will I descend, where'er in abjectness Woman with some vile slave her tyrant dwells; There with the music of thine own sweet spells Will disenchant the captives, and will pour For the despairing, from the crystal wells Of thy deep spirit, reason's mighty lore, And power shall then abound, and hope arise once more. XLIII ' Can man be free if woman be a slave ? Chain one who lives, and breathes this boundless air, To the corruption of a closed grave! Can they, whose mates are beasts con- demned to bear Scorn heavier far than toil or anguish, dare To trample their oppressors ? In theii home, 68 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Among their babes, thou knowest a curse would wear The shape of woman hoary Crime would come Behind, and Fraud rebuild Religion's tot- tering dome. XLIV I am a child: I would not yet de- part. When I go forth alone, bearing the lamp Aloft which thou hast kindled in iny heart, Millions of slaves from many a dungeon damp Shall leap in joy, as the benumbing cramp Of ages leaves their limbs. No ill may harm Thy Cythna ever. Truth its radiant stamp Has fixed, as an invulnerable charm, Upon her children's brow, dark Falsehood to disarm. XLV ' Wait yet awhile for the appointed day. Thou wilt depart, and I with tears shall stand Watching thy dim sail skirt the ocean gray; Amid the dwellers of this lonely land I shall remain alone and thy command Shall then dissolve the world's unquiet trance, And, multitudinous as the desert sand Borne on the storm, its millions shall ad- vance, Thronging round thee, the light of their deliverance. XLVI ' Then, like the forests of some pathless mountain Which from remotest glens two warring winds Involve in fire which not the loosened fountain Of broadest floods might quench, shall all the kinds Of evil catch from our uniting minds The spark which must consume them; Cythna then Will have cast off the impotence that binds Her childhood now, and through the paths of men Will pass, as the charmed bird that haunts the serpent's den. XLVII 'We part! O Laon, I must dare, nor tremble, To meet those looks no more! Oh, heavy stroke! Sweet brother of my soul! can I dis- semble The agony of this thought? ' As thus she spoke The gathered sobs her quivering accents broke, And in my arms she hid her beating breast. I remained still for tears sudden she woke As one awakes from sleep, and wildly pressed My bosom, her whole frame impetuously possessed. XLVIII ' We part to meet again but yon blue waste, Yon desert wide and deep, holds no recess Within whose happy silence, thus em- braced, We might survive all ills in one caress; Nor doth the grave I fear 't is passion- less Nor yon cold vacant Heaven: we meet again Within the minds of men, whose lips shall bless Our memory, and whose hopes its light retain When these dissevered bones are trodden iu the plain.' XLIX I could not speak, though she had ceased, for now The fountains of her feeling, swift and deep, Seemed to suspend the tumult of their flow. So we arose, and by the star-light steep Went homeward neither did we speak nor weep, But, pale, were calm with passion. Thus subdued, CANTO THIRD 69 Like evening shades that o'er the moun- tains creep, We moved towards our home; where, in this mood, Each from the other sought refuge in soli- tude. CANTO THIRD WHA.T thoughts had sway o'er Cythna's lonely slumber That night, I know not; but my own did seem As if they might ten thousand years out- number Of waking life, the visions of a dream Which hid in one dim gulf the troubled stream Of mind; a boundless chaos wild and vast, Whose limits yet were never memory's theme; And I lay struggling as its whirlwinds passed, Sometimes for rapture sick, sometimes for pain aghast. Two hours, whose mighty circle did em- brace More time than might make gray the in- fant world, Rolled thus, a weary and tumultuous space ; When the third came, like mist on breezes curled, From my dim sleep a shadow was un- furled; Methought, upon the threshold of a cave I sate with Cythua; drooping briony, pearled With dew from the wild streamlet's shattered wave, Hung, where we sate to taste the joys which Nature gave. in We lived a day as we were wont to live, But Nature had a robe of glory on, And the bright air o'er every shape did weave Intenser hues, so that the herbless stone, The leafless bough among the leaves alone, Had being clearer than its own could be; And Cythna's pure and radiant self was shown, In this strange vision, so divine to me, That if I loved before, now love was agony. IV Morn fled, noon came, evening, then night, descended, And we prolonged calm talk beneath the sphere Of the calm moon when suddenly was blended With our repose a nameless sense of fear; And from the cave behind I seemed to hear Sounds gathering upwards accents in- complete, And stifled shrieks, and now, more near and near, A tumult and a rush of thronging feet The cavern's secret depths beneath the earth did beat. The scene was changed, and away, away, away! Through the air and over the sea we sped, And Cythna in my sheltering bosom lay, And the winds bore me; through the darkness spread Around, the gaping earth then vomited Legions of foul and ghastlj shapes, which hung Upon my flight; and ever as we fled They plucked at Cythna; soon to me then clung A sense of actual things those monstrous dreams among. VI And I lay struggling in the impotence Of sleep, while outward life had burst its bound, Though, still deluded, strove the tor- tured sense To its dire wanderings to adapt the sound Which in the light of morn was poured around Our dwelling; breathless, pale and una- ware I rose, and all the cottage crowded found THE REVOLT OF ISLAM With armed meii, whose glittering s words were bare, And whose degraded limbs the Tyrant's garb did wear. VII And ere with rapid lips and gathered brow I could demand the cause, a feeble shriek It was a feeble shriek, faint, far and low Arrested me; my mien grew calm and meek, And grasping a small knife I went to seek That voice among the crowd 't was Cythna's cry! Beneath most calm resolve did agony wreak Its whirlwind rage: so I passed quietly Till I beheld where bound that dearest child did lie. VIII I started to behold her, for delight And exultation, and a joyance free, Solemn, serene and lofty, filled the light Of the calm smile with which she looked on me; So that I feared some brainless ecstasy, Wrought from that bitter woe, had wil- dered her. Farewell! farewell!' she said, as I drew nigh; ' At first my peace was marred by this strange stir, Now I am calm as truth its chosen min- ister. IX ' Look not so, Laon say farewell in hope; These bloody men are but the slaves who bear Their mistress to her task; it was my scope The slavery where they drag me now to share, And among captives willing chains to wear Awhile the rest thou knowest. Return, dear friend! Let our first triumph trample the despair Which would ensnare us now, for, in the end, In victory or in death our hopes and fears must blend.' These words had fallen on uiy unheed- ing ear, Whilst I had watched the motions of the crew With seeming careless glance; not many were Around her, for their comrades just withdrew To guard some other victim ; so I drew My knife, and with one impulse, sud- denly, All unaware three of their number slew, And grasped a fourth by the throat, and with loud cry My countrymen invoked to death or lib- erty. XI What followed then I know not, for a stroke, On my raised arm and naked head came down, Filling my eyes with blood. When I awoke, I .felt that they had bound me in my swoon, And up a rock which overhangs the town By the steep path were bearing me; below The plain was filled with slaughter, overthrown The vineyards and the harvests, and the glow Of blazing roofs shone far o'er the white Ocean's flow. XII Upon that rock a mighty column stood, Whose capital seemed sculptured in the sky, Which to the wanderers o'er the solitude Of distant seas, from ages long gone by, Had made a landmark; o'er its height to % Scarcely the cloud, the vulture or the blast Has power, and when the shades of even- ing lie CANTO THIRD On Earth and Ocean, its carved summits cast The sunken daylight far through the aerial waste. XIII They bore me to a cavern in the hill Beneath that column, and unbound me there ; And one did strip me stark; and one did fill A vessel from the putrid pool; one bare A lighted torch, and four with friendless care Guided my steps the cavern-paths along; Then up a steep and dark and narrow stair We wound, until the torch's fiery tongue Amid the gushing day beamless and pallid hung. XIV They raised me to the platform of the pile, That column's dizzy height; the grate of brass, Through which they thrust me, open stood the while, As to its ponderous and suspended mass, With chains which eat into the flesh, alas! With brazen links, my naked limbs they bound ; The grate, as they departed to repass, With horrid clangor fell, and the far sound Of their retiring steps in the dense gloom was drowned. XV The noon was calm and bright: around that column The overhanging sky and circling sea, Spread forth in silentness profound and solemn, The darkness of brief frenzy cast on me, So that I knew not my own misery; The islands and the mountains in the day Like clouds reposed afar; and I could see The town among the woods below that lay, And the dark rocks which bound the bright and glassy bay. XVI It was so calm, that scarce the feathery weed Sown by some eagle on the topmost stone Swayed in the air: so bright, that noon did breed No shadow in the sky beside mine own Mine, and the shadow of my chain alone. Below, the smoke of roofs involved in flame Rested like night; all else was clearly shown In that broad glare; yet sound to me none came, But of the living blood that ran within my frame. XVII The peace of madness fled, and ah, too soon! A ship was lying on the sunny main; Its sails were flagging in the breathless noon; Its shadow lay beyond. That sight again Waked with its presence in my tranced brain The stings of a known sorrow, keen and cold; I knew that ship bore Cythna o'er the plain Of waters, to her blighting slavery sold, And watched it with such thoughts as must remain untold. XVIII I watched until the shades of evening wrapped Earth like an exhalation; then the bark Moved, for that calm was by the sunset snapped. It moved a speck upon the Ocean dark; Soon the wan stars came forth, and I could mark Its path no more! I sought to close mine eyes, But, like the balls, their lids were stiff and stark; I would have risen, but ere that I could rise My parched skin was split with piercing agonies. XIX I gnawed my brazen chain, and sought to sever THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Its adamantine links, that I might die. O Liberty! forgive the base endeavor, Forgive me, if, reserved for victory, The Champion of thy faith e'er sought to fly! That starry night, with its clear silence, sent Tameless resolve which laughed at misery Into my soul linked remembrance lent To that such power, to uae such a severe content, XX To breathe, to be, to hope, or to despair And die, I questioned not; nor, Chough the Sun, Its shafts of agony kindling through the air, Moved over me, nor though in evening dun, Or when the stars their visible courses run, Or morning, the wide universe was spread In dreary calmness round me, did I shun Its presence, nor seek refuge with the dead From one faint hope whose flower a drop- ping poison shed. XXI Two days thus passed I neither raved nor died; Thirst raged within me, like a scorpion's nest Built in mine entrails; I had spurned aside The water-vessel, while despair pos- sessed My thoughts, and now no drop remained. The uprest Of the third sun brought hunger but the crust Which had been left was to my craving breast Fuel, not food. I chewed the bitter dust, And bit my bloodless arm, and licked the brazen rust. XXII My brain began to fail when the fourth morn Burst o'er the golden isles. A fearful sleep, Which through the caverns dreary and forlorn Of the riven soul sent its foul dreams to sweep With whirlwind swiftness a fall far and deep A gulf, a void, a sense of senselessness These things dwelt in me, even as shadows keep Their watch in some dim charuel's lone- liness, A shoreless sea, a sky sunless and planet- leas! XXIII The forms which peopled this terrific trance I well remember. Like a choir of devils, Around me they involved a giddy dance; Legions seemed gathering from the misty levels Of Ocean, to supply those ceaseless revels, Foul, ceaseless shadows; thought could not divide The actual world from these entangling evils, Which so bemocked themselves that 1 descried All shapes like mine own self hideously multiplied. XXIV The sense of day and night, of false and true, Was dead within me. Yet two visions burst That darkness; one, as since that hour I knew, Was not a phantom of the realms ac- cursed, Where then my spirit dwelt but of the first I know not yet, was it a dream or no; But both, though not distincter, were immersed In hues which, when through memory's waste they flow, Make their divided streams more bright and rapid now. XXV Methought that grate was lifted, and the seven, CANTO THIRD 73 Who brought me thither, four stiff corpses bare, And from the frieze to the four winds of Heaven Hung them on high by the entangled hair; Swarthy were three the fourth was very fair; As they retired, the golden moon up- sprung, And eagerly, out in the giddy air, Leaning that I might eat, I stretched and clung Over the shapeless depth in which those corpses hung. XXVI A woman's shape, now lank and cold and blue, The dwelling of the many-colored worm, Hung there; the white and hollow cheek I drew To my dry lips What radiance did inform Those horny eyes? whose was that with- ered form? Alas, alas! it seemed that Cythna's ghost Laughed in those looks, and that the flesh was warm Within my teeth! a whirlwind keen as frost Then in its sinking gulfs my sickening spirit tossed. XXVII Then seemed it that a tameless hurricane Arose, and bore me in its dark career Beyond the sun, beyond the stars that wane On the verge of formless space it lan- guished there, And, dying, left a silence lone and drear, More horrible than famine. In the deep The shape of an old man did then ap- pear, Stately and beautiful; that dreadful sleep His heavenly smiles dispersed, and I could wake and weep. XXVIII And, when the blinding tears had fallen, I saw That column, and those corpses, and the moon, And felt the poisonous tooth of hunger gnaw My vitals; I rejoiced, as if the boon Of senseless death would be accorded soon, When from that stony gloom a voice arose, Solemn and sweet as when low winds attune The midnight pines; the grate did then unclose, And on that reverend form the moonlight did repose. XXIX He struck my chains, and gently spake and smiled; As they were loosened by that Hermit old, Mine eyes were of their madness half beguiled To answer those kind looks; he did en- fold His giant arms around me to uphold My wretched frame; my scorched limbs he wound In linen moist and balmy, and as cold As dew to drooping leaves; the chain, with sound Like earthquake, through the chasm of that steep stair did bound, XXX As, lifting me, it fell! What next I heard Were billows leaping on the harbor bar, And the shrill sea-wind whose breath idly stirred My hair; I looked abroad, and saw a star Shining beside a sail, and distant far That mountain and its column, the known mark Of those who in the wide deep wander- ing are, So that I feared some Spirit, fell and dart, In trance had lain me thus within a fiend- ish bark. XXXI For now, indeed, over the salt sea billow I sailed; yet dared not look upon the shape THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Of him who ruled the helm, although the pillow For my light head was hollowed in his lap, And my bare limbs his mantle did en- wrap, Fearing it was a fiend; at last, he bent O'er me his aged face; as if to snap Those dreadful thoughts, the gentle grandsire bent, And to my inmost soul his soothing looks he sent. XXXII A soft and healing potion to my lips At intervals he raised now looked on high To mark if yet the starry giant dips His zone in the dim sea now cheer- Though he said little, did he speak to me. 1 It is a friend beside thee take good cheer Poor victim, thou art now at liberty!' I joyed as those a human tone to hear Who in cells deep and lone have languished many a year. XXXIII A dim and feeble joy, whose glimpses oft Were quenched in a relapse of wildering dreams; Yet still methought we sailed, until aloft The stars of night grew pallid, and the beams Of morn descended on the ocean-streams; And still that aged man, so grand and mild, Tended me, even as some sick mother seems To hang in hope over a dying child, Till in the azure East darkness again was piled. XXXIV And then the night-wind, steaming from the shore, Sent odors dying sweet across the sea, And the swift boat the little waves which bore, Were cut by its keen keel, though slant- n gy; I cou Soon I could hear the leaves sigh, and could see The myrtle-blossoms starring the dim grove, As past the pebbly beach the boat did flee On sidelong wing into a silent cove Where ebon pines a shade under the star- light wove. CANTO FOURTH THE old man took the oars, and soon the bark Smote on the beach beside a tower of stone. It was a crumbling heap whose portal dark With blooming ivy-trails was overgrown ; Upon whose floor the spangling sands were strown, And rarest sea-shells, which the eternal flood, Slave to the mother of the months, had thrown Within the walls of that gray tower, which stood A changeling of man's art nursed amid Nature's brood. II When the old man his boat had anchored, He wound me in his arms with tender care, And very few but kindly words he said, And bore me through the tower adowu a stair, Whose smooth descent some ceaseless step to wear For many a year had fallen. We came at last To a small chamber which with mosses rare Was tapestried, where me his soft hands placed Upon a couch of grass and oak-leaves in- terlaced. m The moon was darting through the lat- tices Its yellow light, warm as the beams of day So warm that to admit the dwy breeze CANTO FOURTH 75 The old man opened them; the moonlight lay Upon a lake whose waters wove their play Even to the threshold of that lonely home; Within was seen iu the dim wavering ray The antique sculptured roof, and many a tome Whose lore had made that sage all that he had become. IV The rock-built barrier of the sea was passed And I was on the margin of a lake, A lonely lake, amid the forests vast And snowy mountains. Did my spirit wake From sleep as many-colored as the snake That girds eternity ? in life and truth Might not my heart its cravings ever slake ? Was Cythna then a dream, and all my youth, And all its hopes and fears, and all its joy and ruth ? Thus madness came again, a milder madness, Which darkened nought but time's un- quiet flow With supernatural shades of clinging sadness; That gentle Hermit, in my helpless woe, By my sick couch was busy to and fro, Like a strong spirit ministrant of good; When I was healed, he led me forth to show The wonders of his sylvan solitude, And we together sate by that isle-fretted flood. VI He knew his soothing words to weave with skill From all my madness told; like mine own heart, Of Cythna would he question me, until That thrilling name had ceased to make me start, From his familiar lips; it was not art, Of wisdom and of justice when he spoke When 'mid soft looks of pity, there would dart A glance as keen as is the lightning's stroke When it doth rive the knots of some an- cestral oak. VII Thus slowly from my brain the darkness rolled; My thoughts their due array did reas- sume Through the enchantments of that Hermit old. Then I bethought me of the glorious doom Of those who sternly struggle to relume The lamp of Hope o'er man's bewildered lot; And, sitting by the waters, in the gloom Of eve, to that friend's heart I told my thought That heart which had grown old, but had corrupted not. VIII That hoary man had spent his livelong age In converse with the dead who leave the stamp Of ever-burning thoughts on many a page, When they are gone into the senseless damp Of graves; his spirit thus became a lamp Of splendor, like to those on which it fed; Through peopled haunts, the City and the Camp, Deep thirst for knowledge had his foot- steps led, And all the ways of men among mankind he read. * IX But custom maketh blind and obdurate The loftiest hearts;, he had beheld the woe In which mankind was bound, but deemed that fate Which made them abject would pre serve them so; THE REVOLT OF ISLAM And in such faith, some steadfast joy to know, He sought this cell; but when fame went abroad That one in Argolis did undergo Torture for liberty, and that the crowd High truths from gifted lips had heard and understood, And that the multitude was gathering wide, His spirit leaped within his aged frame; In lonely peace he could no more abide, But to the land on which the victor's flame Had fed, my native land, the Hermit came ; Each heart was there a shield, and every tongue Was as a sword of truth young Laon's name Rallied their secret hopes, though tyrants sung Hymns of triumphant joy our scattered tribes among. XI He came to the lone column on the rock, And with his sweet and mighty elo- quence The hearts of those who watched it did unlock, And made them melt in tears of peni- tence. They gave him entrance free to bear me thence. Since this,' the old man said, 'seven years are spent, While slowly truth on thy benighted sense Has crept; the hope which wildered it has lent, Meanwhile, to me ths powtr of a sublime intent. XII Yes, from the records of my youthful state, And from the lore of bards and sages old, From whatsoe'er my wakened thoughts create Out of the hopes of thine aspirings bold, Have I collected language to unfold Truth to my countrymen; from shore to shore Doctrines of human power my words have told; They have been heard, and men aspire to more Than they have ever gained or ever lost of yore. XIII ' In secret chambers parents read, and weep, My writings to their babes, no longer blind ; And young men gather when their ty- rants sleep, And vows of faith each to the other bind; And marriageable maidens, who have pined With love till life seemed melting through their look, A warmer zeal, a nobler hope, now find ; And every bosom thus is rapt and shook, Like autumn's myriad leaves in one swoln mountain brook. XIV ' The tyrants of the Golden City tremble At voices which are heard about the streets; The ministers of fraud can scarce dis- semble The lies of their own heart, but when one meets Another at the shrine, he inly weets, Though he says nothing, that the truth is known; Murderers are pale upon the judgment- seats, And gold grows vile even to the wealthy crone, And laughter fills the Fane, and curses shake the Throne. XV 1 Kind thoughts, and mighty hopes, and gentle deeds Abound; for fearless love, and the pure law Of mild equality and peace, succeeds To faiths which long have held the world in awe, Bloody, and false, and cold. As whirl- pools draw CANTO FOURTH 77 All wrecks of Ocean to their chasm, the sway Of thy strong genius, Laon, which fore- saw This hope, compels all spirits to obey, Which round thy secret strength now throng in wide array. XVI ' For I have been thy passive instru- ment ' (As thus the old man spake, his counte- nance Gleamed on me like a spirit's) ' thou hast lent To me, to all, the power to advance Towards this unforeseen deliverance From our ancestral chains ay, thou didst rear That lamp of hope on high, which time nor chance Nor change may not extinguish, and my share Of good was o'er the world its gathered beams to bear. XVII ' But I, alas! am both unknown and old, And though the woof of wisdom I know well To dye in hues of language, I am cold In seeming, and the hopes which inly dwell My manners note that I did long repel ; But Laon's name to the tumultuous throng Were like the star whose beams the waves compel And tempests, and his soul - subduing tongue Were as a lance to quell the mailed crest of wrong. XVIII ' Perchance blood need not flow ; if thou at length Wouldst rise, perchance the very slaves would spare Their brethren and themselves; great is the strength Of words for lately did a maiden fair, Who from her childhood has been taught to bear The Tyrant's heaviest yoke, arise, and make Her sex the law of truth and freedom hear, And with these quiet words " for thine own sake I prithee spare me," did with ruth so take XIX ' All hearts that even the torturer, who had bound Her meek calm frame, ere it was yet impaled, Loosened her weeping then; nor could be found One human hand to harm her. Unas- sailed Therefore she walks through the great City, veiled In virtue's adamantine eloquence, 'Gainst scorn and death and pain thus trebly mailed, And blending in the smiles of that de- fence The serpent and the dove, wisdom and innocence. xx ' The wild-eyed women throng around her path; From their luxurious dungeons, from the dust Of meaner thralls, from the oppressor's wrath, Or the caresses of his sated lust, They congregate; in her they put their trust. The tyrants send their armed slaves ts quell Her power; they, even like a thunder- gust Caught by some forest, bend beneath the spell Of that young maiden's speech, and to their chiefs rebel. XXI 'Thus she doth equal laws and justice teach To woman, outraged and polluted long; Gathering the sweetest fruit in human reach For those fair hands now free, while armed wrong Trembles before her look, though it be strong; THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Thousands thus dwell beside her, virgins bright And matrons with their babes, a stately throng ! Lovers renew the vows which they did plight In early faith, and hearts long parted now unite; XXII ' And homeless orphans find a home near her, And those poor victims of the proud, no less, Fair wrecks, on whom the smiling world with stir Thrusts the redemption of its wicked- ness. In squalid huts, and in its palaces, Sits Lust alone, while o'er the land is borne Her voice, whose awful sweetness doth repress All evil; and her foes relenting turn, And cast the vote of love in hope's aban- doned urn. XXIII ' So in the populous City, a young maiden Has baffled Havoc of the prey which he Marks as his own, whene'er with chains o'erladen Men make them arms to hurl down ty- ranny, False arbiter between the bound and free; And o'er the land, in hamlets and in towns The multitudes collect tumultuously, And throng in arms; but tyranny dis- owns Their claim, and gathers strength around its trembling thrones. XXIV ' Blood soon, although unwillingly, to shed The free cannot forbear. The Queen of Slaves, The hood-winked Angel of the blind and dead, Custom, with iron mace points to the graves Where her own standard desolately waves Over the dust of Prophets and of Kings. Many yet stand in her array " she paves Her path with human hearts," and o'er it flings The wildering gloom of her immeasurable wings. XXV ' There is a plain beneath the City's wall, Bounded by misty mountains, wide and vast; Millions there lift at Freedom's thrilling call Ten thousand standards wide; they load the blast Which bears one sound of many voices past, And startles on his throne their sceptred foe; He sits amid his idle pomp aghast, And that his power hath passed away, doth know Why pause the victor swords to seal his overthrow ? XXVI ' The Tyrant's guards resistance yet main- tain, Fearless, and fierce, and hard as beasts of blood; They stand a speck amid the peopled plain; Carnage and ruin have been made their food From infancy; ill has become their good, And for its hateful sake their will has wove The chains which eat their hearts. The multitude, Surrounding them, with words of human love Seek from their own decay their stubborn minds to move. xxvn ' Over the land is felt a sudden pause, As night and day those ruthless bands around The watch of love is kept a trance which awes The thoughts of men with hope; as when the sound Of whirlwind, whose fierce blasts the waves and clouds confound, Dies suddenly, the mariner in fear Feels silence sink upon his heart thus bound CANTO FOURTH 79 The conquerors pause; and oh ! may free- men ne'er Clasp the relentless knees of Dread, the murderer ! XXVIII ' If blood be shed, 't is but a change and choice Of bonds from slavery to cowardice, A wretched fall ! Uplift thy charmed voice, Pour on those evil men the love that lies Hovering within those spirit-soothing eyes ! Arise, my friend, farewell ! ' As thus he spake, From the green earth lightly I did arise, As one out of dim dreams that doth awake, And looked upon the depth of that reposing lake. XXIX I saw my countenance reflected there; And then my youth fell on me like a wind Descending on still waters. My thin hair Was prematurely gray; my face was lined With channels, such as suffering leaves behind, Not age ; my brow was pale, but in my cheek And lips a flush of gnawing fire did find Their food and dwelling; though mine eyes might speak A subtle mind and strong within a frame thus weak. xxx And though their lustre now was spent and faded, Yet in my hollow looks and withered mien The likeness of a shape for which was braided The brightest woof of genius still was seen One who, methought, had gone from the world's scene, And left it vacant 't was her lover's face It might resemble her it once had been The mirror of her thoughts, and still the grace Which her mind's shadow cast left there u lingering trace. XXXI What then was I? She slumbered with the dead. Glory and joy and peace had come and gone. Doth the cloud perish when the beams are fled Which steeped its skirts in gold ? or, dark and lone, Doth it not through the paths of night unknown, On outspread wings of its own wind up- borne, Pour rain upon the earth ? the stars are shown, When the cold moon sharpens her silver horn Under the sea, and make the wide night not forlorn. xxxn Strengthened in heart, yet sad, that aged man I left, with interchange of looks and tears And lingering speech, and to the Camp began My way. O'er many a mountain-chain which rears Its hundred crests aloft my spirit bears My frame, o'er many a dale and many a moor; And gayly now meseems serene earth wears The blosmy spring's star-bright investi- ture, A vision which aught sad from sadness might allure. XXXIII My powers revived within me, and I went, As one whom winds waft o'er the bend- ing grass, Through many a vale of that broad con- tinent. At night when I reposed, fair dreams did pass Before my pillow; my own Cythna was, Not like a child of death, among them ever; 8o THE REVOLT OF ISLAM When I arose from rest, a woful mass That gentlest sleep seemed from my life to sever, As if the light of youth were not withdrawn forever. xxxiv Aye as I went, that maiden who had reared . The torch of Truth afar, of whose high deeds The Hermit in his pilgrimage had heard, Haunted my thoughts. Ah, Hope its sickness feeds With whatsoe'er it finds, or flowers or weeds! Could she be Cythna? Was that corpse a shade Such as self -torturing thought from mad- ness breeds? Why was this hope not torture? Yet it made A light around my steps which would not ever fade. CANTO FIFTH OVER the utmost hill at length I sped, A snowy steep: the moon was hanging low Over the Asian mountains, and, out- spread The plain, the City, and the Camp be- low, Skirted the midnight Ocean's glimmer- ing flow; The City's moon-lit spires and myriad lamps Like stars in a sublunar sky did glow, And fires blazed far amid the scattered camps, Like springs of flame which burst where'er swift Earthquake stamps. All slept but those in watchful arms who stood, And those who sate tending the beacon's light; And the few sounds from that vast mul- titude Made silence more profound. Oh, what a might Of human thought was cradled in that night! How many hearts impenetrably veiled Beat underneath its shade! what secret fight Evil and Good, in woven passions mailed, Waged through that silent throng a war that never failed! Ill And now the Power of Good held victory. So, through the labyrinth of many a tent, Among the silent millions who did lie In innocent sleep, exultingly I went. The moon had left Heaven desert now, but lent From eastern morn the first faint lustre showed An armed youth; over his spear he bent His downward face: 'A friend!' I cried aloud, And quickly common hopes made freemen understood. IV I sate beside him while the morning beam Crept slowly over Heaven, and talked with him Of those immortal hopes, a glorious theme, Which led us forth, until the stars grew dim; And all the while methonght his voice did swim, As if it drowned in remembrance were Of thoughts which make the moist eyes overbrim ; At last, when daylight 'gan to fill the air, He looked on me, and cried in wonder, 'Thou art here!' Then, suddenly, I knew it was the youth In whom its earliest hopes my spirit found ; But envious tongues had stained his spotless truth, And thoughtless pride his love in silence bound, And shame and sorrow mine in toils had wound, Whilst he was innocent, and I deluded; The truth now came upon me on the ground CANTO FIFTH 81 Tears of repenting joy, which fast in- truded, Fell fast and o'er its peace our mingling spirits brooded. VI Thus, while with rapid lips and earnest eyes We talked, a sound of sweeping conflict, spread As from the earth, did suddenly arise. From every tent, roused by that clamor dread, Our bands outsprung and seized their arms; we sped Towards the sound; our tribes were gathering far. Those sanguine slaves, amid ten thousand dead Stabbed in their sleep, trampled in treacherous war The gentle hearts whose power their lives had sought to spare. VII Like rabid snakes that sting some gentle child Who brings them food when winter false and fair Allures them forth with its cold smiles, so wild They rage among the camp; they over- bear The patriot hosts confusion, then de- spair, Descends like night when 'Laon!' one did cry; Like a bright ghost from Heaven that shout did scare The slaves, and, widening through the vaulted sky, Seemed sent from Earth to Heaven in sign of victory. VIII Li sudden panic those false murderers fled, Like insect tribes before the northern gale; But swifter still our hosts encompassed Their shattered ranks, and in a craggy vale, Where even their fierce despair might nought avail, Hemmed them around! and then re- venge and fear Made the high virtue of the patriots fail; One pointed on his foe the mortal spear I rushed before its point, and cried ' For- bear, forbear! ' IX The spear transfixed my arm that was uplifted In swift expostulation, and the blood Gushed round its point; I smiled, and Oh! thou gifted With eloquence which shall not be with- stood, Flow thus!' I cried in joy, 'thou vital flood, Until my heart be dry, ere thus the cause For which thou wert aught worthy be subdued! Ah, ye are pale ye weep your pas- sions pause 'Tis well! ye feel the truth of love's be- nignant laws. 'Soldiers, our brethren and our friends are slain; Ye murdered them, I think, as they did sleep! Alas, what have ye done ? The slightest pain Which ye might suffer, there were eyes to weep, But ye have quenched them there were smiles to steep Your hearts in balm, but they are lost in woe; And those whom love did set his watch to keep Around your tents truth's freedom to bestow, Ye stabbed as they did sleep but they forgive ye now. ' Oh, wherefore should ill ever flow from ill, And pain still keener pain forever breed ? We all are brethren even the slaves who kill For hire are men; and to avenge misdeed On the misdoer doth but Misery feed With her own broken heart! O Earth, O Heaven! 82 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM And thoii, dread Nature, which to every deed And all that lives, or is, to be hath given, Even as to thee have these done ill, and are forgiven. XII ' Join then your hands and hearts, and let the past Be as a grave which gives not up its dead To evil thoughts.' A film then over- cast My sense with dimness, for the wound, which bled Freshly, swift shadows o'er mine eyes had shed. When I awoke, I lay 'mid friends and foes, And earnest countenances on me shed The light of questioning looks, whilst oue did close My wound with balmiest herbs, and soothed me to repose ; XIII And one, whose spear had pierced me, leaned beside With quivering lips and humid eyes; and all Seemed like some brothers on a journey wide Gone forth, whom now strange meeting did befall In a strange land round one whom they might call Their friend, their chief, their father, for assay Of peril, which had saved them from the thrall Of death, now suffering. Thus the vast array Of those fraternal bands were reconciled that day. XIV Lifting the thunder of their acclamation, Towards the City then the multitude, And I among them, went in joy a nation Made free by love; a mighty brother- hood Linked by a jealous interchange of good ; A glorious pageant, more magnificent Than kingly slaves arrayed in gold and blood, When they return from carnage, and are sent In triumph bright beneath the populous battlement. XV Afar, the City walls were thronged on high, And myriads on each giddy turret clung, And to each spire far lessening in the sky Bright pennons on the idle winds were hung; As we approached, a shout of joyance sprung At once from all the crowd, as if the vast And peopled Earth its boundless skies among The sudden clamor of delight had. cast, When from before its face some general wreck had passed. XVI Our armies through the City's hundred gates Were poured, like brooks which to the rocky lair Of some deep lake, whose silence them awaits, Throng from the mountains when the storms are there; And, as we passed through the calm sunny air, A thousand flower-inwoven crowns were shed, The token-flowers of truth and freedom fair, And fairest hands bound them on many a head, Those angels of love's heaven that over all was spread. XVII I trod as one tranced in some rapturous vision ; Those bloody bands so lately reconciled, Were ever, as they went, by the contri- tion Of anger turned to love, from ill be- guiled, And every one on them more gently smiled Because they had done evil; the sweet awe CANTO FIFTH Of such mild looks made their own hearts grow mild, And did with soft attraction ever draw Their spirits to the love of freedom's equal law. XVIII And they, and all, in one loud symphony My name with Liberty commingling lifted ' The friend and the preserver of the free! The parent of this joy!' and fair eyes, gifted With feelings caught from one who had uplifted The light of a great spirit, round me shone; And all the shapes of this grand scenery shifted Like restless clouds before the steadfast sun. Where was that Maid ? I asked, but it was known of none. XIX Laone was the name her love had chosen, For she was nameless, and her birth none knew. Where was Laone now ? The words were frozen Within my lips with fear; but to sub- due Such dreadful hope to my great task was due, And when at length one brought reply that she To-morrow would appear, I then with- drew To judge what need for that great throng might be, For now the stars came thick over the twi- light sea. XX Yet need was none for rest or food to care, Even though that multitude was passing great, Since each one for the other did prepare All kindly succor. Therefore to the gate Of the Imperial House, now desolate, I passed, and there was found aghast, alone, The fallen Tyrant! silently he sate Upon the footstool of his golden throne, Which, starred with sunny gems, iu its owu lustre shone. XXI Alone, but for one child who led before him A graceful dance the only living thing, Of all the crowd, which thither to adore him Flocked yesterday, who solace sought to bring In his abandonment; she knew the King Had praised her dance of yore, and now she wove Its circles, aye weeping and murmur- ing. 'Mid her sad task of unregarded love, That to no smiles it might his speechless sadness move. xxn She fled to him, and wildly clasped his feet When human steps were heard; he moved nor spoke, Nor changed his hue, nor raised his looks to meet The gaze of strangers. Our loud en- trance woke The echoes of the hall, which circling broke The calm of its recesses; like a tomb Its sculptured walls vacantly to the stroke Of footfalls answered, and the twilight's gloom Lay like a enamel's mist within the radiant dome. XXIII The little child stood up when we came nigh; Her lips and cheeks seemed very pale and wan, But on her forehead and within her eye Lay beauty which makes hearts that feed thereon Sick with excess of sweetness; on the throne She leaned; the King, with gathered brow and lips Wreathed by long scorn, did inly sneel and frown, THE REVOLT OF ISLAM With hue like that wheii some great painter dips His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse. XXIV She stood beside him like a rainbow braided Within some storm, when scarce its shadows vast From the blue paths of the swift sun have faded ; A sweet and solemn smile, like Cythna's, cast One moment's light, which made my heart beat fast, O'er that child's parted lips a gleam of bliss, A shade of vanished days; as the tears passed Which wrapped it, even as with a father's kiss I pressed those softest eyes in trembling tenderness. XXV The sceptred wretch then from that soli- tude I drew, and, of his change compassion- ate, With words of sadness soothed his rugged mood. But he, while pride and fear held deep debate, ' With sullen guile of ill-dissembled hate Glared on me as a toothless snake might glare; Pity, not scorn, I felt, though desolate The desolator now, and unaware The curses which he mocked had caught him by the hair. XXVI I led him forth from that which now might seem A gorgeous grave; through portals sculp- tured deep With imagery beautiful as dream We went, and left the shades which tend on sleep Over its unregarded gold to keep Their silent watch. The child trod faintingly, And as she went, the tears which she did weep Glanced in the star-light ; wildered seemed she, And, when I spake, for sobs she could not answer me. XXVII At last the Tyrant cried, 'She hungers, slave! Stab her, or give her bread ! ' It was a tone Such as sick fancies in a new-made grave Might hear. I trembled, for the truth was known, He with this child had thus been left alone, And neither had gone forth for food, but he In mingled pride and awe cowered near his throne, And she, a nursling of captivity, Knew nought beyond those walls, nor what such change might be. XXVIII And he was troubled at a charm with- drawn Thus suddenly that sceptres ruled no more, That even from gold the dreadful strength was gone Which once made all things subject to its power; Such wonder seized him as if hour by hour The past had come again; and the swift fall Of one so great and terrible of yore To desolateness, in the hearts of all Like wonder stirred who saw such awful change befall. XXIX A mighty crowd, such as the wide land pours Once in a thousand years, now gathered round The fallen Tyrant; like the rush of showers Of hail in spring, pattering along the ground, Their many footsteps fell else came no sound From the wide multitude; that lonely man Then knew the burden of his change, and found, CANTO FIFTH Concealing in the dust his visage wan, Refuge from the keen looks which through his bosom ran. XXX And he was faint withal. I sate beside him Upon the earth, and took that child so fair From his weak arms, that ill might none betide him Or her; when food was brought to them, her share To his averted lips the child did bear, But, when she saw he had enough, she ate, And wept the while; the lonely man's de- spair Hunger then overcame, and, of his state Forgetful, on the dust as in a trance he sate. XXXI Slowly the silence of the multitudes Passed, as when far is heard in some lone dell The gathering of a wind among the woods: ' And he is fallen! ' they cry, ' he who did dwell Like famine or the plague, or aught more fell, Among our homes, is fallen! the mur- derer Who slaked his thirsting soul, as from a well Of blood and tears, with ruin! he is here! Sunk in a gulf of scorn from which none may him rear! ' xxxir Then was heard ' He who judged, let him be brought To judgment! blood for blood cries from the soil On which his crimes have deep pollution wrought! Shall Othman only unavenged despoil? Shall they, who by the stress of grinding toil Wrest from the unwilling earth his lux- uries, Perish for crime, while his foul blood may boil Or creep within his veins at will? Arise! And to high Justice make her chosen sacri- fice!' XXXIII ' What do ye seek ? what fear ye ? ' then I cried, Suddenly starting forth, ' that ye should shed The blood of Othman? if your hearts are tried In the true love of freedom, cease to dread This one poor lonely man ; beneath Heaven spread In purest light above us all, through Earth Maternal Earth, who doth her sweet smiles shed For all let him go free, until the worth Of human nature win from these a second birth. XXXIV ' What call ye justice ? Is there one who ne'er In secret thought has wished another's ill? Are ye all pure? Let those stand forth who hear And tremble not. Shall they insult and kill, If such they be? their mild eyes can they fill With the false anger of the hypocrite? Alas, such were not pure ! The chastened will Of virtue sees that justice is the light Of love, and not revenge and terror and despite.' XXXV The murmur of the people, slowly dy- ing. Paused as I spake; then those who near me were Cast gentle looks where the lone man was lying Shrouding his head, which now that in- fant fair Clasped on her lap in silence; through the air Sobs were then heard, and many kissed my feet In pity's madness, and to the despair Of him whom late they cursed a solace sweet His very victims brought soft looks and speeches meet. 86 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM XXXVI Then to a home for his repose assigned, Accompanied by the still throng, he went In silence, where to soothe his rankling mind Some likeness of his ancient state was lent; And if his heart could have been inno- cent As those who pardoned him, he might have ended His days in peace; but his straight lips were bent, Men said, into a smile which guile por- tended, A sight with which that child, like hope with fear, was blended. XXXVII 'T was midnight now, the eve of that great day Whereon the many nations, at whose call The chains of earth like mist melted away, Decreed to hold a sacred Festival, A rite to attest the equality of all Who live. So to their homes, to dream or wake, All went. The sleepless silence did re- call Laone to my thoughts, with hopes that make The flood recede from which their thirst they seek to slake. XXXVIII The dawn flowed forth, and from its purple fountains I drank those hopes which make the spirit quail, As to the plain between the misty moun- tains And the great City, with a countenance pale, I went. It was a sight which might avail To make men weep exulting tears, for whom Now first from human power the rev- erend veil Was torn, to see Earth from her general womb Pour forth her swarming sons to a fraternal doom: xxxix To see, far glancing in the misty morn- ing. The signs of that innumerable host; To hear one sound of many made, the warning Of Earth to Heaven from its free chil- dren tossed; While the eternal hills, and the sea lost In wavering light, and, starring the blue sky, The City's myriad spires of gold, almost With human joy made mute society Its witnesses with men who must hereafter be: XL To see, like some vast island from the Ocean, The Altar of the Federation rear Its pile i' the midst a work which the devotion Of millions in one night created there, Sudden as when the moonrise makes ap- pear Strange clouds in the east a marble pyramid Distinct with steps ; that mighty shape did wear The light of genius; its still shadow hid Far ships; to know its height the morning mists forbid ! XLI To hear the restless multitudes forever Around the base of that great Altar flow, As on some mountain islet burst and shiver Atlantic waves; and, solemnly and slow, As the wind bore that tumult to and fro, To feel the dreamlike music, which did swim Like beams through floating clouds on waves below, Falling in pauses, from that Altar dim, As silver-sounding tongues breathed an aerial hymn. XLII To hear, to see, to live, was on that morn Lethean joy! so that all those assembled Cast off their memories of the past out- worn; CANTO FIFTH Two only bosoms with their own life trembled, And mine was one, and we had both dissembled; So with a beating heart I went, and one, Who having much, covets yet more, re- sembled, A lost and dear possession, which not won, He walks in lonely gloom beneath the noon- day sun. XLIII To the great Pyramid I came; its stair With female choirs was thronged, the loveliest Among the free, grouped with its sculp- tures rare. As I approached, the morning's golden mist, Which now the wonder-stricken breezes kissed With their cold lips, fled, and the sum- mit shone Like Athos seen from Samothracia, dressed In earliest light, by vintagers; and One Sate there, a female Shape upon an ivory throne : XLIV A Form most like the imagined habitant Of silver exhalations sprung from dawn, By winds which feed on sunrise woven, to enchant The faiths of men. All mortal eyes were drawn As famished mariners through strange seas gone Gaze on a burning watch-tower by the light Of those divinest lineaments. Alone, With thoughts which none could share, from that fair sight I turned in sickness, for a veil shrouded her countenance bright. And neither did I hear the acclamations, Which from brief silence bursting filled the air With her strange name and mine, from all the nations Which we, they said, in strength had gathered there From the sleep of bondage; nor the vision fair Of that bright pageantry beheld; but blind And silent, as a breathing corpse, did fare, Leaning upon my friend, till like a wind To fevered cheeks a voice flowed o'er my troubled mind. XL VI Like music of some minstrel heavenly gifted, To one whom fiends enthrall, this voice to me; Scarce did I wish her veil to be uplifted, I was so calm and joyous! I could see The platform where we stood, the statues three Which kept their marble watch on that high shrine, The multitudes, the mountains, and the sea, As, when eclipse hath passed, things sud- den shine To men's astonished eyes most clear and crystalline. XLVII At first Laone spoke most tremulously; But soon her voice the calmness which it shed Gathered, and ' Thou art whom I sought to see, And thou art our first votary here,' she said; ' I had a dear friend once, but he is dead! And, of all those on the wide earth who breathe, Thou dost resemble him alone. I spread This veil between us two that thou be- neath Shouldst image one who may have been long lost in death. XL VIII ' For this wilt thou not henceforth pardon me? Ys, but those joys which silence well requite Forbid reply. Why men have chosen me To be the Priestess of this holiest rite I scarcely know, but that the floods of light Which flow over the world have borne me hither 88 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM To meet thee, long most dear. And now unite Thine hand with mine, and may all com- fort wither From both the hearts whose pulse in joy now beat together, XLIX ' If our own will as others' law we bind, If the foul worship trampled here we fear, If as ourselves we cease to love our kind ! ' She paused, and pointed upwards sculptured there Three shapes around her ivory throne appear. One was a Giant, like a child asleep On a loose rock, whose grasp crushed, as it were In dream, sceptres and crowns; and one did keep Its watchful eyes in doubt whether to smile or weep A Woman sitting on the sculptured disk Of the broad earth, and feeding from one breast A human babe and a young basilisk; Her looks were sweet as Heaven's when loveliest In Autumn eves. The third Image was dressed In white wings swift as clouds in winter skies; Beneath his feet, 'inongst ghastliest forms, repressed Lay Faith, an obscene worm, who sought to rise, tVhile calmly on the Sun he turned his dia- mond eyes. LI Beside that Image then I sate, while she Stood 'mid the throngs which ever ebbed and flowed, Like light amid the shadows of the sea Cast from one cloudless star, and on the crowd That ouch which none who feels forgets bestowed; And whilst the sun returned the steadfast gaze Of the great Image, as o'er Heaven it glode, That rite had place; it ceased when sun- set's blaze Burned o'er the isles; all stood in joy and deep amaze When in the silence of all spirits there Laone's voice was felt, and through the air Her thrilling gestures spoke, most elo- quently fair. ' Calm art thou as yon sunset! swift and strong As new-fledged Eagles beautiful and young, That float among the blinding beams of morning; And underneath thy feet writhe Faith and Folly, Custom and Hell and mortal Melancholy. Hark! the Earth starts to hear the mighty warning Of thy voice sublime and holy; Its free spirits here assembled See thee, feel thee, know thee now; To thy voice their hearts have trembled, Like ten thousand clouds which flow With one wide wind as it flies! Wisdom! thy irresistible children rise To hail thee; and the elements they chain, And their own will, to swell the glory of thy train! ' O Spirit vast and deep as Night and Heaven, Mother and soul of all to which is given The light of life, the loveliness of being! Lo! thon dost reascend the human heart, Thy throne of power, almighty as thou wert In dreams of Poets old grown pale by see- ing The shade of thee; now millions start To feel thy lightnings through them burning! Nature, or God, or Love, or Pleasure, Or Sympathy, the sad tears turning To mutual smiles, a drainless treasure, Descends amidst us! Scorn and Hate, Revenge and Selfishness, are desolate! A hundred nations swear that there shall be Pity and Peace and Love among the good and free! CANTO FIFTH 1 Eldest of things, divine Equality ! Wisdom and Love are but the slaves of thee, The angels of thy sway, who pour around thee Treasures from all the cells of human thought And from the Stars and from the Ocean brought, And the last living heart whose beatings bound thee. The powerful and the wise had sought Thy coming; thou, in light descending O'er the wide land which is thine own, Like the spring whose breath is blending All blasts of fragrance into one, Coraest upon the paths of men! Earth bares her general bosom to thy ken, And all her children here in glory meet To feed upon thy smiles, aud clasp thy sacred feet. 'My brethren, we are free! the plains and mountains, The gray sea-shore, the forests and the fountains, Are haunts of happiest dwellers; man and woman, Their common bondage burst, may freely borrow From lawless love a solace for their sorrow; For oft we still must weep, since we are human. A stormy night's serenest morrow, Whose showers are pity's gentle tears, Whose clouds are smiles of those that die Like infants without hopes or fears, And whose beams are joys that lie In blended hearts, now holds dominion, The dawn of mind, which, upwards on a pinion Borne, swift as sunrise, far illumines space, And clasps this barren world in its own bright embrace ! ' My brethren, we are free ! the fruits are glowing Beneath the stars, and the night-winds are flowing O'er the ripe corn, the birds and beasts are dreaming. Never again may blood of bird or beast Stain with its venomous stream a human feast, To the pure skies in accusation steaming ! Avenging poisons shall have ceased To feed disease and fear and madness; The dwellers of the earth and air Shall throng around our steps in gladness, Seeking their food or refuge there. Our toil from thought all glorious forms shall cull, To make this earth, our home, more beau- tiful, And Science, and her sister Poesy, Shall clothe in light the fields aud cities of the free ! ' Victory, Victory to the prostrate nations ! Bear witness, Night, and ye mute Constel- lations Who gaze on us from your crystalline cars ! Thoughts have gone forth whose powers can sleep no more ! Victory ! Victory ! Earth's remotest shore, Regions which groan beneath the Antarctic stars, The green lands cradled in the roar Of western waves, and wildernesses Peopled and vast which skirt the oceans, Where Morning dyes her golden tresses, Shall soon partake our high emotions. Kings shall turn pale ! Almighty Fear, The Fiend-God, when our charmed name he hear, Shall fade like shadow from his thousand fanes, While Truth with Joy enthroned o'er his lost empire reigns ! ' LII Ere she had ceased, the mists of night entwining Their dim woof floated o'er the infinite throng; She, like a spirit through the darkness shining, In tones whose sweetness silence did pro- long As if to lingering winds they did belong, Poured forth her inmost soul: a passion- ate speech With wild and thrilling pauses woven among, po THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Which whoso heard was mute, for it could teach To rapture like her own all listening hearts to reach. LIII Her voice was as a mountain stream which sweeps The withered leaves of autumn to tbe lake, And in some deep and narrow bay then sleeps In the shadow of the shores; as dead leaves wake, Under the wave, in flowers and herbs which make Those green depths beautiful when skies are blue, The multitude so moveless did par- take Such living change, and kindling mur- murs flew As o'er that speechless calm delight and wonder grew. LIV Over the plain the throngs were scattered then In groups around the fires, which from the sea Even to the gorge of the first mountain glen Blazed wide and far; the banquet of the free Wa apread beneath many a dark cj'press tree, Beneath whose spires, which swayed in the red flame, Reclining as they ate, of Liberty And Hope and Justice and Laone's name Earth's children did a woof of happy con- verse frame. LV Their feast was such as Earth, the gen- eral mother, Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smiles In the embrace of Autumn; to each other As wnn some parent fondly reconciles Her warring children she their wrath beguiles With her own sustenance, they relenting weep Such was this Festival, which from their isles And continents and winds and oceans deep All shapes might throng to share that fly or walk or creep; LVI Might share in peace and innocence, for gore Or poison none this festal did pollute, But, piled on high, an overflowing store Of pomegranates and citrons, fairest fruit, Melons, and dates, and figs, and many a root Sweet and sustaining, and bright grapes ere yet Accursed fire their mild juice could trans- mute Into a mortal bane, and brown corn set In baskets; with pure streams their thirst- ing lips they wet. LVII Laone had descended from the shrine, And every deepest look and holiest mind Fed on her form, though now those tones divine Were silent as she passed; she did un- wind Her veil, as with the crowds of her own kind She mixed; some impulse made my heart refrain From seeking her that night, so I re- clined Amidst a group, where on the utmost plain A festal watch-fire burned beside the dusky main. LVIII And joyous was our feast; pathetic talk, And wit, and harmony of choral strains, While far Orion o'er the waves did walk That flow among the isles, held us in chains Of aweet captivity which none disdains Who feels; but, when his zone grew dim in mist Which clothes the Ocean's bosom, o'er the plains , CANTO SIXTH The multitudes went homeward to their rest, Which that delightful day with its own shadow blest. CANTO SIXTH BESIDE the dimness of the glimmering sea, Weaving swift language from impas- sioned themes, With that dear friend I lingered, who to me So late had been restored, beneath the gleams Of the silver stars; and ever in soft dreams Of future love and peace sweet converse lapped Our willing fancies, till the pallid beams Of the last watch-fire fell, and darkness wrapped The waves, and each bright chain of float- ing fire was snapped, And till we came even to the City's wall And the great gate. Then, none knew whence or why, Disquiet on the multitudes did fall ; And first, one pale and breathless passed us by, And stared and spoke not; then with piercing cry A troop of wild-eyed women by the shrieks Of their own terror driven, tumultuously Hither and thither hurrying with pale cheeks Each one from fear unknown a sudden refuge seeks ill Then, rallying cries of treason and of danger Resounded, and 'They come ! to arms ! to arms! The Tyrant is amongst us, and the stranger Comes to enslave us in his name ! to arms ! ' lu vain: for Panic, the pale fiend who charms Strength to forswear her right, those millions swept Like waves before the tempest. These alarms Came to me, as to know their cause I leapt On the gate's turret, and in rage and grief and scorn I wept ! IV For to the north I saw the town on fire, And its red light made morning pallid now, Which burst over wide Asia; louder,, higher, The yells of victory and the screams of woe I heard approach, and saw the throng below Stream through the gates like foam- wrought waterfalls Fed from a thousand storms the fear- ful glow Of bombs flares overhead at intervals The red artillery's bolt mangling among them falls. And now the horsemen come and all was done Swifter than I have spoken I beheld Their red swords flash in the unrisen sun. I rushed among the rout to have repelled That miserable flight one moment quelled By voice, and looks, and eloquent despair, As if reproach from their own hearts withheld Their steps, they stood; but soon camfr pouring there New multitudes, and did those rallied bands o'erbear. VI I strove, as drifted on some cataract By irresistible streams some wretch might strive Who hears its fatal roar; the files com- pact Whelmed me, and from the gate availed to drive With quickening impulse, as each bolt did rive Their ranks with bloodier chasm; into the plain THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Disgorged at length the dead and the alive In one dread mass were parted, and the stain Of blood from mortal steel fell o'er the fields like rain. VII For now the despot's bloodhounds with their prey, Unarmed and unaware, were gorging deep Their gluttony of death ; the loose ar- ray Of horsemen o'er the wide fields murder- ing sweep, And with loud laughter for their Tyrant reap A harvest sown with other hopes; the while, Far overhead, ships from Propontis keep A killing rain of fire. When the waves smile As sudden earthquakes light many a vol- cano isle, VIII Thus sudden, unexpected feast was spread For the carrion fowls of Heaven. I saw the sight I moved I lived as o'er the heaps of dead, Whose stony eyes glared in the morning light, I trod; to me there came no thought of flight, But with loud cries of scorn, which whoso heard That dreaded death felt in his veins the might Of virtuous shame return, the crowd I stirred, And desperation's hope in many hearts re- curred. IX A band of brothers gathering round me made, Although unarmed, a steadfast front, and, still Retreating, with stern looks beneath the shade Of gathered eyebrows, did the victors fill With doubt even in success; deliberate will Inspired our growing troop; not over- thrown, It gained the shelter of a grassy hill, And ever still our comrades were hewn down, And their defenceless limbs beneath our footsteps strown. Immovably we stood ; in joy I found Beside me then, firm as a giant pine Among the mountain vapors driven around, The old man whom I loved; his eyes divine With a mild look of courage answered mine, And my young friend was near, and ardently His hand grasped mine a moment ; now the line Of war extended, to our rallying cry As myriads flocked in love and brotherhood to die. XI For ever while the sun was climbing Heaven The horseman hewed our unarmed myriads down Safely, though when by thirst of carnage driven Too near, those slaves were swiftly over- thrown By hundreds leaping on them; flesh and bone Soon made our ghastly ramparts; then the shaft Of the artillery from the sea was thrown More fast and fiery, and the conquerors laughed In pride to hear the wind our screams of torment waft. XII For on one side alone the hill gave shel- ter, So vast that phalanx of unconquered men, And there the living in the blood did welter Of the dead and dying, which in that greeu glen, CANTO SIXTH 93 Like stifled torrents, made a plashy fen Under the feet. Thus was the butchery waged While the sun clomb Heaven's eastern steep; but, when It 'gan to sink, a fiercer combat raged, For in more doubtful strife the armies were engaged. XIII Within a cave upon the hill were found A bundle of rude pikes, the instrument Of those who war but on their native ground For natural rights; a shout of joyance, sent Even from our hearts, the wide air pierced and rent, As those few arms the bravest and the best Seized, and each sixth, thus armed, did now present A line which covered and sustained the rest, A confident phalanx which the foes on every side invest. XIV That onset turned the foes to flight al- most; But soon they saw their present strength, and knew That coming night would to our resolute host Bring victory; so, dismounting, close they drew Their glittering files, and then the com- bat grew Unequal but most horrible; and ever Our myriads, whom the swift bolt over- threw, Or the red sword, failed like a mountain river Which rushes forth in foam to sink in sands forever. XV Sorrow and shame, to see with their own kind Our human brethren mix, like beasts of blood, To mutual ruin armed by one behind Who sits and scoffs! that friend so mild and good, Who like its shadow near my youth had stood, Was stabbed! my old preserver's hoary hair, With the flesh clinging to its roots, was strewed Under my feet! I lost all sense or care, And like the rest I grew desperate and unaware. XVI The battle became ghastlier; in the midst I paused, and saw how ugly and how fell, O Hate! thou art, even when thy life thou shedd'st For love. The ground in many a little dell Was broken, up and down whose steeps befell Alternate victory and defeat; and there The combatants with rage most horrible Strove, and their eyes started with crack- ing stare, And impotent their tongues they lolled into the air, XVII Flaccid and foamy, like a mad dog's hanging. Want, and Moon-madness, and the pest's swift Bane, When its shafts smite while yet its bow is twanging Have each their mark and sign, some ghastly stain; And this was thine, War ! of hate and pain TBou loathed slave! I saw all shapes of death, And ministered to many, o'er the plain While carnage in the sunbeam's warmth did seethe, Till Twilight o'er the east wove her scren- est wreath. XVIII The few who yet survived, resolute and firm, Around me fought. At the decline of day, Winding above the mountain's snowy terra, New banners shone; they quivered iir the ray 94 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Of the sun's unseen orb; ere night the array Of fresh troops hemmed us in of those brave bands I soon survived alone and now I lay Vanquished and faint, the grasp of bloody hands 1 felt, and saw on high the glare of falling brands, XIX When on my foes a sudden terror came, And they fled, scattering. Lo ! with reinless speed A black Tartarian horse of giant frame, Comes trampling over the dead; the living bleed Beneath the hoofs of that tremendous steed, On which, like to an Angel, robed in white, Sate one waving a sword; the hosts re- cede And fly, as through their ranks, with awful might Sweeps in the shadow of eve that Phantom swift and bright; XX And its path made a solitude. I rose And marked its coming; it relaxed its course As it approached me, and the wind that flows Through night bore accents to mine ear whose force Might create smiles in death. The Tar- tar horse Paused, and I saw the shape its might which swayed, And heard her musical pants, like the sweet source Of waters in the desert, as she said, 'Mount with me, Laon, now' I rapidly obeyed. XXI Then, ' Away ! away ! ' she cried, and stretched her sword As 't were a scourge over the courser's head, And lightly shook the reins. We spake no word, But like the vapor of the tempest fled Over the plain; her dark hair was dispread Like the pine's locks upon the lingering blast; Over mine eyes its shadowy strings it spread Fitfully, and the hills and streams fled fast, As o'er their glimmering forms the steed'e broad shadow passed. XXII And his hoofs ground the rocks to fire and dust, His strong sides made the torrents rise in spray, And turbulence, as of a whirlwind's gust, Surrounded us; and still away, away, Through the desert night we sped, while she alway Gazed on a mountain which we neared, whose crest, Crowned with a marble ruin, in the ray Of the obscure stars gleamed ; its rugged breast The steed strained up, and then his impulse did arrest. XXIII A rocky hill which overhung the Ocean: From that lone ruin, when the steed that panted Paused, might be heard the murmur of the motion Of waters, as in spots forever haunted By the choicest winds of Heaven which are enchanted To music by the wand of Solitude, That wizard wild, and the far tents implanted Upon the plain, be seen by those who stood Thence marking the dark shore of Ocean's curved flood. XXIV One moment these were heard and seep another Passed; and the two who stood beneath that night Each only heard or saw or felt the other. As from the lofty steed she did alight, Cythna (for, from the eye? whose deepest light CANTO SIXTH 95 Of love and sadness made my lips feel pale With influence strange of niournfullest delight, My own sweet Cythna looked) with joy did quail, And felt her strength in tears of human weakness fail. XXV And for a space in my embrace she rested, Her head on my unquiet heart reposing, While my faint arms her languid frame invested; At length she looked on me, and, half unclosing Her tremulous lips, said, 'Friend, thy bands were losing The battle, as I stood before the King In bonds. I burst them then, and, swiftly choosing The time, did seize a Tartar's sword, and spring Upon his horse, and swift as on the whirl- wind's wing XXVI ' Have thou and I been borne beyond pur- suer, And we are here.' Then, turning to the steed, She pressed the white moon on his front with pure And rose-like lips, and many a fragrant weed From the green ruin plucked that he might feed; But I to a stone seat that Maiden led, And, kissing her fair eyes, said, ' Thou hast need Of rest,' and I heaped up the courser's bed In a green mossy nook, with mountain flowers dispread. XXVII Within that ruin, where a shattered portal Looks to the eastern stars abandoned now By man to be the home of things im- mortal, Memories, like awful ghosts which come and go, And must inherit all he builds below When he is gone a hall stood; o'er whose roof Fair clinging weeds with ivy pale did grow, Clasping its gray rents with a verdurous woof, A hanging dome of leaves, a canopy moon- proof. XXVIII The autumnal winds, as if spell-bound, had made A natural couch of leaves in that recess, Which seasons none disturbed; but, in the shade Of flowering parasites, did Spring love to dress With their sweet blooms the wintry lone- liness Of those dead leaves, shedding their stars whene'er The wandering wind her nurslings might caress ; Whose intertwining fingers ever there Made music wild and soft that filled the listening air. XXIX We know not where we go, or what sweet dream May pilot us through caverns strange and fair Of far and pathless passion, while the stream Of life our bark doth on its whirlpools bear, Spreading swift wings as sails to the dim air; Nor should we seek to know, so the de- votion Of love and gentle thoughts be heard still there Louder and louder from the utmost Ocean Of universal life, attuning its commotion. xxx To the pure all things are pure! Oblivion wrapped Our spirits, and the fearful overthrow Of public hope was from our being snapped, Though linked years had bound it there; for now 9 6 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM A power, a thirst, a knowledge, which belo^r All thoughts, like light beyond the at- mosphere Clothing its clouds with grace, doth ever flow, Came on us, as we sate in silence there, Beneath the golden stars of the clear azure air; XXXI In silence which doth follow talk that causes The baffled heart to speak with sighs and tears, When wildering passion swalloweth up the pauses Of inexpressive speech ; the youthful years Which we together passed, their hopes and fears, The blood itself which ran within our frames, That likeness of the features which en- dears The thoughts expressed by them, our very names, And all the winged hours which speechless memory claims, XXXII Had found a voice; and ere that voice did pass, The night grew damp and dim, and, through a rent Of the ruin where we sate, from the morass A wandering Meteor by some wild wind sent Hung high in the green dome, to which it lent A faint and pallid lustre; while the song Of blasts, in which its blue hair quiver- ing bent, Strewed strangest sounds the moving leaves among; A wondrous light, the sound as of a spirit's tongue. XXXIII The Meteor showed the leaves on which we sate, And Cythna's glowing arms, and the thick ties Of her soft hair which bent with gath- ered weight My neck near hers; her dark and deep- ening eyes, Which, as twin phantoms of one star that lies O'er a dim well move though the star reposes, Swam in our mute and liquid ecstasies; Her marble brow, and eager lips, like roses, With their own fragrance pale, which Spring but half uncloses. XXXIV The Meteor to its far morass returned. The beating of our veins one interval Made still; and then I felt the blood that burned Within her frame mingle with mine, and fall Around my heart like fire; and over all A mist was spread, the sickness of a deep And speechless swoon of joy, as might befall Two disunited spirits when they leap In union from this earth's obscure and fading sleep. xxxv Was it one moment that confounded thus All thought, all sense, all feeling, into one Unutterable power, which shielded us Even from our own cold looks, when we had gone Into a wide and wild oblivion Of tumult and of tenderness ? or now Had ages, such as make the moon and sun, The seasons, and mankind their changes know, Left fear and time unfelt by us alone be- low ? XXXVI I know not. What are kisses whose fire clasps The failing heart in languish ment, or limb Twined within limb ? or the quick dying gasps CANTO SIXTH 97 Of the life meeting, when the faint eyes swim Through tears of a wide mist boundless and dim, In one caress ? What is the strong con- trol Which leads the heart that dizzy steep to climb Where far over the world those vapors roll Which blend two restless frames in one re- posing soul ? XXXVII It is the shadow which doth float unseen, But not unfelt, o'er blind mortality, Whose divine darkness fled not from that green And lone recess, where lapped in peace did lie Our linked frames, till, from the chan- ging sky That night and still another day had fled; And then I saw and felt. The moon was high, And clouds, as of a coming storm, were spread Under its orb, loud winds were gather- ing overhead. XXXVIII Cythna's sweet lips seemed lurid in the moon, Her fairest limbs with the night wind were chill, And her dark tresses were all loosely strewn O'er her pale bosom ; all within was still, And the sweet peace of joy did almost fill The depth of her unfathomable look ; And we sate calmly, though that rocky hill The waves contending in its caverns strook, For they foreknew the storm, and the gray ruin shook. XXXIX There we unheeding sate in the com- munion Of interchanged vows, which, with a rite Of faith most sweet and sacred, stamped our union. Fpw were the living hearts which could unite Like ours, or celebrate a bridal night With such close sympathies, for they had sprung From linked youth, and from the gentle might Of earliest love, delayed and cherished long, Which common hopes and fears made, like a tempest, strong. XL And such is Nature's law divine that those Who grow together cannot choose but love, If faith or custom do not interpose, Or common slavery mar what else might move All gentlest thoughts. As in the sacred grove Which shades the springs of Ethiopian Nile, That living tree which, if the arrowy dove Strike with her shadow, shrinks in fear awhile, But its own kindred leaves clasps while the sunbeams smile, XLI And clings to them when darkness may dissever The close caresses of all duller plants Which bloom on the wide earth; thus we forever Were linked, for love had nursed us in the haunts Where knowledge from its secret source enchants Young hearts with the fresh music of its springing, Ere yet its gathered flood feeds human wants As the great Nile feeds Egypt, ever flinging Light on the woven boughs which o'er its waves are swinging. XLII The tones of Cythna's voice like echoes were Of those far murmuring streams; they rose and fell, 9 8 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Mixed with mine own in the tempestuous air; And so we sate, until our talk befell Of the late ruin, swift and horrible, And how those seeds of hope might yet be sown, Whose fruit is Evil's mortal poison. Well, For us, this ruin made a watch-tower lone, But Cythna's eyes looked faint, and now two days were gone XLIII Since she had food. Therefore I did awaken The Tartar steed, who, from his ebon mane Soon as the clinging slumbers he had shaken, Bent his thin head to seek the brazen rein, Following me obediently. With pain Of heart so deep and dread that one caress, When lips and heart refuse to part again Till they have told their fill, could scarce express The anguish of her mute and fearful ten- derness, XLIV Cythna beheld me part, as I bestrode That willing steed. The tempest and the night, Which gave my path its safety as I rode Down the ravine of rocks, did soon unite The darkness and the tumult of their might Borne on all winds. Far through the streaming rain Floating, at intervals the garments white Of Cythna gleamed, and her voice once again Came to me on the gust, and soon I reached the plain. XLV I dreaded not the tempest, nor did he Who bore me, but his eyeballs wide and red Turned on the lightning's cleft exult- ing 1 )'; And when the earth beneath his tame- less tread Shook with the sullen thunder, he would spread His nostrils to the blast, and joyously Mock the fierce peal with neighings; thus we sped O'er the lit plain, and soon I could de- scry Where Death and Fire had gorged the spoil of victory. XLVI There was a desolate village in a wood, Whose bloom-inwoven leaves now scat- tering fed The hungry storm; it was a place of blood, A heap of hearthless walls; the flames were dead Within those dwellings now, the life had fled From all those corpses now, but the wide sky Flooded with lightning was ribbed over- head By the black rafters, and around did lie Women and babes and men, slaughtered confusedly. XLVII Beside the fountain in the market-place Dismounting, I beheld those corpses stare With horny eyes upon each other's face, And on the earth, and on the vacant air, And upon me, close to the waters where I stooped to slake my thirst; I shrank to taste, For the salt bitterness of blood was there! But tied the steed beside, and sought in haste If any yet survived amid that ghastly waste. XLVIII No living thing was there beside one woman Whom I found wandering in the streets, and she Was withered from a likeness of aught human Into a fiend, by some strange misery; Soon as she heard my steps she leaped on me, CANTO SIXTH 99 And glued her burning lips to mine, and laughed With a loud, long and frantic laugh of glee, And cried, 'Now, mortal, thou hast deeply quaffed The Plague's blue kisses soon millions shall pledge the draught! XLIX ' My name is Pestilence; this bosom dry Once fed two babes a sister and a brother; When I came home, one in the blood did lie Of three death-wounds the flames had ate the other! Since then I have no longer been a mother, But I am Pestilence; hither and thither I flit about, that I may slay and smother; All lips which I have kissed must surely wither, But Death's if thou ai-t he, we '11 go to work together! ' What seek'st thou here? the moonlight comes in flashes; The dew is rising dankly from the dell; 'T will moisten her! and thou shah see the gashes In my sweet boy, now full of worms. But tell First what thou seek'st.' ' I seek for food.' "T is well, Thou shalt have food. Famine, my par- amour, Waits for us at the feast cruel and fell Is Famine, but he drives not from his door Those whom these lips have kissed, alone. No more, no more! ' Li As thus she spake, she grasped me with the strength Of madness, and by many a ruined hearth She led, and over many a corpse. At length We came to a lone hut, where on the earth Which made its floor she in her ghastly mirth, Gathering from all those homes now desolate, Had piled three heaps of loaves, making a dearth Among the dead round which she set in state A ring of cold, stiff babes ; silent and stark they sate. LII She leaped upon a pile, and lifted high Her mad looks to the lightning, and cried, ' Eat! Share the great feast to-morrow we must die! ' And then she spurned the loaves with her pale feet Towards her bloodless guests; that sight to meet, Mine eyes and my heart ached, and but that she Who loved me did with absent looks defeat Despair, I might have raved in sympa- thy; But now I took the food that woman of- fered me; LIII And vainly having with her madness striven If I might win her to return with me, Departed. In the eastern beams of Heaven The lightning now grew pallid, rapidly As by the shore of the tempestuous sea The dark steed bore me; and the moun- tain gray Soon echoed to his hoofs, and I could see Cythna among the rocks, where she al- way Had sate with anxious eyes fixed on the lingering day. LIV And joy was ours to meet. She was most pale, Famished and wet and weary; so I cast My arms around her, lest her steps should fail As to our home we went, and, thus embraced, Her full heart seemed a deeper joy to taste IOO THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Than e'er the prosperous know; the steed behind Trod peacefully along the mountain waste ; We reached our home ere morning could unbind Night's latest veil, and on our bridal couch reclined. LV Her chilled heart having cherished in my bosom, And sweetest kisses past, we two did share Our peaceful meal ; as an autumnal blos- som, Which spreads its shrunk leaves in the sunny air After cold showers, like rainbows woven there, Thus in her lips and cheeks the vital spirit Mantled, and in her eyes an atmosphere Of health and hope; and sorrow lan- guished near it, And fear, and all that dark despondence doth inherit. CANTO SEVENTH I So we sate joyous as the morning ray Which fed upon the wrecks of night and storm Now lingering on the winds; light airs did play Among the dewy weeds, the sun was warm, And we sate linked in the inwoven charm Of converse and caresses sweet and deep Speechless caresses, talk that might dis- arm Time, though he wield the darts of death and sleep, And those thrice mortal barbs in his own poison steep. II I told her of my sufferings and my mad- ness, And how, awakened from that dreamy mood By Liberty's uprise, the strength of gladness Came to my spirit in my solitude, And all that now I was, while tears pur- sued Each other down her fair and listening cheek Fast as the thoughts which fed them, like a flood From sunbright dales; and when I ceased to speak, Her accents soft and sweet the pausing air did wake. in She told me a strange tale of strange endurance, Like broken memories of many a heart Woven into one; to which no firm assur- ance, So wild were they, could her own faith impart. She said that not a tear did dare to start From the swolu brain, and that her thoughts were firm, When from all mortal hope she did de- part, Borne by those slaves across the Ocean's term, And that she reached the port without one fear infirm. IV One was she . among many there, the thralls Of the cold Tyrant's cruel lust; and they Laughed mournfully in those polluted halls; But she was calm and sad, musing alway On loftiest enterprise, till on a day The Tyrant heard her singing to her lute A wild and sad and spirit-thrilling lay, Like winds that die in wastes one mo- ment mute The evil thoughts it made which did his breast pollute. Even when he saw her wondrous loveli- ness, One moment to great Nature's sncred power He bent, and was no longer passionless; But when he bade her to his secret bower Be borne, a loveless victim, and she tore CANTO SEVENTH 101 Her locks in agony, and her words of flame And mightier looks availed not, then he bore Again his load of slavery, and became A. king, a heartless beast, a pageant and a name. VI She told me what a loathsome agony Is that when selfishness mocks love's delight, Foul as in dreams, most fearful imagery, To dally with the mowing dead; that night All torture, fear, or horror made seem light Which the soul dreams or knows, and when the day Shone on her awful frenzy, from the sight, Where like a Spirit in fleshly chains she lay Struggling, aghast and pale the Tyrant fled away. Her madness was a beam of light, a power Which dawned through the rent soul; and words it gave, Gestures and looks, such as in whirl- winds bore (Which might not be withstood, whence none could save) All who approached their sphere, like some calm wave Vexed into whirlpools by the chasms be- neath; And sympathy made each attendant slave Fearless and free, and they began to breathe Deep curses, like the voice of flames far underneath. VIII The King felt pale upon his noon-day throne. At night two slaves he to her chamber sent; One was a green and wrinkled eunuch, grown From human shape into an instrument Of all things ill distorted, bowed and bent; The other was a wretch from infancy Made dumb by poison; who nought knew or meant But to obey; from the fire isles came he, A diver lean and strong, of Oman's coral sea. IX They bore her to a bark, and the swift stroke Of silent rowers clove the blue moonlight seas, Until upon their path the morning broke; They anchored then, where, be there calm or breeze, The gloomiest of the drear Symplegades Shakes with the sleepless surge; the jEtbiop there Wound Lis long arms around her, and with knees Like iron clasped her feet, and plunged with her Among the closing waves out of the bound- less air. ' Swift as an eagle stooping from the plain Of morning light into some shadowy wood, He plunged through the green silence of the main, Through many a cavern which the eter- nal flood Had scooped as dark lairs for its monster brood ; And among mighty shapes which fled in wonder, And among mightier shadows which pur- sued His heels, he wound ; until the dark rocks under He touched a golden chain a sound arose like thunder, XI ' A stunning clang of massive bolts re- doubling Beneath the deep a burst of waters driven As from the roots of the sea, raging and bubbling: And in that roof of crags a space was riven Through which there shone the emerald beams of heaven, 102 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Shot through the lines of many waves inwoven, Like sunlight through acacia woods at even, Through which his way the diver having cloven Passed like a spark sent up out of a burn- ing oven. XII ' And then,' she said, ' he laid me in a cave Above the waters, by that chasm of sea, A fountain round and vast, in which the wave Imprisoned, boiled and leaped perpet- ually, Down which, one moment resting, he did flee, Winning the adverse depth ; that spacious cell Like an hupaithric temple wide and high, Whose aery dome is inaccessible, Was pierced with one round cleft through which the sunbeams fell. XIII ' Below, the fountain's brink was richly paven With the deep's wealth, coral, and pearl, and sand Like spangling gold, and purple shells engraven With mystic legends by no mortal hand, Left there when, thronging to the moon's command, The gathering waves rent the Hesperian gate Of mountains; and on such bright floor did stand Columns, and shapes like statues, and the state Of kingless thrones, which Earth did iu her heart create. XIV ' The fiend of madness which had made its prey Of my poor heart was lulled to sleep awhile. There was an interval of many a day; And a sea-eagle brought me food the while, Whose nest was built in that untrodden isle, And who to be the jailer had been taught Of that strange dungeon; as a friend whose smile Like light and rest at morn and even is sought That wild bird was to me, till madness misery brought: xv ' The misery of a madness slow and creep- _i"g, Which made the earth seem fire, the sea seem air, And the white clouds of noon which oft were sleeping In the blue heaven so beautiful and fair, Like hosts of ghastly shadows hovering there; And the sea-eagle looked a fiend who bore Thy mangled limbs for food ! thus all things were Transformed into the agony which I wore Even as a poisoned robe around my bosom's core. XVI ' Again I knew the day and night fast fleeing, The eagle and the fountain and the air; Another frenzy came there seemed a being Within me a strange load my heart did bear, As if some living thing had made its lair Even in the fountains of my life; a long And wondrous vision wrought from my despair, Then grew, like sweet reality among Dim visionary woes, an unreposing throng. XVII ' Methought I was about to be a mother. Month after mouth went by, and still I dreamed That we should soon be all to one another, I and my child; and still new pulses seemed To beat beside my heart, and still I deemed There was a babe within and when the rain Of winter through the rifted cavern streamed, CANTO SEVENTH 103 Methought, after a lapse of lingering pain, I saw that lovely shape which near my heart had lain. XVIII 1 It was a babe, beautiful from its birth, It was like thee, dear love! its eyes were thine, Its brow, its lips, and so upon the earth It laid its fingers as now rest on mine Thine own, beloved! 'twas a dream divine; Even to remember how it fled, how swift, How utterly, might make the heart re- pine, Though 't was a dream.' Then Cythua did uplift Her looks on mine, as if some doubt she sought to shift XIX A doubt which would not flee, a tender- ness Of questioning grief, a source of throng- ing tears; Which having passed, as one whom sobs oppress She spoke: 'Yes, in the wilderness of years Her memory aye like a green home ap- pears. She sucked her fill even at this breast, sweet love, For many months. I had no mortal fears; Methought I felt her lips and breath ap- prove It was a human thing which to iny bosom clove. xx ' I watched the dawn of her first smiles ; and soon When zenith stars were trembling on the wave, Or when the beams of the invisible moon Or sun from many a prism within the cave Their gem-born shadows to the water gave, Her looks would hunt them, and with outspread hand, From the swift lights which might that fountain pave, She would mark one, and laugh when, that command Slighting, it lingered there, and could not understand. XXI ' Methought her looks began to talk with me; And no articulate sounds, but something sweet Her lips would frame, so sweet it could not be That it was meaningless ; her touch would meet Mine, and our pulses calmly flow and beat In response while we slept; and, on a day When I was happiest in that strange re- treat, With heaps of golden shells we two did play Both infants, weaving wings for time's per- petual way. xxn ' Ere night, methought, her waning eyes were grown Weary with joy and, tired with our delight, We, on the earth, like sister twins lay down On one fair mother's bosom : from that night She fled, like those illusions clear and bright, Which dwell in lakes, when the red moon on high Pause ere it wakens tempest; and bar flight, Though 't was the death of brainless fan- tasy, Yet smote my lonesome heart more than all misery. XXIII ' It seemed that in the dreary night the diver Who brought me thither came again, and bore My child away. I saw the waters quiver, When he so swiftly sunk, as once before; Then morning came it shone even as of yore, But I was changed the very life was gone 104 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Out of my heart I wasted more and more, Day after day, and, sitting there alone, Vexed the inconstant waves with my per- petual moan. XXIV ' I was no longer mad, and yet methought My breasts were swoln and changed: in every vein The blood stood still one moment, while that thought Was passing with a gush of sickening pain It ebbed even to its withered springs * again ; When my wan eyes in stern resolve I turned From that most strange delusion, which would fain Have waked the dream for which my spirit yearned With more than human love, then left it unreturned. xxv * So now my reason was restored to me I struggled with that dream, which like a beast Most fierce and beauteous in my mem- ory Had made its lair, and on my heart did feast ; But all that cave and all its shapes, pos- sessed By thoughts which could not fade, re- newed each one Some smile, some look, some gesture which had blessed Me heretofore; I, sitting there alone, Vexed the inconstant waves with my per- petual moan. XXVI * Time passed, I know not whether months or years; For day, nor night, nor change of seasons made Its note, but thoughts and unavailing tears; And I became at last even as a shade, A smoke, a cloud on which the winds have preyed, Till it be thin as air; until, one even, A Nautilus upon the fountain played, Spreading his azure sail where breath of heaven Descended not, among the waves and whirlpools driven. XXVII * And when the Eagle came, that lovely thing, Oaring with rosy feet its silver boat, Fled near me as for shelter; on slow wing The Eagle hovering o'er his prey did float; But when he saw that I with fear did note His purpose, proffering my own food to him, The eager plumes subsided on his throat He came where that bright child of sea did swim, And o'er it cast in peace his shadow broad and dim. XXVIII ' This wakened me, it gave me human strength; And hope, I know not whence or where- fore, rose, But I resumed my ancient powers at length ; My spirit felt again like one of those, Like thine, whose fate it is to make the woes Of humankind their prey. What was tliis cave ? Its deep foundation no firm purpose knows Immutable, resistless, strong to save, Like mind while yet it mocks the all-de- vouring grave. XXIX ' And where was Laon ? might my heart be dead, While that far dearer heart could move and be? Or whilst over the earth the pall was spread Which I had sworn to rend ? I might be free, Could I but win that friendly bird to me To bring me ropes; and long in vain I sought By intercourse of mutual imagery CANTO SEVENTH Of objects if such aid he could be taught; But fruit and flowers and boughs, yet never ropes he brought. XXX We live in our own world, and mine was made From glorious fantasies of hope departed ; Aye we are darkened with their floating shade, Or cast a lustre on them; time imparted Such power to me I became fearless- hearted, My eye and voice grew firm, calm was my mind, And piercing, like the morn, now it has darted Its lustre on all hidden things behind Yon dim and fading clouds which load the weary wind. XXXI * My mind became the book through which I grew Wise in all human wisdom, and its cave, Which like a mine I rifled through and through, To me the keeping of its secrets gave One mind, the type of all, the moveless wave Whose calm reflects all moving things that are, Necessity, and love, and life, the grave, And sympathy, fountains of hope and fear, Justice, and truth, and time, and the world's natural sphere. XXXII ' And on the sand would I make signs to range These woofs, as they were woven, of my thought; Clear elemental shapes, whose smallest change A subtler language within langnage wrought The key of truths which once were dimly taught In old Crotona; and sweet melodies Of love in that lorn solitude I caught From mine own voice in dream, when thy dear eyes Shone through my sleep, and did that utter- ance harmonize. XXXIII ' Thy songs were winds whereon I fled at will, As in a winged chariot, o'er the plain Of crystal youth; and thou wert there to fill My heart with joy, and there we sate again On the gray margin of the glimmering main, Happy as then but wiser far, for we Smiled on the flowery grave iu which were lain Fear, Faith and Slavery: and mankind was free, Equal, and pure, and wise, in Wisdom's prophecy. XXXIV ' For to my will my fancies were as slaves To do their sweet and subtle minis- tries; And oft from that bright fountain's shadowy waves They would make human throngs gather and rise To combat with my overflowing eyes And voice made deep with passion; thus I grew Familiar with the shock and the sur- prise And war of earthly minds, from which I drew The power which has been mine to frame their thoughts anew. XXXV ' And thus my prison was the populous earth, Where I saw even as misery dreams of morn Before the east has given its glory birth Religion's pomp made desolate by the scorn Of Wisdom's faintest smile, and thrones uptorn, And dwellings of mild people inter- spersed With undivided fields of ripening corn, And love made free a hope which we have nursed Even with our blood and tears, until its glory burst. io6 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM XXXVI ' All is not lost ! There is some recom- pense For hope whose fountain can be thus pro- found, Even throned Evil's splendid impotence Girt by its hell of power, the secret sound Of hymns to truth and freedom, the dread bound Of life and death passed fearlessly and well, Dungeons wherein the high resolve is found, Racks which degraded woman's greatness tell, And what may else be good and irresistible. XXXVII ' Such are the thoughts which, like the fires that flare In storm-encompassed isles, we cherish yet In this dark ruin such were mine even there ; As in its sleep some odorous violet, While yet its leaves with nightly dews are wet, Breathes in prophetic dreams of day's uprise, Or as, ere Scythian frost in fear has met Spring's messengers descending from the skies, The buds foreknow their life this hope must ever rise. XXXVIII ' So years had passed, when sudden earth- quake rent The depth of Ocean, and the cavern cracked With sound, as if the world's wide con- tinent Had fallen in universal ruin wracked, And through the cleft streamed in one cataract The stifling waters: when I woke, the flood Whose banded waves that crystal cave had sacked Was ebbing round me, and my bright abode Before me yawned a chasm desert, and bare, and broad. xxxix ' Above me was the sky, beneath the sea; I stood upon a point of shattered stone, And heard loose rocks rushing tumultu- ously With splash and shock into the deep anon All ceased, and there was silence wide and lone. I felt that I was free! The Ocean spray Quivered beneath my feet, the broad Heaven shone Around, and in my hair the winds did play Lingering as they pursued their unim- peded way. XL ' My spirit moved upon the sea like wind Which round some thymy cape will lag and hover, Though it can wake the still cloud, and unbind The strength of tempest. Day was al- most over, When through the fading light I could discover A ship approaching its white sails were fed With the north wind its moving shade did cover The twilight deep ; the mariners in dread Cast anchor when they saw new rocks around them spread. XLI ' And when they saw one sitting on a crag, They sent a boat to me; the sailors rowed In awe through many a new and fearful jag Of overhanging rock, through which there flowed The foam of streams that cannot make abode. They came and questioned me, but when they heard My voice, they became silent, and they stood And moved as men in whom new lov had stirred Deep thoughts; so to the ship we passed without a word. CANTO EIGHTH 107 CANTO EIGHTH 4 1 SATE beside the steersman then, and gazing Upon the west cried, " Spread the sails ! behold! The sinking moon is like a watch-tower blazing Over the mountains yet; the City of Gold Yon Cape alone does from the sight with- hold; The stream is fleet the north breathes steadily Beneath the stars; they tremble with the cold! Ye cannot rest upon the dreary sea ! Haste, haste to the warm home of happier destiny ! " 1 The Mariners obeyed; the Captain stood Aloof, and whispering to the Pilot said, " Alas, alas ! I fear we are pursued By wicked ghosts; a Phantom of the Dead, The night before we sailed, came to my bed In dream, like that ! " The Pilot then replied, " It cannot be she is a human maid Her low voice makes you weep she is some bride, Or daughter of high birth she can be nought beside." in 1 We passed the islets, borne by wind and stream, And as we sailed the Mariners came near And thronged around to listen; in the gleam Of the pale moon I stood, as one whom fear May not attaint, and my calm voice did rear: " Ye are all human yon broad moon gives light To millions who the self-same likeness wear, Even while I speak beneath this very night, Their thoughts flow on like ours, in sadness or delight. ' " What dream ye ? Your own hands have built an home Even for yourselves on a beloved shore; For some, fond eyes are pining till they come How they will greet him when his toils are o'er, And laughing babes rush from the well- known door! Is this your care ? ye toil for your own good Ye feel and think has some immortal power Such purposes ? or in a human mood Dream ye some Power thus builds for man in solitude? ' " What is that Power ? Ye mock your- selves, and give A human heart to what ye cannot know: As if the cause of life could think and live! 'T were as if man's own works should feel, and show The hopes and fears and thoughts from which they flow, And he be like to them. Lo ! Plague is free To waste, Blight, Poison, Earthquake, Hail, and Snow, Disease, and Want, and worse Necessity Of hate and ill, and Pride, and Fear, and Tyranny. VI ' " What is that Power ? Some moon- struck sophist stood, Watching the shade from his own soul upthrown Fill Heaven and darken Earth, and in such mood The Form he saw and worshipped was his own, His likeness in the world's vast mirror shown; And 't were an innocent dream, but that a faith Nursed by fear's dew of poison grows thereon, And that men say that Power has chosen Death On all who scorn its laws to wreak immortal wrath. io8 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM vn ' " Men say that they themselves have heard and seen, Or known from others who have known such tilings, A Shade, a Form, which Earth and Heaven between Wields an invisible rod that Priests and Kings, Custom, domestic sway, ay, all that brings Man's free-born soul beneath the op- pressor's heel, Are his strong ministers, and that the stings Of death will make the wise his ven- geance feel, Though truth and virtue arm their hearts with tenfold steel. VIII 1 " And it is said this Power will punish wrong; Yes, add despair to crime, and pain to paiu ! And deepest hell, and deathless snakes among, Will bind the wretch on whom is fixed a stain, Which, like a plague, a burden, and a bane, Clung to him while he lived; for love and hate, Virtue and vice, they say, are difference vain The will of strength is right. This hu- man state Tyrants, that they may rule, with lies thus desolate. IX ' " Alas, what strength ? Opinion is more frail Than yon dim cloud now fading on the moon Even while we gaze, though it awhile avail To hide the orb of truth and every throne Of Earth or Heaven, though shadow, rests thereon, One shape of many names: for this ye plough The barren waves of Ocean hence each one Is slave or tyrant; all betray and bow, Command, or kill, or fear, or wreak or suffer woe. ' " Its names are each a sign which mak- eth holy All power ay, the ghost, the dream, the shade Of power lust, falsehood, hate, and pride, and folly; The pattern whence all fraud and wrong is made, A law to which mankind has been be- trayed ; And human love is as the name well known Of a dear mother whom the murderer laid In bloody grave, and, into darkness thrown, Gathered her wildered habes around him as his own. XI ' " O Love, who to the hearts of wander- ing men Art as the calm to Ocean's weary waves ! Justice, or Truth, or Joy ! those only can From slavery and religion's labyrinth- caves Guide us, as one clear star the seaman saves. To give to all an equal share of good, To track the steps of Freedom, though through graves She pass, to suffer all in patient mood, To weep for crime though stained with thy friend's dearest blood, XII ' " To feel the peace of self-contentment's lot, To own all sympathies, and outrage none, And in the inmost bowers of sense and thought, Until life s sunny day is quite gone down, To sit and smile with Joy, or, not alone, To kiss salt tears from the worn cheek of Woe; To live as if to love and live were one, This is not faith or law, nor those who bow To thrones on Heaven or Earth such destiny may know. CANTO EIGHTH 109 XIII ' " But children near their parents tremble now, Because they must obey; one rules another, And, as one Power rules both high and low, So man is made the captive of his brother, And Hate is throned on high with Fear his mother Above the Highest; and those fountain- cells, Whence love yet flowed when faith had choked all other, Are darkened Woman as the bond- slave dwells Of man, a slave; and life is poisoned in its wells. XIV 4 " Man seeks for gold in mines that he may weave A lasting chain for his own slavery; In fear and restless care that he may live He toils for others who must ever be The joyless thralls of like captivity; He murders, for his chiefs delight in ruin; He builds the altar that its idol's fee May be his very blood; he is pursuing Oh, blind and willing wretch ! his own obscure undoing. XV '"Woman! she is his slave, she has become A thing I weep to speak the child of scorn, The outcast of a desolated home; Falsehood, and fear, and toil, like waves have worn Channels upon her cheek, which smiles adorn As calm decks the false Ocean : well ye know What Woman is, for none of Woman born Can choose but drain the bitter dregs of woe, Which ever from the oppressed to the op- pressors flow. XVI '"This need not be; ye might arise, and will That gold should lose its power, and thrones their glory; That love, which none may bind, be free to fill The world, like light; and evil faith, grown hoary With crime, be quenched and die. Yon promontory Even now eclipses the descending moon ! Dungeons and palaces are transitory High temples fade like vapor Man alone Remains, whose will has power when all beside is gone. xvn "'Let all be free and equal! from your hearts I feel an echo; through my inmost frame Like sweetest sound, seeking its mate, it darts. Whence come ye, friends ? Alas, I can- not name All that I read of sorrow, toil and shame On your worn faces; as in legends old Which make immortal the disastrous fame Of conquerors and impostors false and bold, The discord of your hearts I in your looks behold. XVIII ' " Whence come ye, friends ? from pour- ing human blood Forth on the earth ? or bring ye steel and gold, That kings may dupe and slay the multi- tude? Or from the famished poor, pale, weak and cold, Bear ye the earnings of their toil ? un- fold ! Speak ! are your hands in slaughter's sanguine hue Stained freshly ? have your hearts in guile grown old ? Know yourselves thus ! ye shall be pure as dew, And I will be a friend and sister unto you. XIX ' " Disguise it not we have one human heart All mortal thoughts confess a common home; no THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Blush not for what may to thyself impart Stains of inevitable crime; the doom Is this, which has, or may, or must, be- come Thine, and all humankind's. Ye are the spoil Which Time thus marks for the devour- ing tomb Thou and thy thoughts, and they, and all the toil Wherewith ye twine the rings of life's per- petual coil. xx "' Disguise it not ye blush for what ye hate, And Enmity is sister unto Shame; Look on your mind it is the book of fate Ah! it is dark with many a blazoned name Of misery all are mirrors of the same; But the dark fiend who with his iron pen, Dipped in scorn's fiery poison, makes his fame Enduring there, would o'er the heads of men Pass harmless, if they scorned to make their hearts his den. XXI ' " Yes, it is Hate, that shapeless fiendly thing Of many names, all evil, some divine, Whom self-contempt arms with a mortal sting; Which, when the heart its snaky folds entwine, Is wasted quite, and when it doth repine To gorge such bitter prey, on all beside It turns with ninefold rage, as with its twine When Amphisbffina some fair bird has tied, Soon o'er the putrid mass he threats on every side. XXII ' " Reproach not thine own soul, but know thyself, Nor hate another's crime, nor loathe thine own. It is the dark idolatry of self, Which, when our thoughts and actions once are gone, Demands that man should weep, and bleed, and groan ; Oh, vacant expiation ! be at rest ! The past is Death's, the future is thine own; And love and joy can make the foulest breast A paradise of flowers, where peace might build her nest. XXIII ' " Speak thou ! whence come ye ? " A youth made reply, " Wearily, wearily o'er the boundless deep We sail; thou readest well the misery Told in these faded eyes, but much doth sleep Within, which there the poor heart loves to keep, Or dare not write on the dishonored brow; Even from our childhood have we learned to steep The bread of slavery in the tears of woe, And never dreamed of hope or refuge un- til now. XXIV ' "Yes I must speak my secret should have perished Even with the heart it wasted, as a brand Fades in the dying flame whose life it cherished, But that no human bosom can withstand Thee, wondrous Lady, and the mild command Of thy keen eyes: yes, we are wretched slaves, Who from their wonted loves and native land Are reft, and bear o'er the dividing waves The unregarded prey of calm and happy graves. XXV ' " We drag afar from pastoral vales the fairest Among the daughters of those mountains lone ; We drag them there where all things best and rarest Are stained and trampled; years have come and gone CANTO NINTH in Since, like the ship which bears me, I have known No thought; but now the eyes of one dear maid On mine with light of mutual love have shone She is my life I am but as the shade Of her a smoke sent up from ashes, soon to fade ! XXVI ' " For she must perish in the Tyrant's hall Alas, alas ! " He ceased, and by the sail Sat cowering but his sobs were heard by all, And still before the Ocean and the gale The ship fled fast till the stars 'gan to fail; And, round me gathered with mute countenance, The Seamen gazed, the Pilot, worn and pale With toil, the Captain with gray locks whose glance Met mine in restless awe they stood as in a trance. XXVII ' " Recede not ! pause not now ! thou art grown old, But Hope will make thee young, for Hope and Youth Are children of one mother, even Love behold! The eternal stars gaze on us ! is the truth Within your soul ? care for your own, or ruth For others' sufferings ? do ye thirst to bear A heart which not the serpent Custom's tooth May violate ? be free ! and even here, Swear to be firm till death ! " they cried, " We swear ! we swear ! " xxvin 1 The very darkness shook, as with a blast Of subterranean thunder, at the cry; The hollow shore its thousand echoes cast Into the night, as if the sea and sky And earth rejoiced with new-born liberty, For in that name they swore ! Bolts were undrawn, And on the deck with unaccustomed eye The captives gazing stood, and every one Shrank as the inconstant torch upon her countenance shone. XXIX 'They were earth's purest childi'en, young and fair, With eyes the shrines of unawakened thought, And brows as bright as spring or morn- ing, ere Dark time had there its evil legend wrought In characters of cloud which wither not. The change was like a dream to them; but soon They knew the glory of their altered lot In the bright wisdom of youth's breath- less noon, Sweet talk and smiles and sighs all bosoms did attune. xxx ' But one was mute ; her cheeks and lips most fair, Changing their hue like lilies newly blown Beneath a bright acacia's shadowy hair Waved by the wind amid the sunny noon, Showed that her soul was quivering; and full soon That youth arose, and breathlessly did look On her and me, as for some speechless boon; I smiled, and both their hands in mine I took, And felt a soft delight from what their spirits shook. CANTO NINTH 1 THAT night we anchored in a woody bay, And sleep no more around us dared to hover Than, when all doubt and fear has passed away, It shades the couch of some unresting lover 112 Whose heart is now at rest; thus night passed over In mutual joy; around, a forest grew Of poplars and dark oaks, whose shade did cover The waning stars pranked in the waters blue, And trembled in the wind which from the morning flew. II ' The joyous mariners and each free maiden Now brought from the deep forest many a bough, With woodland spoil most innocently laden; Soon wreaths of budding foliage seemed to flow Over the mast and sails; the stern and prow Were canopied with blooming boughs; the while On the slant sun's path o'er the waves we go Rejoicing, like the dwellers of an isle Doomed to pursue those waves that cannot cease to smile. in ' The many ships spotting the dark blue deep With snowy sails, fled fast as ours came nigh, In fear and wonder; and on every steep Thousands did gaze. They heard the startling cry, Like earth's own voice lifted unconquer- ably To all her children, the unbounded mirth, The glorious joy of thy name Liberty ! They heard ! As o'er the mountains of the earth From peak to peak leap on the beams of morning s birth, IV ' So from that cry over the boundless hills Sudden was caught one universal sound, Like a volcano's voice whose thunder fills Remotest skies, such glorious madness found A path through human hearts with stream which drowned Its struggling fears and cares, dark Cus- tom's brood; They knew not whence it came, but felt around A wide contagion poured they called aloud On Liberty that name lived on the sunny flood. ' We reached the port. Alas ! from many spirits The wisdom which had waked that cry was fled, Like the brief glory which dark Heaven inherits From the false dawn, which fades ere it is spread, Upon the night's devouring darkness shed; Yet soon bright day will burst even like a chasm Of fire, to burn the shrouds outworn and dead Which wrap the world; a wide enthusi- asm, To cleanse the fevered world as with an earthquake's spasm ! VI ' I walked through the great City then, but free From shame or fear; those toil-worn mariners And happy maidens did encompass me; And like a subterranean wind that stirs Some forest among caves, the hopes and fears From every human soul a murmur strange Made as I passed; and many wept with tears Of joy and awe, and winged thoughts did range, And half-extinguished words which prophe- sied of change. vil ' For with strong speech I tore the veil that hid Nature, and Truth, and Liberty, and Love, As one who from some mountain's pyra- mid CANTO NINTH Points to the uurisen sun ! the shades approve His truth, and flee from every stream and grove. Thus, gentle thoughts did many a bosom fill, Wisdom the mail of tried affections wove For many a heart, and tameless scorn of ill Thrice steeped in molten steel the uncon- querable will. VIII ' Some said I was a maniac wild and lost; Some, that I scarce had risen from the grave > The Prophet's virgin bride, a heavenly ghost; Some said I was a fiend from my weird cave, Who had stolen human shape, and o'er the wave, The forest, and the mountain, came; some said I was the child of God, sent down to save Woman from bonds and death, and ou my head The burden of their sins would frightfully be laid. IX ' But soon my human words found sympa- thy In human hearts; the purest and the best, As friend with friend, made common cause with me, And they were few, but resolute; the rest, Ere yet success the enterprise had blessed, Leagued with me in their hearts; their meals, their slumber, Their hourly occupations, were possessed By hopes which I had armed to over- number Those hosts of meaner cares which life's strong wings encumber. ' But chiefly women, whom my voice did waken From their cold, careless, willing slavery, Sought me ; one truth their dreary prison has shaken, They looked around, and lo! they be- came free ! Their many tyrants, sitting desolately lu slave-deserted halls, could none re- strain ; For wrath's red fire had withered in the eye Whose lightning once was death, nor fear nor gain Could tempt one captive now to lock an- other's chain. XI ' Those who were sent to bind me wept, and felt Their minds outsoar the bonds which clasped them round, Even as a waxen shape may waste and melt In the white furnace; and a visioned swound, A pause of hope and awe, the City bound, Which, like the silence of a tempest's birth, When in its awful shadow it has wound The sun, the wind, the ocean, and the earth, Hung terrible, ere yet the lightnings have leaped forth. XII ' Like clouds inwoven in the silent sky By winds from distant regions meeting there, In the high name of Truth and Liberty Around the City millions gathered were By hopes which sprang from many a hidden lair, Words which the lore of truth in hues of grace Arrayed, thine own wild songs which in the air Like homeless odors floated, and the name Of thee, and many a tongue which thou hadst dipped in flame. XIII ' The Tyrant knew his power was gone, but Fear, The nurse of Vengeance, bade him wait the event That perfidy and custom, gold and prayer, And whatsoe'er, when Force is impotent, THE REVOLT OF ISLAM To Fraud the sceptre of the world has lent, Might, as he judged, confirm his failing sway. Therefore throughout the streets, the Priests he sent To curse the rebels. To their gods did they For Earthquake, Plague and Want, kneel in the public way. XIV ' And grave and hoary men were bribed to tell, From seats where law is made the slave of wrong, How glorious Athens in her splendor fell, Because her sons were free, and that among Mankind, the many to the few belong By Heaven, and Nature, and Necessity. They said, that age was truth, and that the young Marred with wild hopes the peace of slavery, With which old times and men had quelled the vain and free. XV ' And with the falsehood of their poisonous lips They breathed on the enduring memory Of sages and of bards a brief eclipse. There was one teacher, who necessity Had armed with strength and wrong against mankind, His slave and his avenger aye to be; That we were weak and sinful, frail and blind, And that the will of one was peace, and we Should seek for nought on earth but toil and misery xvi " For thus we might avoid the hell here- after." So spake the hypocrites, who cursed and lied. Alas, their sway was passed, and tears and laughter Clung to their hoary hair, withering the pride Which in their hollow hearts dared still abide; And yet obscener slaves with smoother brow, And sneers on their strait lips, thin, blue and wide, Said that the rule of men was over now, And hence the subject world to woman's will must bow. XVII 1 And gold was scattered through the streets, and wine Flowed at a hundred feasts within the wall. In vain ! the steady towers in Heaven did shine As they were wont, nor at the priestly call Left Plague her banquet in the ^thiop's hall, Nor Famine from the rich man's portal came, Where at her ease she ever preys on all Who throng to kneel for food ; nor fear, nor shame, Nor faith, nor discord, dimmed hope's newly kindled flame. XVIII ' For gold was as a god whose faith be- gan To fade, so that its worshippers were few; And Faith itself, which in the heart of man Gives shape, voice, name, to spectral Terror, knew Its downfall, as the altars lonelier grew, Till the Priests stood alone within the fane; The shafts of falsehood unpollutingflew, And the cold sneers of calumny were vain The union of the free with discord's brand to stain. XIX ' The rest thou knowest. Lo ! we two are here We have survived a ruin wide and deep Strange thoughts are mine. I cannot grieve or fear. Sitting with thee upon this lonely steep I smile, though human love should make me weep. We have survived a joy that knows no sorrow, And I do feel a mighty calmness creep CANTO NINTH Over my heart, which can no longer borrow Its hues from chance or change, dark chil- dren of to-morrow. XX ' We know not what will come. Yet, Laon, dearest, Cythna shall be the prophetess of Love; Her lips shall rob thee of the grace thou wearest, To hide thy heart, and clothe the shapes which rove Within the homeless Future's wintry grove ; For I now, sitting thus beside thee, seem Even with thy breath and blood to live and move, And violence and wrong are as a dream Which rolls from steadfast truth, an un- returning stream. XXI 'The blasts of Autumn drive the winged seeds Over the earth; next come the snows, and rain, And frosts, and storms, which dreary Winter leads Out of his Scythian cave, a savage train. Behold ! Spring sweeps over the world again, Shedding soft dews from her ethereal wings; Flowers on the mountains, fruits over the plain, And music on the waves and woods she flings, And love on all that lives, and calm on life- less things. XXII ' O Spring, of hope and love and youth and gladness Wind-winged emblem ! brightest, best and fairest ! Whence comest thou, when, with dark Winter's sadness The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest ? Sister of joy ! thou art the child who wearest Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet; Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet, Disturbing not the leaves which are her winding sheet. XXIII ' Virtue and Hope and Love, like light and Heaven, Surround the world. We are their chosen slaves. Has not the whirlwind of our spirit driven Truth's deathless germs to thought's re- motest caves ? Lo, Winter comes ! the grief of many graves, The frost of death, the tempest of the sword, The flood of tyranny, whose sanguine waves Stagnate like ice at Faith the enchanter's word, And bind all human hearts in its repose abhorred. XXIV ' The seeds are sleeping in the soil. Mean- while The Tyrant peoples dungeons with his prey; Pale victims on the guarded scaffold smile Because they cannot speak; and, day by day, The moon of wasting Science wanes away Among her stars, and in that darkness vast The sons of earth to their foul idols pray, And gray Priests triumph, and like blight or blast A shade of selfish care o'er human looks is cast. xxv ' This is the Winter of the world ; and here We die, even as the winds of Autumn fade, Expiring in the frore and foggy air. Behold ! Spring comes, though we must pass who made The promise of its birth, even as the shade n6 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Which from our death, as from a moun- tain, flings The future, a broad sunrise; thus ar- rayed As with the plumes of overshadowing wings, From its dark gulf of chains Earth like an eagle springs. XXVI < O dearest love ! we shall be dead and cold Before this morn may on the world arise. Wouldst thou the glory of its dawn be- hold ? Alas ! gaze not on me, but turn thine eyes On thine own heart it is a Paradise Which everlasting spring has made its own, And while drear winter fills the naked skies, Sweet streams of sunny thought, and flowers fresh blown, Are there, and weave their sounds and odors into one. XXVII 'In their own hearts the earnest of the hope Which made them great the good will ever find; And though some envious shade may interlope Between the effect and it, One comes behind, Who aye the future to the past will bind Necessity, whose sightless strength for- ever Evil with evil, good with good, must wind In bands of union, which no power may sever; They must bring forth their kind, and be divided never ! XXVIII ' The good and mighty of departed ages Are in their graves, the innocent and free, Heroes, and Poets, and prevailing Sages, Who leave the vesture of their majesty To adorn and clothe this naked world; and we Are like to them such perish, but they leave All hope, or love, or truth, or liberty, Whose forms their mighty spirits could conceive, To be a rule and law to ages that survive. XXIX ' So be the turf heaped over our remains Even in our happy youth, and that strange lot, Whate'er it be, when in these mingling veins The blood is still, be ours; let sense and thought Pass from our being, or be numbered not Among the things that are; let those who come Behind, for whom our steadfast will has bought A calm inheritance, a glorious doom, Insult with careless tread our undivided tomb. XXX 1 Our many thoughts and deeds, our life and love, Our happiness, and all that we have been, Immortally must live and burn and move When we shall be no more ; the world has seen A type of peace; and as some most serene And lovely spot to a poor maniac's eye After long years some sweet and moving scene Of youthful hope returning suddenly Quells his long madness, thus Man shall remember thee. XXXI 'And Calumny meanwhile shall feed on us As worms devour the dead, and near tho throne And at the altar most accepted thus Shall sneers and curses be; what we have done None shall dare vouch, though it be truly known; That record shall remain when they must pass Who built their pride on its oblivion, CANTO TENTH 117 And fame, in human hope which sculp- tured was, Survive the perished scrolls of unenduring brass. XXXII ' The while we two, beloved, must depart, And Sense and Reason, those enchanters fair, Whose wand of power is hope, would bid the heart That gazed beyond the wormy grave despair ; These eyes, these lips, this blood, seems darkly there To fade in hideous ruin ; no calm sleep, Peopling with golden dreams the stagnant air, Seems our obscure and rotting eyes to steep In joy; but senseless death a ruin dark and deep ! xxxin ' These are blind fancies. Reason cannot know What sense can neither feel nor thought conceive; There is delusion in the world and woe, And fear, and pain we know not whence we live, Or why, or how, or what mute Power may give Their being to each plant, and star, and beast, OP even these thoughts. Come near me ! I do weave A chain I cannot break I am possessed With thoughts too swift and strong for one lone human breast. XXXIV ' Yes, yes thy kiss is sweet, thy lips are warm Oh, willingly, beloved, would these eyes Might they no more drink being from thy form, Even as to sleep whence we again arise, Close their faint orbs in death. 1 fear nor prize Aught that can now betide, unshared by thee. Yes, Love when Wisdom fails makes Cythna wise; Darkness and death, if death be true, must be Dearer than life and hope if unenjoyed with thee. xxxv ' Alas! our thoughts flow on with stream whose waters Return not to their fountain; Earth and Heaven, The Ocean and the Sun, the clouds their daughters, Winter, and Spring, and Morn, and Noon, and Even All that we are or know, is darkly driven Towards one gulf. Lo ! what a change is come Since I first spake but time shall be for- given, Though it change all but thee ! ' She ceased night's gloom Meanwhile had fallen on earth from the sky's sunless dome. XXXVI Though she had ceased, her countenance uplifted To Heaven still spake with solemn glory bright; Her dark deep eyes, her lips, whose mo- tions gifted The air they breathed with love, her locks undight; ' Fair star of life and love,' I cried, ' my soul's delight, Why lookest thou on the crystalline skies ? Oh, that my spirit were yon Heaven of night, Which gazes on thee with its thousand eyes ! ' She turned to me and smiled that smile was Paradise ! CANTO TENTH WAS there a human spirit in the steed That thus with his proud voice, ere night was gone, He broke our linked rest ? or do indeed All living things a common nature own, And thought erect an universal throne, Where many shapes one tribute evet bear? n8 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM And Eartb, their mutual mother, does she groan To see her sons contend ? and makes she bare Her breast that all in peace its drainless stores may share ? I have heard friendly sounds from many a tongue Which was not human; the lone nightin- gale Has answered me with her most soothing song, Out of her ivy bower, when I sate pale With grief, and sighed beneath; from many a dale The antelopes who flocked for food have spoken With happy sounds and motions that avail Like man's own speech; and such was now the token Of waning night, whose calm by that proud neigh was broken. Ill Each night that mighty steed bore me abroad, And I returned with food to our retreat, And dark intelligence; the blood which flowed Over the fields had stained the courser's feet; Soon the dust drinks that bitter dew, then meet The vulture, and the wild-dog, and the snake, The wolf, and the hyena gray, and eat The dead in horrid truce; their throngs did make Behind the steed a chasm like waves in a ship's wake. IV For from the utmost realms of earth came pouring The banded slaves whom every despot sent At that throned traitor's summons; like the roaring Of fire, whose floods the wild deer cir- cumvent In the scorched pastures of the south, so bent The armies of the leagued kings around Their files of steel and flame; the conti- nent Trembled, as with a zone of ruin bound, Beneath their feet the sea shook with their Navies' sound. From every nation of the earth they came, The multitude of moving heartless things, Whom slaves call men; obediently they came, Like sheep whom from the fold the shep- herd brings To the stall, red with blood; their many kings Led them, thus erring, from their native land Tartar and Frank, and millions whom the wings Of Indian breezes lull ; and many a band The Arctic Anarch sent, and Idumea's sand VI Fertile in prodigies and lies. So there Strange natures made a brotherhood of ill. The desert savage ceased to grasp in fear His Asian shield and bow when, at the will Of Europe's subtler son, the bolt would kill Some shepherd sitting on a rock secure; But smiles of wondering joy his face would fill, And savage sympathy; those slaves im- pure Each one the other thus from ill to ill did lure. VII For traitorously did that foul Tyrant robe His countenance in lies; even at the hour When be was snatched from death, then o'er the globe, With secret signs from many a moun- tain tower, With smoke by day, and fire by night, the power Of Kings and Priests, those dark con- spirators, He called; they knew his cause theii own, and swore CANTO TENTH 119 Like wolves and serpents to their mu- tual wars Strange truce, with many a rite which Earth and Heaven abhors. VIII Myriads had come millions were on their way; The Tyrant passed, surrounded by the steel Of hired assassins, through the public way, Choked with his country's dead; his foot- steps reel On the fresh blood he smiles. ' Ay, now I feel I am a King in truth ! ' he said, and took His royal seat, and bade the torturing wheel Be brought, and fire, and pincers, and the hook, And scorpions, that his soul on its revenge might look. IX ' But first, go slay the rebels why return The victor bands ? ' he said, ' millions yet live, Of whom the weakest with one word might turn The scales of victory yet; let none sur- vive But those within the walls each fifth shall give The expiation for his brethren here. Go forth, and waste and kill ! ' ' O king, forgive My speech,' a soldier answered, ' but we fear The spirits of the night, and morn is draw- ing near; ' For we were slaying still without remorse, And now that dreadful chief beneath my hand Defenceless lay, when on a hell-black horse An Angel bright as day, waving a brand Which flashed among the stars, passed.' ' Dost thou stand Parleying with me, thou wretch ? ' the king replied; 'Slaves, bind him to the wheel; and of this baud Whoso will drag that woman to his side That scared him thus may burn his dearest foe beside; XI 'And gold and glory shall be his. Go forth ! ' They rushed into the plain. Loud was the roar Of their career; the horsemen shook the earth ; The wheeled artillery's speed the pave- ment tore; The infantry, file after file, did pour Their clouds on the utmost hills. Five days they slew Among the wasted fields; the sixth saw gore Stream through the City; on the seventh the dew Of slaughter became stiff, and there was peace anew: XII Peace in the desert fields and villages, Between the glutted beasts and mangled dead ! Peace in the silent streets ! save when the cries Of victims, to their fiery judgment led, Made pale their voiceless lips who seemed to dread, Even in their dearest kindred, lest some tongue Be faithless to the fear yet unbetrayed; Peace in the Tyrant's palace, where the throng Waste the triumphal hours in festival and song ! XIII Day after day the burning Sun rolled on Over the death-polluted land. It came Out of the east like fire, and fiercely shone A lamp of autumn, ripening with its flame The few lone ears of corn ; the sky be- came Stagnate with heat, so that each cloud and blast Languished and died; the thirsting air did claim All moisture, and a rotting vapor passed From the unburied dead, invisible and fast 120 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM XIV First Want, then Plague, came on the beasts; their food Failed, and they drew the breath of its decay. Millions on millions, whom the scent of blood Had lured, or who from regions far away Had tracked the hosts in festival array, From their dark deserts, gaunt and wasting now Stalked like fell shades among their perished prey; In their green eyes a strange disease did glow They sank in hideous spasm, or pains severe and slow. xv The fish were poisoned in the streams; the birds In the green woods perished; the insect race Was withered up; the scattered flocks and herds Who had survived the wild beasts' hun- gry chase Died moaning, each upon the other's face In helpless agony gazing; round the City All night, the lean hyenas their sad case Like starving infants wailed a woful ditty; And many a mother wept, pierced with unnatural pity. XVI Amid the aerial minarets on high The ./Ethiopian vultures fluttering fell From their long line of brethren in the sky, Startling the concourse of mankind. Too well These signs the coming mischief did foretell. Strange panic first, a deep and sickening dread, Within each heart, like ice, did sink and dwell, A voiceless thought of evil, which did spread With the quick glance of eyes, like wither- ing lightnings shed. XVII Day after day, when the year wanes, the frosts Strip its green crown of leaves till all is bare; So on those strange and congregated hosts Came Famine, a swift shadow, and the air Groaned with the burden of a new de- spair; Famine, than whom Misrule no deadlier daughter Feeds from her thousand breasts, though sleeping there With lidless eyes lie Faith and Plague and Slaughter A ghastly brood conceived of Lethe's sullen water. XVIII There was no food ; the corn was tram- pled down, The flocks and herds had perished; on the shore The dead and putrid fish were ever thrown ; The deeps were foodless, and the winds no more Creaked with the weight of birds, but as before Those winged things sprang forth, were void of shade ; The vines and orchards, autumn's golden store, Were burned ; so that the meanest food was weighed With gold, and avarice died before the god it made. XIX There was no corn in the wide market- place All loathliest things, even human flesh, was sold; They weighed it in small scales and many a face Was fixed in eager horror then. His gold The miser brought; the tender maid, grown bold Through hunger, bared her scorned charms in vain; The mother brought her eldest born, controlled CANTO TENTH 121 By instinct blind as love, but turned again And bade her infant suck, and died in silent pain. XX Then fell blue Plague upon the race of man. ' Oh, for the sheathed steel, so late which gave Oblivion to the dead when the streets ran With brothers' blood ! Oh, that the earthquake's grave Would gape, or Ocean lift its stifling wave ! ' Vain cries throughout the streets thou- sands pursued Each by his fiery torture howl and rave Or sit in frenzy's unimagiued mood Upon fresh heaps of dead a ghastly multitude. XXI It was not hunger now, but thirst. Each well Was choked with rotting corpses, and became A caldron of green mist made visible At sunrise. Thither still the myriads came, Seeking to quench the agony of the flame Which raged like poison through their bursting veins; Naked they were from torture, without shame, Spotted with nameless scars and lurid blains Childhood, and youth, and age, writhing in savage pains. XXII It was not thirst, but madness ! Many saw Their own lean image everywhere it went A ghastlier self beside them, till the awe Of that dread sight to self-destruction sent Those shrieking victims; some, ere life was spent, Sought, with a horrid sympathy, to shed Contagion on the sound; and others rent Their matted hair, and cried aloud, ' We tread On fire ! the avenging Power his hell on earth has spread.' XXIII Sometimes the living by the dead were hid. Near the great fountain in the public square, Where corpses made a crumbling pyra- mid Under the sun, was heard one stifled prayer For life, in the hot silence of the air; And strange 't was 'mid that hideous heap to see Some shrouded in their long and golden hair, As if not dead, but slumbering quietly, Like forms which sculptors carve, then love to agony. XXIV Famine had spared the palace of the King; He rioted in festival the while, He and his guards and Priests; but Plague did fling One shadow upon all. Famine can smile On him who brings it food, and pass, with guile Of thankful falsehood, like a courtier gray, The house-dog of the throne; but many a mile Comes Plague, a winged wolf, who loathes alway The garbage and the scum that strangers make her prey. XXV So, near the throne, amid the gorgeous feast, Sheathed in resplendent arms, or loosely dight To luxury, ere the mockery yet had ceased That lingered on his lips, the warrior's might Was loosened, and a new and ghastlier night In dreams of frenzy lapped his eyes; he fell Headlong, or with stiff eyeballs sate up- right Among the guests, or raving mad did tell Strange truths a dying seer of dark op- pression's hell. 122 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM XXVI The Princes and the Priests were pale with terror; That monstrous faith wherewith they ruled mankind Fell, like a shaft loosed by the bowman's error, On their own hearts; they sought and they could find No refuge 't was the blind who led the blind ! So, through the desolate streets to the high fane, The many-tongued and endless armies wind In sad procession; each among the train To his own idol lifts his supplications vain. XXVII ' O God ! ' they cried, ' we know our secret pride Has scorned thee, and thy worship, and thy name ; Secure in human power, we have defied Thy fearful might; we bend in fear and shame Before thy presence; with the dust we claim Kindred; be merciful, O King of Heaven! Most justly have we suffered for thy fame Made dim, but be at length our sins for- given, Ere to despair and death thy worshippers be driven ! XXVIII 'O King of Glory! Thou alone hast power ! Who can resist thy will? who can re- strain Thy wrath when on the guilty thou dost shower The shafts of thy revenge, a blistering rain ? Greatest and best, be merciful again ! Have we not stabbed thine enemies, and made The Earth an altar, and the Heavens a fane, Where thou wert worshipped with their blood, and laid Those hearts in dust which would thy searchless works have weighed ? XXIX ' Well didst thou loosen on this impious City Thine angels of revenge ! recall them now; Thy worshippers abased here kneel for pity. And bind their souls by an immortal vow. We swear by thee and to our oath do thou Give sanction from thine hell of fiends and flame That we will kill with fire and torments slow The last of those who mocked thy holy name And scorned the sacred laws thy prophets did proclaim.' XXX Thus they with trembling limbs and pallid lips Worshipped their own hearts' image, dim and vast, Scared by the shade wherewith they would eclipse The light of other minds; troubled they passed From the great Temple; fiercely still and fast The arrows of the plague among them fell, And they on one another gazed aghast, And through the hosts contention wild befell, As each of his own god the wondrous works did tell. XXXI And Oromaze, Joshua, and Mahomet, Moses, and Buddh, Zerdusht, and Brahm, and Fob, A tumult of strange names, which never met Before, as watchwords of a single woe, Arose; each raging votary 'gan to throw Aloft his armed hands, and each did howl ' Our God alone is God ! ' and slaughter now Would have gone forth, when from be- neath a cowl A voice came forth which pierced like ice through every soul. CANTO TENTH 123 XXXII 'T was an Iberian Priest from whom it came, A zealous roan, who led the legioned West, With words which faith and pride had steeped in flame, To quell the unbelievers; a dire guest Even to his friends was he, for in his breast Did hate and guile lie watchful, inter- twined, Twin serpents in one deep and winding nest; He loathed all faith beside his own, and pined To wreak his fear of Heaven in vengeance on mankind. XXXTII But more he loathed and hated the clear light Of wisdom and free thought, and more did fear, Lest, kindled once, its beams might pierce the night, Even where his Idol stood; for far and near Did many a heart in Europe leap to hear That faith and tyranny were trampled down, Many a pale victim, doomed for truth to share The murderer's cell, or see with helpless groan The Priests his children drag for slaves to serve their own. xxxiv He dared not kill the infidels with fire Or steel, in Europe; the slow agonies Of legal torture mocked his keen desire; So he made truce with those who did de- spise The expiation and the sacrifice, That, though detested, Islam's kindred creed Might crush for him those deadlier ene- mies; For fear of God did in his bosom breed A jealous hate of man, an unreposing need. XXXV 4 Peace ! Peace ! ' he cried, ' when we are dead, the Day Of Judgment comes, and all shall surely know Whose God is God; each fearfully shall pay The errors of his faith in endless woe ! But there is sent a mortal vengeance now On earth, because an impious race had spurned Him whom we all adore, a subtle foe, By whom for ye this dread reward was earned, And kingly thrones, which rest on faith, uigli overturned. XXXVI ' Think ye, because ye weep and kneel and pray, That God will lull the pestilence ? It rose Even from beneath his throne, where, many a day, His mercy soothed it to a dark repose; It walks upon the earth to judge his foes, And what art thou and I, that he should deign To curb his ghastly minister, or close The gates of death, ere they receive the twain Who shook with mortal spells his unde- fended reign ? XXXVII ' Ay, there is famine in the gulf of hell, Its giant worms of fire forever yawn, Their lurid eyes are on us ! those who fell By the swift shafts of pestilence ere dawn Are in their jaws ! they hunger for the spawn Of Satan, their own brethren, who were sent To make our souls their spoil. See, see ! they fawn Like dogs, and they will sleep, with lux- ury spent, When those detested hearts their iron fangs have rent ! XXXVIII ' Our God may then lull Pestilence to sleep. Pile high the pyre of expiation now ! A forest's spoil of boughs; and on the heap 124 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Pour venomous gums, which sullenly and slow, When touched by flame, shall burn, and melt, and flow, A stream of clinging fire, and fix on high A net of iron, and spread forth below A couch of snakes, and scorpions, and the fry Of centipedes and worms, earth's hellish progeny ! XXXIX ' Let Laon and Laone on that pyre, Linked tight with burning brass, perish! then pray That with this sacrifice the withering ire Of Heaven may be appeased.' He ceased, and they A space stood silent, as far, far away The echoes of his voice among them died; And he knelt down upon the dust, alway Muttering the curses of his speechless pride, Whilst shame, and fear, and awe, the armies did divide. XL His voice was like a blast that burst the portal Of fabled hell; and as he spake, each one Saw gape beneath the chasms of fire im- mortal, And Heaven above seemed cloven, where, on a throne Girt round with storms and shadows, sate alone Their King and Judge. Fear killed in every breast All natural pity then, a fear unknown Before, and with an inward fire possessed They raged like homeless beasts whom burning woods invest. XLI T was morn. At noon the public crier went forth, Proclaiming through the living and the dead, The Monarch saith that his great em- pire's worth Is set on Laon and Laone's head; He who but one yet living here can lead, Or who the life from both their hearts can wring, Shall be the kingdom's heir a glorious meed ! But he who both alive can hither bring The Princess shall espouse, and reign an equal King.' XLII Ere night the pyre was piled, the net of iron Was spread above, the fearful couch be- low; It overtopped the towers that did environ That spacious square; for Fear is never slow To build the thrones of Hate, her mate and foe; So she scourged forth the maniac mul- titude To rear this pyramid tottering and slow, Plague-stricken, foodless, like lean herds pursued By gadflies, they have piled the heath and gums and wood. XLIII Night came, a starless and a moonless gloom. Until the dawn, those hosts of many a nation Stood round that pile, as near one lover's tomb Two gentle sisters mourn their desola- tion; And in the silence of that expectation Was heard on high the reptiles' hiss and crawl It was so deep, save when the devastation Of the swift pest with fearful interval, Marking its path with shrieks, among the crowd would fall. XLIV Morn came. Among those sleepless multitudes, Madness, and Fear, and Plague, and Famine, still Heaped corpse on corpse, as in autumnal woods The frosts of many a wind with dead leaves fill Earth's cold and sullen brooks; in silence still, CANTO ELEVENTH 125 The pale survivors stood; ere noon the fear Of Hell became a panic, which did kill Like hunger or disease, with whispers drear, As ' Hush ! hark ! come they yet ? Just Heaven, thine hour is near ! ' XLV And Priests rushed through their ranks, some counterfeiting The rage they did inspire, some mad in- deed With their own lies. They said their god was waiting To see his enemies writhe, and burn, and bleed, And that, till then, the snakes of Hell had need Of human souls; three hundred furnaces Soon blazed through the wide City, where, with speed, Men brought their infidel kindred to ap- pease God's wrath, and, while they burned, knelt round on quivering knees. XLVI The noontide sun was darkened with that smoke ; The winds of eve dispersed those ashes The madness, which these rites had lulled, awoke Again at sunset. Who shall dare to say The deeds which night and fear brought forth, or weigh In balance just the good and evil there ? He might man's deep and searchless heart display, And cast a light on those dim labyrinths where Hope near imagined chasms is struggling with despair. XL VII 'Tis said a mother dragged three chil- dren then To those fierce flames which roast the eyes in the head, And laughed, and died; and that unholy men, Feasting like fiends upon the infidel dead, Looked from their meal, and saw an angel tread The visible floor of Heaven, and it was she ! And, on that night, one without doubt or dread Came to the fire, and said, ' Stop, I am he ! Kill me ! ' They burned them both with hellish mockery. XLVIII And, one by one, that night, young maidens came, Beauteous and calm, like shapes of living stone Clothed in the light of dreams, and by the flame, Which shrank as overgorged, they laid them down, And sung a low sweet song, of which alone One word was heard, and that was Liberty; And that some kissed their marble feet, with moan Like love, and died, and then that they did die With happy smiles, which sunk in white tranquillity. CANTO ELEVENTH SHE saw me not she heard me not alone Upon the mountain's dizzy brink she stood; She spake not, breathed not, moved not there was thrown Over her look the shadow of a mood Which only clothes the heart in solitude, A thought of voiceless depth ; she stood alone Above, the Heavens were spread be- low, the flood Was murmuring in its caves the wind had blown Her hair apart, through which her eyes and forehead shone. A cloud was hanging o'er the western mountains ; Before its blue and moveless depth were flying 126 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Gray mists poured forth from the un- resting fountains Of darkness in the North; the day was dying; Sudden, the sun shone forth its beams were lying Like boiling gold on Ocean, strange to see, And on the shattered vapors which, defying The power of light in vain, tossed rest- lessly In the red Heaven, like wrecks in a tem- pestuous sea. in It was a stream of living beams, whose bank On either side by the cloud's cleft was made; And where its chasms that flood of glory drank, Its waves gushed forth like fire, and as if swayed By some mute tempest, rolled on her; the shade Of her bright image floated on the river Of liquid light, which then did end and fade Her radiant shape upon its verge did shiver; Aloft, her flowing hair like strings of flame did quiver. IV I stood beside her, but she saw me not She looked upon the sea, and skies, and earth. Rapture and love and admiration wrought A passion deeper far than tears, or mirth, Or speech, or gesture, or wbate'er has birth From common joy; which with the speechless feeling That led her there united, and shot forth From her far eyes a light of deep re- vealing, All but her dearest self from my regard concealing. Her lips were parted, and thp measured breath Was now heard there; her dark and in- tricate eyes, Orb within orb, deeper than sleep or death, Absorbed the glories of the burning skies, Which, mingling with her heart's deep ecstasies, Burst from her looks and gestures; and a light Of liquid tenderness, like love, did rise From her whole frame an atmosphere which quite Arrayed her in its beams, tremulous and soft and bright. VI She would have clasped me to her glow- ing frame; Those warm and odorous lips might soon have shed On mine the fragrance and the invisible flame Which now the cold winds stole; she would have laid Upon my languid heart her dearest head ; I might have heard her voice, tender and sweet; Her eyes, mingling with mine, might soon have fed My soul with their own joy. One mo- ment yet I gazed we parted then, never again to meet 1 VII Never but once to meet on earth again ! She heard me as I fled her eager tone Sunk on my heart, and almost wove a chain Around my will to link it with her own, So that my stern resolve was almost gone. ' I cannot reach thee ! whither dost thou fly? My steps are faint. Come back, thou dearest one Return, ah me ! return ! ' the wind passed by On which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly. VIII Woe ! woe ! that moonless midnight I Want and Pest Were horrible, but one more fell doth rear, CANTO ELEVENTH 127 As in a hydra's swarming lair, its crest Eminent among those victims even the Fear Of Hell; each girt by the hot atmosphere Of his blind agony, like a scorpion stung By his own rage upon his burning bier Of circling coals of fire. But still there clung One hope, like a keen sword on starting threads uphuug: IX Not death death was no more refuge or rest; Not life it was despair to be ! not sleep, For fiends and chasms of fire had dis- possessed All natural dreams; to wake was not to weep, But to gaze, mad and pallid, at the leap To which the Future, like a snaky scourge, Or like some tyrant's eye which aye doth keep Its withering beam upon his slaves, did urge Their steps; they heard the roar of Hell's sulphureous surge. Each of that multitude, alone and lost To sense of outward things, one hope yet knew; As on a foam-girt crag some seaman tossed Stares at the rising tide, or like the crew Whilst now the ship is splitting through and through; Each, if the tramp of a far steed was heard, Started from sick despair, or if there flew One murmur on the wind, or if some word Which none can gather yet the distant crowd has stirred. XI Why became cheeks, wan with the kiss of death, Paler from hope? they had sustained despair. Why watched those myriads with sus- pended breath Sleepless a second night ? they are not here, The victims and hour by hour, a vision drear, Warm corpses fall upon the clay-cold dead; And even in death their lips are wreathed with fear. The crowd is mute and moveless over- head Silent Arcturus shines ha ! hear'st thou not the tread XII Of rushing feet ? laughter ? the shout, the scream Of triumph not to be contained ? See ! hark! They come, they come f give way ! Alas, ye deem Falsely 't is but a crowd of maniacs stark Driven, like a troop of spectres, through the dark From the choked well, whence a bright death-fire sprung, A lurid earth-star, which dropped many a spark From its blue train, and, spreading widely, clung To their wild hair, like mist the topmost pines among. XIII And many, from the crowd collected there, Joined that strange dance in fearful sympathies; There was the silence of a long despair, When the last echo of those terrible -cries Came from a distant street, like agonies Stifled afar. Before the Tyrant's throne All night his aged Senate sate, their eyes In stony expectation fixed; when one Sudden before them stood, a Stranger and alone. XIV Dark Priests and haughty Warriors gazed on him With baffled wonder, for a hermit's vest Concealed his face; but when he spake, his tone 128 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Ere yet the matter did their thoughts arrest Earliest, benignant, calm, as from a breast Void of all hate or terror made them start ; For as with gentle accents he addressed His speech to them, on each unwilling heart U nusual awe did fall a spirit-quelling dart. XV ' Ye Princes of the Earth, ye sit aghast Amid the ruin which yourselves have made; Yes, Desolation heard your trumpet's blast, And sprang from sleep ! dark Terror has obeyed Your bidding. Oh, that I, whom ye have made Your foe, could set my dearest enemy free From pain and fear ! but evil casts a shade Which cannot pass so soon, and Hate must be The nurse and parent still of an ill progeny. XVI ' Ye turn to Heaven for aid in your dis- tress ; Alas, that ye, the mighty and the wise, Who, if ye dared, might not aspire to less Than ye conceive of power, should fear the lies Which thou, and thou, didst frame for mysteries To blind your slaves ! consider your own thought An empty and a cruel sacrifice Ye now prepare for a vain idol wrought Out of the fears and hate which vain de- sires have brought. XVII ' Ye seek for happiness alas the day ! Ye find it not in luxury nor in gold, Nor in the fame, nor in the envied sway For which, O willing slaves to Custom old, Severe task - mistress, ye your hearts have sold. Ye seek for peace, and, when ye die, to dream No evil dreams; all mortal things are cold And senseless then; if aught survive, I deem It must be love and joy, for they immortal seem. XVIII ' Fear not the future, weep not for the past. Oh, could I win your ears to dare be now Glorious, and great, and calm ! that ye would cast Into the dust those symbols of your woe, Purple, and gold, and steel ! that ye would go Proclaiming to the nations whence ye came That Want and Plague and Fear from slavery flow; And that mankind is free, and that the shame Of royalty and faith is lost in freedom's fame I XIX ' If thus 't is well if not, I come to say That Laon ' While the Stranger spoke, among The Council sudden tumult and affray Arose, for many of those warriors young Had on his eloquent accents fed and hung Like bees on mountain-flowers; they knew the truth, And from their thrones in vindication sprung; The men of faith and law then without ruth Drew forth their secret steel, and stabbed each ardent youth. XX They stabbed them in the back and sneered a slave, Who stood behind the throne, those corpses drew Each to its bloody, dark and secret grave; And one more daring raised his steel anew To pierce the Stranger: ' What hast thou to do CANTO TWELFTH 129 With me, poor wretch ? ' Calm, sol- emn and severe, That voice unstrung his sinews, and he threw His dagger on the ground, and, pale with fear, Sate silently his voice then did the Stranger rear. XXI It doth avail not that I weep for ye Ye cannot change, since ye are old and gray, And ye have chosen your lot your fame must be A book of blood, whence in a milder day Men shall learn truth, when ye are wrapped in clay; Now ye shall triumph. I am Laon's friend, And him to your revenge will I betray, So ye concede one easy boon. Attend ! For now I speak of things which ye can apprehend. XXII ' There is a People mighty in its youth, A laud beyond the Oceans of the West, Where, though with rudest rites, Free- dom and Truth Are worshipped; from a glorious Mo- ther's breast, Who, since high Athens fell, among the rest Sate like the Queen of Nations, but in woe, By inbred monsters outraged and op- pressed, Turns to her chainless child for succor now, It draws the milk of Power in Wisdom's fullest flow. XXIII That land is like an Eagle, whose young gaze Feeds on the noontide beam, whose golden plume Floats moveless on the storm, and in the blaze Of sunrise gleams when earth is wrapped in gloom ; An epitaph of glory for the tomb Of murdered Europe may thy fame be made, Great People ! as the sands shalt thou become ; Thy growth is swift as morn when night must fade; The multitudinous Earth shall sleep be- neath thy shade. XXIV ' Yes, in the desert there is built a home For Freedom. Genius is made strong to rear The monuments of man beneath the dome Of a new Heaven; myriads assemble there, Whom the proud lords of man, in rage of fear, Drive from their wasted homes. The boon I pray Is this that Cythna shall be convoyed there, Nay, start not at the name America ! And then to you this night Laon will I betray. XXV ' With me do what ye will. I am vour foe !' The light of such a joy as makes the stare Of hungry snakes like living emeralds glow Shone in a hundred human eyes. ' Where, where Is Laon ? haste ! fly ! drag him swiftly here ! We grant thy boon.' ' I put no trust in ye, Swear by the Power ye dread.' 'We swear, we swear ! ' The Stranger threw his vest back sud- denly, And smiled in gentle pride, and said, ' Lo ! I am he ! ' CANTO TWELFTH THE transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness Spread through the multitudinous streets, fast flying Upon the winds of fear; from his dull madness THE REVOLT OF ISLAM The starveling waked, and died in joy; the dying, Among the corpses in stark agony lying, Just heard the happy tidings, and in hope Closed their faint eyes; from house to house replying With loud acclaim, the living shook 'Heaven's cope, And filled the startled Earth with echoes. Morn did ope Its pale eyes then ; and lo ! the long array Of guards in golden arms, and Priests beside, f Singing their bloody hymns, whose garbs betray The blackness of the faith it seems to hide; And see the Tyrant's gem-wrought chariot glide Among the gloomy cowls and glittering spears A Shape of light is sitting by his side, A child most beautiful. I' the midst appears Laon exempt alone from mortal hopes and fears. ill His head and feet are bare, his hands are bound Behind with heavy chains, yet none do wreak Their scoffs on him, though myriads throng around ; There are no sneers upon his lip which speak That scorn or hate has made him bold; his cheek Resolve has not turned pale; his eyes are mild And calm, and, like the morn about to break, Smile on mankind; his heart seems re- conciled To all things and itself, like a reposing child. IV Tumult was in the soul of all beside, 111 joy, or doubt, or fear; but those who saw Their tranquil victim pass felt wonder glide Into their brain, and became calm with awe. See, the slow pageant near the pile doth draw. A thousand torches in the spacious square, Borne by the ready slaves of ruthless law, Await the signal round ; the morning fair Is changed to a dim night by that unnat- ural glare. And see ! beneath a sun-bright canopy, Upon a platform level with the pile, The anxious Tyrant sit, enthroned on high, Girt by the chieftains of the host; all smile In expectation but one child: the while I, Laon, led by mutes, ascend my bier Of fire, and look around ; each distant isle Is dark in the bright dawn; towers far and near Pierce like reposing flames the tremulous atmosphere. VI There was such silence through the host as when An earthquake, trampling on some popu- lous town, Has crushed ten thousand with one tread, and men Expect the second; all were mute but one, That fairest child, who, bold with love, alone Stood up before the king, without avail, Pleading for Laou's life her stifled groan Was heard she trembled like one aspen pale Among the gloomy pines of a Norwegian vale. VII What were his thoughts linked in the morning sun, Among those reptiles, stingless with delay, Even like a tyrant's wrath? the sig- nal-jnin CANTO TWELFTH Roared hark, again ! in that dread pause he lay As in a quiet dream the slaves obey A thousand torches drop, and hark, the last Bursts on that awful silence; far away Millions, with hearts that beat both loud and fast, Watch for the springing flame expectant and aghast. VIII They fly the torches fall a cry of fear Has startled the triumphant ! they recede ! For, ere the cannon's roar has died, they hear The tramp of hoofs like earthquake, and a steed Dark and gigantic, with the tempest's speed, Bursts through their ranks; a woman sits thereon, Fairer it seems than aught that earth can breed, Calm, radiant, like the phantom of the dawn, A spirit from the caves of daylight wan- dering gone. IX All thought it was God's Angel come to sweep The lingering guilty to their fiery grave; The Tyrant from his throne in dread did leap, Her innocence his child from fear did save ; Scared by the faith they feigned, each priestly slave Knelt for His inercy whom they served with blood, And, like the refluence of a mighty wave Sucked into the loud sea, the multitude With crushing panic fled in terror's altered mood. They pause, they blush, they gaze; a gathering shout Bursts like one sound from the ten thou- sand streams Of a tempestuous sea; that sudden rout One checked who never in his mildest dreams Felt awe from grace or loveliness, the seams Of his rent heart so hard and cold a creed Had seared with blistering ice; but he misdeems That he is wise whose wounds do only bleed Inly for self, thus thought the Iberian Priest indeed, XI And others, too, thought he was wise to see In pain, and fear, and hate, something divine In love and beauty, no divinity. Now with a bitter smile, whose light did shine Like a fiend's hope upon his lips and eyue, He said, and the persuasion of that sneer Rallied his trembling comrades 'Is it mine To stand alone, when kings and soldiers fear A woman ? Heaven has sent its other victim here.' XII ' Were it not impious,' said the King, ' to break Our holy oath ? ' ' Impious to keep it, say ! ' Shrieked the exulting Priest : ' Slaves, to the stake Bind her, and on my head the burden lay Of her just torments; at the Judgment Day Will I stand up before the golden throne Of Heaven, and cry, " To Thee did I betray An infidel ! but for me she would have known Another moment's joy ! " the glory be thine own.' XIII They trembled, but replied not, nor obe}-ed, Pausing in breathless silence. Cytlma sprung From her gigantic steed, who, like a shade THE REVOLT OF ISLAM Chased by the winds, those vacant streets among Fled tameless, as the brazen rein she flung Upon his neck, and kissed his mooned brow. A piteous sight, that one so fair and young The clasp of such a fearful death should woo With smiles of tender joy as beamed from Cythna now. XIV The warm tears burst in spite of faith and fear From many a tremulous eye, but, like soft dews Which feed spring's earliest buds, hung gathered there, Frozen by doubt, alas ! they conld not choose But weep; for, when her faint limbs did refuse To climb the pyre, upon the mutes she smiled ; And with her eloquent gestures, and the hues Of her quick lips, even as a weary child Wins sleep from some fond nurse with its caresses mild, XV She won them, though unwilling, her to bind Near me, among the snakes. When then had fled One soft reproach that was most thrilling kind, She smiled on me, and nothing then we said, But each upon the other's countenance fed Looks of insatiate love; the mighty veil Which doth divide the living and the dead Was almost rent, the world grew dim and pale Ail light in Heaven or Earth beside our love did fail. XVI Yet yet one brief relapse, like the last beam Of dying flames, the stainless air around Hung silent and serene a blood-red gleam Burst upwards, hurling fiercely from the ground The globed smoke; I heard the mighty sound Of its uprise, like a tempestuous ocean; And, through its chasms I saw, as in a swouud, The Tyrant's child fall without life or motion Before his throne, subdued by some unseen emotion. xvn And is this death ? The pyre has dis- appeared, The Pestilence, the Tyrant, and the throng; The flames grow silent slowly there is heard The music of a breath-suspending song, Which, like the kiss of love when life is young, Steeps the faint eyes in darkness sweet and deep; With ever-changing notes it floats along, Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap. XVIII The warm touch of a soft and tremulous hand Wakened me then; lo, Cythua sate re- clined Beside me, on the waved and golden sand Of a clear pool, upon a bank o'ertwined With strange and star-bright flowers which to the wind Breathed divine odor; high above was spread The emerald heaven of trees of unknown kind, Whose moonlike blooms and bright fruit overhead A shadow, which was light, upon the waters shed. XIX And round about sloped many a lawny mountain With incense-bearing forests and vast caves CANTO TWELFTH 133 Of marble radiance, to that mighty foun- tain; And, where the flood its own bright mar- gin laves, Their echoes talk with its eternal waves, Which from the depths whose jagged caverns breed Their unreposing strife it lifts and heaves, Till through a chasm of hills they roll, and feed A river deep, which flies with smooth but arrowy speed. XX As we sate gazing in a trance of wonder, A boat approached, borne by the musical air Along the waves which sung and sparkled under Its rapid keel. A winged Shape sate there, A child with silver-shining wings, so fair That, as her bark did through the waters glide, The shadow of the lingering waves did wear Light, as from starry beams; from side to side While veering to the wind her plumes the bark did guide. XXI The boat was one curved shell of hollow pearl, Almost translucent with the light divine Of her within; the prow and stern did curl, Horned on high, like the young moon supine, When o'er dim twilight mountains dark with pine It floats upon the sunset's sea of beams, Whose golden waves in many a purple line Fade fast, till, borne on sunlight's ebbing streams, Dilating, on earth's verge the sunken me- teor gleams. XXII Its keel has struck the sands beside our feet. Then Cythna turned to me, and from her eyes, Which swam with unshed tears, a look more sweet Than happy love, a wild and glad sur- prise, Glanced as she spake: 'Ay, this is Para- dise And not a dream, and we are all united ! Lo, that is iniue own child, who in the guise Of madness came, like day to one be- nighted In lonesome woods; my heart is now too well requited ! ' XXIII And then she wept aloud, and in her arms Clasped that bright Shape, less marvel- lously fair Than her own human hues and living charms, Which, as she leaned in passion's silence there, Breathed warmth on the cold bosom of the air, Which seemed to blush and tremble with delight; The glossy darkness of her streaming hair Fell o'er that snowy child, and wrapped from sight The fond and long embrace which did their hearts unite. XXIV Then the bright child, the plumed Seraph, came, And fixed its blue and beaming eyes on mine, And said, ' I was disturbed by tremulous shame When once we met, yet knew that I was thine From the same hour in which thy lips divine Kindled a clinging dream within my brain, Which ever waked when I might sleep, to twine Thine image with her memory dear; again We meet, exempted now from mortal fear or pain. XXV ' When the consuming flames had wrapped ye round, '34 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM The Lope which I had cherished went away; I fell iu agony on the senseless ground, And hid mine eyes in dust, and tar astray My mind was gone, when bright, like dawning day, The Spectre of the Plague before me flew, And breathed upon my lips, and seemed to say, " They wait for thee, beloved ! " then I knew The death-mark on my breast, and became culm anew. XXVI ' It was the calm of love for I was dying. I saw the black and half-extinguished pyre In its own gray and shrunken ashes lying; The pitchy smoke of the departed fire Still hung in many a hollow dome and spire Above the towers, like night, beneath whose shade, Awed by the ending of their own desire, The armies stood ; a vacancy was made In expectation's depth, and so they stood dismayed. XXVII ' The frightful silence of that altered mood The tortures of the dying clove alone, Till one uprose among the multitude, And said " The flood of time is rolling on; We stand upon its brink, whilst they are gone To glide in peace down death's myste- rious stream. Have ye done well ? they moulder, flesh and bone, Who might have made this life's enven- omed dream A sweeter draught than ye will ever taste, I deem. XXVIII " These perish as the good and great of yore Have perished, and their murderers will repent ; Yes, vain and barren tears shall flow before Yon smoke has faded from the firma- ment, Even for this cause, that ye, who must lament The death of those that made this world so fair, Cannot recall them now; but then is lent To man the wisdom of a high despair, When such can die, and he live on and linger here. XXIX ' " Ay, ye may fear not now the Pestilence, From fabled hell as by a charm with- drawn; All power and faith must pass, since calmly hence In pain and fire have unbelievers gone; And ye must sadly turn away, and moan In secret, to his home each one returning; And to long ages shall this hour be known, And slowly shall its memory, ever burn- ing. Fill this dark night of things with an eternal morning. xxx ' " For me that world is grown too void and cold, Since hope pursues immortal destiny With steps thus slow therefore shall ye behold How those who love, yet fear not, dare to die; Tell to your children this ! " then suddenly He sheathed a dagger in his heart, and fell; My brain grew dark in death, and yet to me There came a murmur from the crowd to tell Of deep and mighty change which suddenly befell. XXXI ' Then suddenly I stood, a winged Thought, Before the immortal Senate, and the seat Of that star-shining Spirit, whence is wrought The strength of its dominion, good and great, The Better Genius of this world's estate. His realm around one mighty Fane is spread, CANTO TWELFTH 135 Elysian islands bright and fortunate, Calm dwellings of the free and bappy dead, Where I am sent to lead ! ' These winged words she said, XXXII And with the silence of her eloquent smile, Bade us embark in her divine canoe; Then at the helm we took our seat, the while Above her head those plumes of dazzling hue Into the winds' invisible stream she threw, Sitting beside the prow; like gossamer On the swift breath of morn the vessel flew O'er the bright whirlpools of that foun- tain fair, Whose shores receded fast while we seemed lingering there; XXXIII Till down that mighty stream dark, calm and fleet, Between a chasm of cedarn mountains riven, Chased by the thronging winds whose viewless feet, As swift as twinkling beams, had under Heaven From woods and waves wild sounds and odors driven, The boat fled visibly; three nights and days, Borne like a cloud through morn, and noon, and even, We sailed along the winding watery ways Of the vast stream, a long and labyrinthine maze. XXXIV A scene of joy and wonder to behold, That river's shapes and shadows chang- ing ever, Where the broad sunrise filled with deepening gold Its whirlpools where all hues did spread and quiver; And where melodious falls did burst and shiver Among rocks clad with flowers, the foam and spray Sparkled like stars upon the sunny river; Or, when the moonlight poured a holier day, One vast and glittering lake around green islands lay. XXXV Morn, noon and even, that boat of pearl outran The streams which bore it, like the arrowy cloud Of tempest, or the speedier thought of man, Which flieth forth and cannot make abode ; Sometimes through forests, deep like night, we glode, Between the walls of mighty mountains crowned With Cyclopean piles, whose turrets proud, The homes of the departed, dimly frowned O'er the bright waves which girt their dark foundations round. XXXVI Sometimes between the wide and flow- ering meadows Mile after mile we sailed, and 't was delight To see far off the sunbeams chase the shadows Over the grass; sometimes beneath the night Of wide and vaulted caves, whose roofs were bright With starry gems, we fled, whilst from their deep And dark green chasms shades beautiful and white, Amid sweet sounds across our path would sweep, Like swift and lovely dreams that walk the waves of sleep. XXXVII And ever as we sailed, our minds were full Of love and wisdom, which would over- flow In converse wild, and sweet, and won- derful; And in quick smiles whose light would come and go, 136 ROSALIND AND HELEN Like music o'er wide waves, and in the flow Of sudden tears, and in the mute caress; For a deep shade was cleft, and we did know, That virtue, though obscured on Earth, not less Survives all mortal change in lasting love- liness. XXXVIII Three days and nights we sailed, as thought and feeling Number delightful hours for through the sky The sphered lamps of day and night, re- vealing New changes and new glories, rolled on high, Sun, Moon and moonlike lamps, the progeny Of a diviner Heaven, serene and fair; On the fourth day, wild as a wind- wrought sea The stream became, and fast and faster bare The spirit-winged boat, steadily speeding there. xxxix Steady and swift, where the waves rolled like mountains Within the vast ravine, whose rifts did pour Tumultuous floods from their ten thou- sand fountains, The thunder of whose earth-uplifting roar Made the air sweep in whirlwinds from the shore, Calm as a shade, the boat of that fair child Securely fled that rapid stress before, Amid the topmost spray and suubows wild Wreathed in the silver mist; in joy and pride we smiled. XL The torrent of that wide and raging river Is passed, and our aerial speed suspended. We look behind; a golden mist did quiver When its wild surges with the lake were blended ; Our bark hung there, as on a line sus- pended Between two heavens, that windless, waveless lake, Which four great cataracts from four vales, attended By mists, aye feed; from rocks and clouds they break, And of that azure sea a silent refuge make. XLI Motionless resting on the lake awhile, I saw its marge of snow-bright moun- tains rear Their peaks aloft; I saw each radiant isle; And in the midst, afar, even like a sphere Hung in one hollow sky, did there ap- pear The Temple of the Spirit; on the sound Which issued thence drawn nearer and more near Like the swift moon this glorious earth around, The charmed boat approached, and there its haven found. ROSALIND AND HELEN A MODERN ECLOGUE Rosalind and Helen was begun at Marlow as early as the summer of 1817, and was suffi- ciently far advanced to lead Shelley to send copy to the publisher just before leaving England in March, 1818 ; it was finished in August, at the Baths of Lucca, and published in the spring of 1819. Shelley's original Ad- vertisement to the volume, dated Naples, De- cember 20, 1818, opens with the following : 'The story of Rosalind and Helen is, un- doubtedly, not an attempt in the highest style of poetry. It is in no degree calculated to excite profound meditation ; and if, by inter- esting the affections and amusing the imagin- ation, it awaken a certain ideal melancholy favorable to the reception of more important impressions, it will produce in the reader all that the writer experienced in the composition. I resigned myself, as I wrote, to the impulse of the feelings which moulded the conception ROSALIND AND HELEN 137 of the story ; and this impulse determined the pauses of a measure, which only pretends to be regular inasmuch as it corresponds with, and expresses, the irregularity of the imagin- ations which inspired it.' The feelings here spoken of ' which moulded the conception of the story ' were suggested, in part, by the relation of Mrs. Shelley with a friend of her girlhood, Isabel Baxter, who fell away from her early attachment in consequence of Mrs. Shelley's flight with Shelley in July, 1814, and was afterward reconciled with her. (Dowden, Life, ii. 130, 131.) Forman (Type Facsimile of the original edition. Shelley Soci- ety's Publications, Second Series, No. 17, In- troduction) discusses the matter at length, together with the reflection of political events in England possibly to be detected in the poem. Shelley wrote to Peacock, ' I lay no stress on it one way or the other.' Mrs. Shelley's note develops the reason for this indifference : * Rosalind and Helen was begun at Marlow, and thrown aside, till I found it ; and, at my ROSALIND AND HELEN ROSALIND, HELEN, and her Child. SCENE. The Shore of the Lake of Como. HELEN COME hither, my sweet Rosalind. 'T is long since thou and I have met; And yet methinks it were unkind Those moments to forget. Come, sit by me. I see thee stand By this lone lake, in this far land, Thy loose hair in the light wind flying, Thy sweet voice to each tone of even United, and thine eyes replying To the hues of yon fair heaven. 10 Come, gentle friend ! wilt sit by me ? And be as thon wert wont to be Ere we were disunited ? None doth behold us now; the power That led us forth at this lone hour Will be but ill requited If tbou depart in scorn. Oh, come, And talk of our abandoned home ! Remember, this is Italy, And we are exiles. Talk with me 20 Of that our land, whose wilds and floods, Barren and dark although they be, Were dearer than these chestnut woods; Those heathy paths, that inland stream, And the blue mountains, shapes which seem Like wrecks of childhood's sunny dream; request, it was completed. Shelley had no care for any of his poems that did not ema- nate from the depths of his mind, and develop some high or abstruse truth. When he does touch on human life and the human heart, no pictures can be more faithful, more delicate, more subtle, or more pathetic. He never men- tioned Love, but he shed a grace, borrowed from his own nature, that scarcely any other poet has bestowed on that passion. When he spoke of it as the law of life, which inasmuch as we rebel against, we err and injure ourselves and others, he promulgated that which he con- sidered an irrefragable truth. In his eyes it was the essence of our being, and all woe and pain arose from the war made against it by selfishness, or insensibility, or mistake. By reverting in his mind to this first principle, he discovered the source of many emotions, and could disclose the secrets of all hearts, and his delineations of passion and emotion touch the finest chords in our nature. Rosalind and Heltn was finished during the summer of 1818. while we were at the Baths of Lucca.' Which that we have abandoned now, Weighs on the heart like that remorse Which altered friendship leaves. I seek No more our youthful intercourse. 30 That cannot be ! Rosalind, speak, Speak to me ! Leave me not ! When morn did come, When evening fell upon our common home, When for one hour we parted, do not frown; I would not chide thee, though thy faith is broken ; But turn to me. Oh ! by this cherished token Of woven hair, which thou wilt not disown, Turn, as 't were but the memory of me, And not myscorned self who prayed to tbee ! ROSALIND Is it a dream, or do I see 40 And hear frail Helen ? I would flee Thy tainting touch; but former years Arise, and bring forbidden tears; And my o'erburdened memory Seeks yet its lost repose in thee. I share thy crime. I cannot choose But weep for thee; mine own strange grief But seldom stoops to such relief; Nor ever did I love thee less, Though mourning o'er thy wickedness 50 Even with a sister's woe. I knew What to the evil world is due, ROSALIND AND HELEN And therefore sternly did refuse To liuk me with the infamy Of one so lost as Helen. Now, Bewildered by my dire despair, Wondering I blush, and weep that thou Shouldst love me still thou only ! There, Let us sit on that gray stone Till our mournful talk be done. 60 Alas ! not there; I cannot bear The murmur of this lake to hear. A sound from there, Rosalind dear, Which never yet I heard elsewhere But in our native land, recurs, Even here where now we meet. It stirs Too much of suffocating sorrow ! In the dell of yon dark chestnut wood Is a stone seat, a solitude Less like our own. The ghost of peace 70 Will not desert this spot. To-morrow, If thy kind feelings should not cease, We may sit here. ROSALIND Thou lead, my sweet, And I will follow. HENRY 'T is Fenici's seat Where you are going? This is not the way, Mamma; it leads behind those trees that grow Close to the little river. HELEN Yes, I know; I was bewildered. Kiss me and be gay, Dear boy ; why do you sob ? HENRY I do not know; But it might break any one's heart to see 80 You and the lady cry so bitterly. HELEN It is a gentle child, my friend. Go home, Henry, and play with Lilla till I come. We only cried with joy to see each other; We are quite rnerry now. Good night. The boy Lifted a sudden look upon his mother, And, in the gleam of forced and hollow jy Which lightened o'er her face, laughed with the glee Of light and unsuspecting infancy, And whispered in her ear, 'Bring home with you 9<3 That sweet strange lady-friend.' Then off he flew, But stopped, and beckoned with a meaning smile, Where the road turned. Pale Rosalind the while, Hiding her face, stood weeping silently. In silence then they took the way Beneath the forest's solitude. It was a vast and antique wood, Through which they took their way; And the gray shades of evening O'er that green wilderness did fling 100 Still deeper solitude. Pursuing still the path that wound The vast and knotted trees around, Through which slow shades were wander- ing* To a deep lawny dell they came, To a stone seat beside a spring, O'er which the columned wood did frame A roofless temple, like the fane Where, ere new creeds could faith ob- tain, Man's early race once knelt beneath no The overhanging deity. O'er this fair fountain hung the sky, Now spangled with rare stars. The snake, The pale snake, that with eager breath Creeps here his noontide thirst to slake, Is beaming with many a mingled hue, Shed from yon dome's eternal blue, When he floats on that dark and lucid flood In the light of his own loveliness; And the birds, that in the fountain dip 120 Their plumes, with fearless fellowship Above and round him wheel and hover. The fitful wind is heard to stir One solitary leaf on high; The chirping of the grasshopper Fills every pause. There is emotion In all that dwells at noontide here; Then through the intricate wild wood A maze of life and light and motion Is woven. But there is stillness now ijo Gloom, and the trance of Nature now. ROSALIND AND HELEN '39 The snake is in his cave asleep; The birds are on the branches dreaming; Only the shadows creep; Only the glow-worm is gleaming; Only the owls and the nightingales Wake in this dell when daylight fails, And gray shades gather in the woods; And the owls have all fled far asvay In a merrier glen to hoot and play, 140 For the moon is veiled and sleeping now. The accustomed nightingale still broods On her accustomed bough, But she is mute; for her false mate Has fled and left her desolate. This silent spot tradition old Had peopled with the spectral dead. For the roots of the speaker's hair felt cold And stiff, as with tremulous lips he told That a hellish shape at midnight led 150 The ghost of a youth with hoary hair, And sate on the seat beside him there, Till a naked child came wandering by, When the fiend would change to a lady fair ! A fearful tale ! the truth was worse; For here a sister and a brother Had solemnized a monstrous curse, Meeting in this fair solitude; For beneath yon very sky, Had they resigned to one another 160 Body and soul. The multitude, Tracking them to the secret wood, Tore limb from limb their innocent child, And stabbed and trampled on its mother; But the youth, for God's most holy grace, A priest saved to burn in the market-place. Duly at evening Helen came To this lone silent spot, From the wrecks of a tale of wilder sorrow So much of sympathy to borrow 170 As soothed her own dark lot. Duly each evening from her home, With her fair child would Helen come To sit upon that antique seat, While the hues of day were pale; And the bright boy beside her feet Now lay, lifting at intervals His broad blue eyes on her; Now, where some sudden impulse calls, Following. He was a gentle boy 180 And in all gentle sports took joy. Oft in a dry leaf for a boat, With a small feather for a sail, His fancy on that spring would float, If some invisible breeze might stir Its marble calm; and Helen smiled Through tears of awe on the gay child, To think that a boy as fair as he, In years which never more may be, By that same fount, in that same wood, 190 The like sweet fancies had pursued; And that a mother, lost like her, Had mournfully sate watching him. Then all the scene was wont to swim Through the mist of a burning tear. For many months had Helen known This scene; and now she thither turned Her footsteps, not alone. The friend whose falsehood she had mourned Sate with her on that seat of stone. 200 Silent they sate; for evening, And the power its glimpses bring, Had with one awful shadow quelled The passion of their grief. They sate With linked hands, for unrepelled Had Helen taken Rosalind's. Like the autumn wind, when it unbinds The tangled locks of the nightshade's hair Which is twined in the sultry summer air Round the walls of an outworn sepulchre, Did the voice of Helen, sad and sweet, 211 And the sound of her heart that ever beat As with sighs and words she br,eathed ou her, Unbind the knots of her friend's despair, Till her thoughts were free to float and flow; And from her laboring bosom now, Like the bursting of a prisoned flame, The voice of a long-pent sorrow came. ROSALIND I saw the dark earth fall upon The coffin; and I saw the stone 320 Laid over him whom this cold breast Had pillowed to his nightly rest ! Thou knowest not, thou canst not know My agony. Oh ! I could not weep. The sources whence such blessings flow Were not to be approached by me ! But I could smile, and I could sleep, Though with a self-accusing heart. In morning's light, in evening's gloom, I watched and would not thence de- part 230 My husband's unlamented tomb. My children knew their sire was gone; But when I told them, 'He is dead,' 140 'ROSALIND AND HELEN They laughed aloud in frantic glee, They clapped their hands and leaped about, Answering each other's ecstasy With many a prank and merry shout. But I sate silent and alone, Wrapped in the mock of mourning weed. They laughed, for he was dead; but I 240 Sate with a hard and tearless eye, And with a heart which would deny The secret joy it could not quell, Low muttering o'er his loathed name; Till from that self-contention came Remorse where sin was none; a hell Which in pure spirits should not dwell. I '11 tell thee truth. He was a man Hard, selfish, loving only gold, Yet full of guile; his pale eyes ran 250 With tears which each some falsehood told, And oft his smooth and bridled tongue Would give the lie to his flushing cheek; He was a coward to the strong; He was a tyrant to the weak, On whom his vengeance he would wreak; For scorn, whose arrows search the heart, From many a stranger's eye would dart, And on bis memory cling, and follow His soul to its home so cold and hollow. 260 He was a tyrant to the weak, And we were such, alas the day ! Oft, when my little ones at play Were in youth's natural lightness gay, Or if they listened to some tale Of travellers, or of fairyland, When the light from the wood-fire's dying brand Flashed on their faces, if they heard Or thought they heard upon the stair His footstep, the suspended word 270 Died on my lips; we all grew pale; The babe at my bosom was hushed with fear If it thought it heard its father near; And my two wild boys would near my knee Cling, cowed and cowering fearfully. I '11 tell thee truth: I loved another. His name in my ear was ever ringing, His form to my brain was ever clinging; Yet, if some stranger breathed that name, My lips turned white, and my heart beat fast. aSo My nights were once haunted by dreams ^f flame, My days were dim in the shadow cast By the memory of the same ! Day and night, day and night, He was my breath and life and light, For three short years, which soon were passed. On the fourth, my gentle mother Led me to the shrine, to be His sworn bride eternally. And now we stood on the altar stair, 290 When my father came from a distant land, And with a loud and fearful cry Rushed between us suddenly. I saw the stream of his thin gray hair, I saw his lean and lifted hand, And heard his words and live ! O God ! Wherefore do I live ? < Hold, hold ! ' He cried, 4 1 tell thee 't is her brother ! Thy mother, boy, beneath the sod Of yon churchyard rests in her shroud so cold ; 300 I am now weak, and pale, and old; We were once dear to one another, I and that corpse ! Thou art our child ! ' Then with a laugh both long and wild The youth upon the pavement fell. They found him dead ! All looked on me, The spasms of my despair to see; But I was calm. I went away; I was clammy-cold like clay. I did not weep; I did not speak; 310 But day by day, week after week, I walked about like a corpse alive. Alas ! sweet friend, you must believe This heart is stone it did not break. My father lived a little while, But all might see that he was dying, He smiled with such a woful smile. When he was in the churchyard lying Among the worms, we grew quite poor, So that no one would give us bread; 320 My mother looked at me, and said Faint words of cheer, which only meant That she could die and be content; So I went forth from the same church door To another husband's bed. And this was he who died at last, When weeks and months and years had passed, Through which I firmly did fulfil My duties, a devoted wife, With the stern step of vanquished will 330 Walking beneath the night of life, ROSALIND AND HELEN 141 Whose hours extinguished, like slow rain Falling forever, pain by pain, The very hope of death's dear rest; Which, since the heart within my breast Of natural life was dispossessed, Its strange sustaiuer there had been. When flowers were dead, and grass was green Upon my mother's grave that mother Whom to outlive, and cheer, and make 340 My wan eyes glitter for her sake, Was my vowed task, the single care Which once gave life to my despair When she was a thing that did not stir, And the crawling worms were cradling her To a sleep more deep and so more sweet Than a baby's rocked on its nurse's knee, I lived; a living pulse then beat Beneath my heart that awakened me. What was this pulse so warm and free ? 350 Alas ! I knew it could not be My own dull blood. 'Twas like a thought Of liquid love, that spread and wrought Under my bosom and in my brain, And crept with the blood through every vein, And hour by hour, day after day, The wonder could not charm away But laid in sleep my wakeful pain, Until I knew it was a child, And then I wept. For long, long years 360 These frozen eyes had shed no tears; But now 't was the season fair and mild When April has wept itself to May; I sate through the sweet sunny day By my window bowered round with leaves, And down my cheeks the quick tears ran Like twinkling rain-drops from the eaves, When warm spring showers are passing o'er. Helen, none can ever tell The joy it was to weep once more ! 370 1 wept to think how hard it were To kill my babe, and take from it The sense of light, and the warm air, And my own fond and tender care, And love and smiles; ere I knew yet That these for it might, as for me, Be the masks of a grinning mockery. And haply, I would dream, 't were sweet To feed it from my faded breast, Or mark my own heart's restless beat 380 Rock it to its untroubled rest, And watch the growing soul beneath Dawn in faint smiles; and hear its breath, Half interrupted by calm sighs, And search the depth of its fair eyes For long departed memories f And so I lived till that sweet load Was lightened. Darkly forward flowed The stream of years, and on it bore Two shapes of gladness to my sight; sgc Two other babes, delightful more, In my lost soul's abandoned night, Than their own country ships may be Sailing towards wrecked mariners Who cling to the rock of a wintry sea. For each, as it came, brought soothing tears ; And a loosening warmth, as each one lay Sucking the sullen milk away, About my frozen heart did play, And weaned it, oh, how painfully 4 oo As they themselves were weaned each one From that sweet food even from the thirst Of death, and nothingness, and rest, Strange inmate of a living breast, Which all that I had undergone Of grief and shame, since she who first The gates of that dark refuge closed Came to my sight, and almost burst The seal of that Lethean spring But these fair shadows interposed. 410 For all delights are shadows now ! And from my brain to my dull brow The heavy tears gather and flow. I cannot speak ob, let me weep ! The tears which fell from her wan eyes Glimmered among the moonlight dew. Her deep hard sobs and heavy sighs Their echoes in the darkness threw. When she grew calm, she thus did keep The tenor of her tale : He died; 420 I know not how; he was not old, If age be numbered by its years; But he was bowed and bent with fears, Pale with the quenchless thirst of gold, Which, like fierce fever, left him weak; And his strait lip and bloated cheek Were warped in spasms by hollow sneers; And selfish cares with barren plough, Not age, had lined his narrow brow, And foul and cruel thoughts, which feed 431 Upon the withering life within, 142 ROSALIND AND HELEN Like vipers on some poisonous weed. Whether his ill were death or sin None knew, until he died indeed, And then men owned they were the same. Seven days within my chamber lay That corse, and my babes made holiday. At last, I told them what is death. The eldest, with a kind of shame, Came to my knees with silent breath, 440 And sate awe-stricken at my feet; And soon the others left their play, And sate there too. It is unmeet To shed on the brief flower of youth The withering knowledge of the grave. From me remorse then wrung that truth. I could not bear the joy which gave Too just a response to mine own. In vain. I dared not feign a groan; And in their artless looks I saw, 450 Between the mists of fear and awe, That my own thought was theirs; and they Expressed it not in words, but said, Each in its heart, how every day Will pass in happy work and play, Now he is dead and gone away ! After the funeral all our kin Assembled, and the will was read. My friend, I tell thee, even the dead Have strength, their putrid shrouds within, To blast and torture. Those who live 461 Still fear the living, but a corse Is merciless, and Power doth give To such pale tyrants half the spoil He rends from those who groan and toil, Because they blush not with remorse Among their crawling worms. Behold, I have no child ! my tale grows old With grief, and staggers; let it reach The limits of my feeble speech, 470 And languidly at length recline On the brink of its own grave and mine. Thou knowest what a thing is Poverty Among the fallen on evil days. 'T is Crime, and Fear, and Infamy, And houseless Want in frozen ways Wandering ungarmented, and Pain, And, worse than all, that inward stain, Foul Self-contempt, which drowns in sneers Youth's starlight smile, and makes its tears 480 First like hot gall, then dry forever ! And well thou knowest a mother never Could doom her children to this ill, And well he knew the same. The will Imported that, if e ? er again I sought my children to behold, Or in my birthplace did remain Beyond three days, whose hours were told, They should inherit nought; and he, To whom next came their patrimony, 490 A sallow lawyer, cruel and cold, Aye watched me, as the will was read, With eyes askance, which sought to see The secrets of my agony; And with close lips and anxious brow Stood canvassing still to and fro The chance of my resolve, and all The dead man's caution just did call; For in that killing lie 't was said ' She is adulterous, and doth hold SOD In secret that the Christian creed Is false, and therefore is much need That I should have a care to save My children from eternal fire.' Friend, he was sheltered by the grave, And therefore dared to be a liar ! In truth, the Indian on the pyre Of her dead husband, half consumed, As well might there be false as I To those abhorred embraces doomed, 510 Far worse than fire's brief agony. As to the Christian creed, if true Or false, I never questioned it; I took it as the vulgar do; Nor my vexed scul had leisure yet To doubt the things men say, or deem That they are other than they seem. All present who those crimes did hear, In feigned or actual scorn and fear, Men, women, children, slunk away, 520 Whispering with self-contented pride Which half suspects its own base lie. I spoke to none, nor did abide, But silently I went my way, Nor noticed I where joyously Sate my two younger babes at play In the courtyard through which I passed; But went with footsteps firm and fast Till I came to the brink of the ocean green, And there, a woman with gray hairs, 530 Who had my mother's servant been, Kneeling, with many tears and prayers, Made me accept a purse of gold, Half of the earnings she had kept To refuge her when weak and old. ROSALIND AND HELEN With woe, which never sleeps or slept, I wander now. 'Tis a vain thought But on yon Alp, whose snowy head 'Mid the azure air is islanded, (We see it o'er the flood of cloud, 540 Which sunrise from its eastern caves Drives, wrinkling into golden waves, Hung with its precipices proud From that gray stone where first we met) There now who knows the dead feel nought ? Should be my grave; for he who yet Is my soul's soul once said: ' 'T were sweet 'Mid stars and lightnings to abide, And winds, and lulling snows that beat With their soft flakes the mountain wide, Where weary meteor lamps repose, 551 And languid storms their pinions close, And all things strong and bright and pure, And ever during, aye endure. Who knows, if one were buried there, But these things might our spirits make, Amid the all-surrounding air, Their own eternity partake ? ' Then 't was a wild and playful saying At which I laughed or seemed to laugh. 560 They were his words now heed my pray- ing. And let them be my epitaph. Thy memory for a term may be My monument. Wilt remember me ? I know thou wilt; and canst forgive, Whilst in this erring world to live My soul disdained not, that I thought Its lying forms were worthy aught, And much less thee. Oh, speak not so ! But come to me and pour thy woe 570 Into this heart, full though it be, Aye overflowing with its own. I thought that grief had severed me From all beside who weep and groan, Its likeness upon earth to be Its express image; but thou art More wretched. Sweet, we will not part Henceforth, if death be not division; If so, the dead feel no contrition. But wilt thou hear, since last we parted, 580 All that has left me broken-hearted ? Yes, speak. The faintest stars are scarcely shorn Of their thin beams by that delusive morn Which sinks again iu darkness, like the light Of early love, soon lost in total night. Alas ! Italian winds are mild, But my bosom is cold wintry cold; When the warm air weaves, among the fresh leaves, Soft music, my poor brain is wild, And I am weak like a nursling child, 590 Though my soul with grief is gray and old. BOSALIND Weep not at thine own words, though they must make Me weep. What is thy tale ? I fear 't will shake Thy gentle heart with tears. Thou well Rememberest when we met no more; And, though I dwelt with Lionel, That friendless caution pierced me sore With grief; a wound my spirit bore Indignantly but when he died, With him lay dead both hope and pride. Alas ! all hope is buried now. 6 But then men dreamed the aged earth Was laboring in that mighty birth Which many a poet and a sage Has aye foreseen the happy age When truth and love shall dwell below Among the works and ways of men; Which on this world not power but will Even now is wanting to fulfil. Among mankind what thence befell 610 Of strife, how vain, is known t^o well; When Liberty's dear paean fell 'Mid murderous howls. To Lionel, Though of great wealth and lineage high, Yet through those dungeon walls there came Thy thrilling light, O Liberty ! And as the meteor's midnight flame Startles the dreamer, sun-like truth Flashed on his visionary youth, And filled him, not with love, but faith, 620 And hope, and courage mute in death; For love and life in him were twins, Born at one birth. In every other 144 ROSALIND AND HELEN First life, then love, its course begins, Though the}' be children of one mother; And so through this dark world they fleet Divided, till in death they meet; But he loved all things ever. Then He passed amid the strife of men, And stood at the throne of armed power Pleading for a world of woe. 631 Secure as one on a rock-built tower O'er the wrecks which the surge trails to and fro, 'Mid the passions wild of humankind He stood, like a spirit calming them; For, it was said, his words could bind Like music the lulled crowd, and stem That torrent of unquiet dream Which mortals truth and reason deem, But is revenge and fear and pride. 640 Joyous he was; and hope and peace On all who heard him did abide, Raining like dew from his sweet talk, As where the evening star may walk Along the brink of the gloomy seas, Liquid mists of splendor quiver. His very gestures touched to tears The unpersnaded tyrant, never So moved before; his presence stung The torturers with their victim's pain, 650 And none knew how; and through their ears The subtle witchcraft of his tongue Unlocked the hearts of those who keep Gold, the world's bond of slavery. Men wondered, and some sneered to see One sow what he could never reap; For he is rich, they said, and young, And might drink from the depths of luxury. If he seeks fame, fame never crowned The champion of a trampled creed; 660 If he seeks power, power is enthroned 'Mid ancient rights and wrongs, to feed Which hungry wolves with praise and spoil Those who would sit near power must toil; And such, there sitting, all may see. What seeks he ? All that others seek He casts away, like a vile weed Which the sea casts unreturningly. That poor and hungry men should break The laws which wreak them toil and scorn We understand; but Lionel, 671 We know, is rich and nobly born. So wondered they; yet all men loved Young Lionel, though few approved; All but the priests, whose hatred fell Like the unseen blight of a smiling day, The withering honey-dew which clings Under the bright green buds of May Whilst they unfold their emerald wings; For he made verses wild and queer 680 On the strange creeds priests hold so dear Because they bring them land and gold. Of devils and saints and all such gear He made tales which whoso heard or read Would laugh till he were almost dead. So this grew a proverb: ' Don't get old Till Lionel's Banquet in Hell you hear, And then yon will laugh yourself young again.' So the priests hated him, and he Repaid their hate with cheerful glee. 690 Ah, smiles and joyance quickly died, For public hope grew pale and dim In an altered time and tide, And in its wasting withered him, As a summer flower that blows too soon Droops in the smile of the waning moon, When it scatters through an April night The frozen dews of wrinkling blight. None now hoped more. Gray Power was seated Safely on her ancestral throne; 700 And Faith, the Python, undefeated Even to its blood-stained steps dragged on Her foul and wounded train; and men Were trampled and deceived again, And words and shows again could bind The wailing tribes of humankind In scorn and famine. Fire and blood Raged round the raging multitude, To fields remote by tyrants sent To be the scorned instrument 710 With which they drag from mines of gore The chains their slaves yet ever wore; And in the streets men met each other, And by old altars and in halls, And smiled again at festivals. But each man found in his heart's brother Cold cheer; for all, though half deceived, The outworn creeds again believed, And the same round anew began Which the weary world yet ever ran. 720 Many then wept, not tears, but gall, Within their hearts, like drops which fall Wasting the fountain-stone away. And in that dark and evil day Did all desires and thoughts that claim Men's care ambition, friendship, fame, Love, hope, though hope was now despair ROSALIND AND HELEN Indue the colors of this change, As from the all-surrouiidiug air 729 The earth takes hues obscure and strange, When storm and earthquake linger there. And so, my friend, it then befell To many, most to Lionel, Whose hope was like the life of youth Within him, and when dead became A spirit of unresting flame, Which goaded him in his distress Over the world's vast wilderness. Three years he left his native land, And on the fourth, when he returned, 740 None knew him; he was stricken deep With some disease of mind, and turned Into aught unlike Lionel. On him on whom, did he pause in sleep, Serenest smiles were wont to keep, And, did he wake, a winged band Of bright Persuasions, which had fed On his sweet lips and liquid eyes, Kept their swift pinions half outspread To do on men his least command 750 On him, whom once 't was paradise Even to behold, now misery lay. In his own heart 't was merciless To all things else none may express Its innocence and tenderness. 'T was said that he had refuge sought In love from his unquiet thought In distant lands, and been deceived By some strange show; for there were found, Blotted with tears as those relieved 760 By their own words are wont to do These mournful verses on the ground, By all who read them blotted too. ' How am I changed ! my hopes were once like fire; I loved, and I believed that life was love. How am I lost ! on wings of swift desire Among Heaven's winds my spirit once did move. I slept, and silver dreams did aye inspire My liquid sleep; I woke, and did approve All Nature to my heart, and thought to make 770 A paradise of earth for one sweet sake. ' I love, but I believe in love no more. I feel desire, but hope not. Oh, from sleep Most vainly must my weary brain implore Its long lost flattery now ! I wake to weep, And sit through the long day gnawing the core Of my bitter heart, and, like a miser, keep Since none in what I feel take pain or pleasure To my own soul its self-consuming trea- sure.' He dwelt beside me near the sea; 780 And oft in evening did we meet, When the waves, beneath the starlight, flee O'er the yellow sands with silver feet, And talked. Our talk was sad and sweet, Till slowly from his mien there passed The desolation which it spoke; And smiles as when the lightning's blast Has parched some heaven-delighting oak, The next spring shows leaves pale and rare, But like flowers delicate and fair, 790 On its rent boughs again arrayed His countenance in tender light; His words grew subtle fire, which made The air his hearers breathed delight; His motions, like the winds, were free, Which bend the bright grass gracefully, Then fade away in circlets faint; And winged Hope on which upborne His soul seemed hovering in his eyes, Like some bright spirit newly born 800 Floating amid the sunny skies Sprang forth from his rent heart anew. Yet o'er his talk, and looks, and mien, Tempering their loveliness too keen, Past woe its shadow backward threw; Till, like an exhalation spread From flowers half drunk with evening dew, They did become infectious sweet And subtle mists of sense and thought, Which wrapped us soon, when we might meet, 810 Almost from our own looks and aught The wild world holds. And so his mind Was healed, while mine grew sick with fear; For ever now his health declined, Like some frail bark which cannot bear The impulse of an altered wind, Though prosperous; and my heart grew full, 146 ROSALIND AND HELEN 'Mid its new joy, of a new care; For his cheek became, not pale, but fair, As rose-o'ershadowed lilies are; 820 And soon his deep and sunny hair, In this alone less beautiful, Like grass in tombs grew wild and rare. The blood in his translucent veins Beat, not like animal life, but love Seemed now its sullen springs to move, When life had failed, and all its pains; And sudden sleep would seize him oft Like death, so calm, but that a tear, His pointed eye-lashes between, " 830 Would gather in the light serene Of smiles whose lustre bright and soft Beneath lay undulating there. His breath was like inconstant flame As eagerly it went and came; And I hung o'er him in his sleep, Till, like an image in the lake Which rains disturb, my tears would break The shadow of that slumber deep. Then he would bid me not to weep, 840 And say, with flattery false yet sweet, That death and he could never meet, If I would never part with him. And so we loved, and did unite All that in us was yet divided; For when he said, that many a rite, By men to bind but once provided, Could not be shared by him and me, Or they would kill him in their glee, I shuddered, and then laughing said * We will have rites our faith to bind, 851 But our church shall be the starry night, Our altar the grassy earth outspread, And our priest the muttering wind.' 'T was sunset as I spoke. One star Had scarce burst forth, when from afar The ministers of misrule sent Seized upon Lionel, and bore His chained limbs to a dreary tower, In the midst of a city vast and wide. 860 For he, they said, from his mind had bent Against their gods keen blasphemy, For which, though his soul must roasted be In hell's red lakes immortally, Yet even on earth must he abide The vengeance of their slaves: a trial, I think, men call it. What avail Are prayers and tears, which chase de- nial From the fierce savage nursed in hate ? What the knit soul that pleading and pale 870 Makes wan the quivering cheek which late It painted with its own delight ? We were divided. As I could, I stilled the tingling of my blood, And followed him iu their despite, As a widow follows, pale and wild, The murderers and corse of her only child; And when we came to the prison door, And I prayed to share his dungeon floor With prayers which rarely have been spurned, 880 And when men drove me forth, and I Stared with blank frenzy on the sky, A farewell look of love he turned, Half calming me; then gazed awhile, As if through that black and massy pile, And through the crowd around him there, And through the dense and murky air, And the thronged streets, he did espy What poets know and prophesy; And said, with voice that made them shiver 890 And clung like music in my brain, And which the rnnte walls spoke again Prolonging it with deepened strain ' Fear not the tyrants shall rule forever, Or the priests of the bloody faith; They stand on the brink of that mighty river, Whose waves they have tainted with death; It is fed from the depths of a thousand dells, Around them it foams, and rages, and swells, And their swords and their sceptres I float- ing see, 900 Like wrecks, in the surge of eternity.' I dwelt beside the prison gate; And the strange crowd that out and in Passed, some, no doubt, with mine own fate, Might have fretted me with its ceaseless din, But the fever of care was louder within. Soon but too late, in penitence Or fear, his foes released him thence. I saw his thin and languid form, As leaning on the jailor's arm, 910 Whose hardened eyes grew moist the while To meet his mute and faded smile ROSALIND AND HELEN '47 And hear his words of kind farewell, He tottered forth from his damp cell. Many had never wept before, From whom fast tears then gushed and fell; Many will relent no more, Who sobbed like infants then; ay, all Who thronged the prison's stony hall, The rulers or the slaves of law, 920 Felt with a new surprise and awe That they were human, till strong shame Made them again become the same. The prison bloodhounds, huge and grim, From human looks the infection caught, And fondly crouched and fawned on him; And men have heard the prisoners say, Who in their rotting dungeons lay, That from that hour, throughout one day, The fierce despair and hate which kept 930 Their trampled bosoms almost slept, Where, like twin vultures, they hung feed- ing On each heart's wound, wide torn and bleeding, Because their jailors' rule, they thought, Grew merciful, like a parent's sway. I know not how, but we were free; And Lionel sate alone with me, As the carriage drove through the streets apace ; And we looked upon each other's face; And the blood in our fingers intertwined 940 Ran like the thoughts of a single mind, As the swift emotions went and came Through the veins of each united frame. So through the long, long streets we passed Of the million-peopled City vast; Which is that desert, where each one Seeks his mate yet is alone, Beloved and sought and mourned of none; Until the clear blue sky was seen, And the grassy meadows bright and green. 95 o And then I sunk in his embrace Enclosing there a mighty space Of love ; and so we travelled on By woods, and fields of yellow flowers, And towns, and villages, and towers, Day after day of happy hours. It was the azure time of June, When the skies are deep in the stainless noon, And the warm and fitful breezes shake The fresh green leaves of the hedge-row briar ; 960 And there were odors then to make The very breath we did respire A liquid element, whereon Our spirits, like delighted things That walk the air on subtle wings, Floated and mingled far away 'Mid the warm winds of the sunny day. And when the evening star came forth Above the curve of the new bent moon, And light and sound ebbed from the earth, 970 Like the tide of the full and the weary sea To the depths of its own tranquillity, Our natures to its own repose Did the earth's breathless sleep attune; Like flowers, which on each other close Their languid leaves when daylight 's gone, We lay, till new emotions came, Which seemed to make each mortal frame One soul of interwoven flame, A life in life, a second birth 980 In worlds diviner far than earth; Which, like two strains of harmony That mingle in the silent sky, Then slowly disunite, passed by And left the tenderness of tears, A soft oblivion of all fears, A sweet sleep: so we travelled on Till we came to the home of Lionel, Among the mountains wild and lone, Beside the hoary western sea, 990 Which near the verge of the echoing shore The massy forest shadowed o'er. The ancient steward with hair all hoar, As we alighted, wept to see His master changed so fearfully; And the old man's sobs did waken me From my dream of unremaining gladness; The truth flashed o'er me like quick mad- ness When I looked, and saw that there was death On Lionel. Yet day by day 1000 He lived, till fear grew hope and faith, And in my soul I dared to say, Nothing so bright can pass away; Death is dark, and foul, and dull, But he is oh, how beautiful ! Yet day by day he grew more weak, And his sweet voice, when he might speak, 148 ROSALIND AND HELEN Which ne'er was loud, became more low; And the light which flashed through his waxen cheek Grew faint, as the rose-like hues which flow 1010 From sunset o'er the Alpine snow; And death seemed not like death in him, For the spirit of life o'er every limb Lingered, a mist of sense and thought. When the summer wind faint odors brought From mountain flowers, even as it passed, His cheek would change, as the noonday sea Which the dying breeze sweeps fitfully. If but a cloud the sky o'ercast, 1019 You might see his color come and go, And the softest strain of music made Sweet smiles, yet sad, arise and fade Amid the dew of his tender eyes; And the breath, with intermitting flow, Made his pale lips quiver and part. You might hear the beatings of his heart, Quick but not strong ; and with my tresses When oft he playfully would bind In the bowers of mossy lonelinesses His neck, and win me so to mingle 1030 In the sweet depth of woven caresses, And our faint limbs were intertwined, Alas ! the unquiet life did tingle From mine own heart through every vein, Like a captive in dreams of liberty, Who beats the walls of his stony cell. But his, it seemed already free, Like the shadow of fire surrounding me 1 On my faint eyes and lirnbs did dwell That spirit as it passed, till soon 1040 As a frail cloud wandering o'er the moon, Beneath its light invisible, Is seen when it folds its gray wings again To alight on midnight's dusky plain I lived and saw, and the gathering soul Passed from beneath that strong control, And I fell on a life which was sick with fear Of all the woe that now I bear. Amid a bloomless myrtle wood, On a green and sea-girt promontory 1050 Not far from where we dwelt, there stood, In record of a sweet sad story, An altar and a temple bright Circled by steps, and o'er the gate Was sculptured, ' To Fidelity; ' And in the shrine an image sate All veiled; but there was seen the light Of smiles which faintly could express A mingled pain and tenderness Through that ethereal drapery. 1060 The left hand held the head, the right Beyond the veil, beneath the skin, You might see the nerves quivering within Was forcing the point of a barbed dart Into its side-convulsing heart. An unskilled hand, yet one informed With genius, had the marble warmed W T ith that pathetic life. This tale It told: A dog had from the sea, When the tide was raging fearfully, 1070 Dragged Lionel's mother, weak and pale, Then died beside her on the sand, And she that temple thence had planned; But it was Lionel's own hand Had wrought the image. Each new moon That lady did, in this lone fane, The rites of a religion sweet Whose god was in her heart and brain. The seasons' loveliest flowers were strewn On the marble floor beneath her feet, 1080 And she brought crowns of sea - buds white Whose odor is so sweet and faint, And weeds, like branching chrysolite, Woven in devices fine and quaint; And tears from her brown eyes did stain The altar; need but look upon That dying statue, fair and wan, If tears should cease, to weep again; And rare Arabian odors came, Through the myrtle copses, steaming thence 1090 From the hissing frankincense, Whose smoke, wool-white as ocean foam, Hung in dense flocks beneath the dome That ivory dome, whose azure night With golden stars, like heaven, was bright O'er the split cedar's pointed flame; And the lady's harp would kindle there The melody of an old air, Softer than sleep; the villagers Mixed their religion up with hers, noo And, as they listened round, shed tears. One eve he led me to this fane. Daylight on its last purple cloud ROSALIND AND HELEN 149 Was lingering gray, and soon her strain The nightingale began; now loud, Climbing in circles the windless sky, Now dying music; suddenly 'Tis scattered in a thousand notes; And now to the hushed ear it floats Like field-smells known in infancy, mo Then, failing, soothes the air again. We sate within that temple lone, Pavilioned round with Parian stone; His mother's harp stood near, and oft I had awakened music soft Amid its wires; the nightingale Was pausing in her heaven-taught tale. ' Now drain the cup,' said Lionel, ' Which the pqet-bird has crowned so well With the wine of her bright and liquid song ! 1 120 Heard'st thou not sweet words among That heaven-resounding minstrelsy ? Heard'st thou not that those who die Awake in a world of ecstasy ? That love, when limbs are interwoven, And sleep, when the night of life is cloven, And thought, to the world's dim bound- aries clinging, And music, when one beloved is singing, Is death ? Let us drain right joyously The cup which the sweet bird fills for me.' 1130 He paused, and to my lips he bent His own; like spirit his words went Through all my limbs with the speed of fire; And his keen eyes, glittering through mine, Filled me with the flame divine Which in their orbs was burning far, Like the light of an unmeasured star In the sky of midnight dark and deep; Yes, 't was his soul that did inspire 1139 Sounds which my skill could ne'er awaken; And first, I felt my fingers sweep The harp, and a long quivering cry Burst from my lips in symphony; The dusk and solid air was shaken, As swift and swifter the notes came From my touch, that wandered like quick flame, And from my bosom, laboring With some unutterable thing. The awful sound of my own voice made My faint lips tremble; in some mood 1150 Of wordless thought Lionel stood So pale, that even beside his cheek The snowy column from its shade Caught whiteness; yet his countenance, Raised upward, burned with radiance Of spirit-piercing joy whose light, Like the moon struggling through the night Of whirlwind-rifted clouds, did break With beams that might not be confined. I paused, but soon his gestures kindled New power, as by the moving wind 1161 The waves are lifted; and my song To low soft notes now changed and dwin- dled, And, from the twinkling wires among, My languid fingers drew and flung Circles of life-dissolving sound, Yet faint; in aery rings they bound My Lionel, who, as every strain Grew fainter but more sweet, his mien Sunk with the sound relaxedly; 1170 And slowly now he turned to me, As slowly faded from his face That awful joy; with look serene He was soon drawn to my embrace, And my wild song then died away In murmurs; words I dare not say We mixed, and on his lips mine fed Till they inethought felt still and cold. ' What is it with thee, love ? ' I said; No word, no look, 110 motion ! yes, n8o There was a change, but spare to guess, Nor let that moment's hope be told. I looked, and knew that he was dead; And fell, as the eagle on the plain Falls when life deserts her brain, And the mortal lightning is veiled again. Oh, that I were now dead ! but such Did they not, love, demand too much, Those dying murmurs ? he forbade. Oh, that I once again were mad ! 1190 And yet, dear Rosalind, not so, For I would live to share thy woe. Sweet boy ! did I forget thee too ? Alas, we know not what we do When we speak words. No memory more Is in my mind of that sea-shore. Madness came on me, and a troop Of misty shapes did seem to sit Beside me, on a vessel's poop, 1199 And the clear north wind was driving it. Then I heard strange tongues, and saw strange flowers, ROSALIND AND HELEN And the stars methought grew unlike ours, Aud the azure sky and the stormless sea Made me believe that I had died And waked in a world which was to me Drear hell, though heaven to all beside. Then a dead sleep fell on my mind, Whilst animal life many long years Had rescued from a chasm of tears; And, when I woke, I wept to find 1210 That the same lady, bright and wise, With silver locks and quick brown eyes, The mother of my Lionel, Had tended me in my distress, And died some months before. Nor less Wonder, but far more peace and joy, Brought in that hour my lovely boy. For through that trance my soul had well The impress of thy being kept; And if I waked or if I slept, 1220 No doubt, though memory faithless be, Thy image ever dwelt on me; And thus, O Lionel, like thee Is our sweet child. 'Tis sure most strange I knew not of so great a change As that which gave him birth, who now Is all the solace of my woe. That Lionel great wealth had left By will to me, and that of all The ready lies of law bereft 1230 My child and me, might well befall. But let me think not of the scorn Which from the meanest I have borne, When, for my child's beloved sake, I mixed with slaves, to vindicate The very laws themselves do make; Let me not say scorn is my fate, Lest I be proud, suffering the same With those who live in deathless fame. She ceased. ' Lo, where red morning through the woods 1240 Is burning o'er the dew ! ' said Rosalind. And with these words they rose, and towards the flood Of the blue lake, beneath the leaves, now wind With equal steps and fingers intertwined. Thence to a lonely dwelling, where the shore Is shadowed with steep rocks, and cypresses Cleave with their dark green cones the silent skies And with their shadows the clear depths below, And where a little terrace from its bowers Of blooming myrtle and faint lemon flowers 1250 Scatters its sense-dissolving fragrance o'er The liquid marble of the windless lake; And where the aged forest's limbs look hoar Under the leaves which their green gar- ments make, They come. 'T is Helen's home, aud clean and white, Like one which tyrants spare on our own land In some such solitude; its casements bright Shone through their vine-leaves in the morning sun, , And even within 't was scarce like Italy. And when she saw how all things there were planned 1260 As in an English home, dim memory Disturbed poor Rosalind ; she stood as one Whose mind is where his body cannot be, Till Helen led her where her child yet slept, And said, ' Observe, that brow was Lionel's, Those lips were his, and so he ever kept One arm in sleep, pillowing his head with it. You cannot see his eyes they are two wells Of liquid love. Let us not wake him yet.' But Rosalind could bear no more, and wept 1270 A shower of burning tears which fell upon His face, and so his opening lashes shone With tears unlike his own, as he did leap In sudden wonder from his innocent sleep. So Rosalind and Helen lived together Thenceforth changed in all else, yet friends again, Such as they were, when o'er the mountain heather They wandered in their youth through sun and rain. And after many years, for human things Change even like the ocean and the wind, Her daughter was restored to Rosalind, 1281 And in their circle thence some visitings Of joy 'mid their new calm would inter- vene. A lovely child she was, of looks serene, And motions which o'er things indifferent shed JULIAN AND MADDALO The grace and gentleness from whence they came. And Helen's boy grew with her, and they fed From the same flowers of thought, until each mind Like springs which mingle in one flood became; 1289 And in their union soon their parents saw The shadow of the peace denied to them. And Rosalind for when the living stem Is cankered in its heart, the tree must fall Died ere her time; and with deep grief and awe The pale survivors followed her remains Beyond the region of dissolving rains, Up the cold mountain she was wont to call Her tomb; and on Chiavenna's precipice They raised a pyramid of lasting ice, Whose polished sides, ere day had yet begun, 1300 Caught the first glow of the unrisen sun, The last, when it had sunk; and through the night The charioteers of Arctos wheeled round Its glittering point, as seen from Helen's home, Whose sad inhabitants each year would come, With willing steps climbing that rugged height, And hang long locks of hair, and garlands bound With amaranth flowers, which, in the clime's despite, Filled the frore air with unaccustomed light; Such flowers as in the wintry memory bloom 13 ic Of one friend left adorned that frozen tomb. Helen, whose spirit was of softer mould, Whose sufferings too were less, death slow- lier led Into the peace of his dominion cold. She died among her kindred, being old. And know, that if love die not in the dead As in the living, none of mortal kind Are blessed as now Helen and Rosalind. JULIAN AND MADDALO A CONVERSATION The meadows with fresh streams, the bees with thyme, The goats with the green leaves of budding Spring, Are saturated not nor Love with tears. VIRGIL'S Gallns. Julian and Maddalo is the fruit of Shelley's first visit to Venice in 1818, where he found Byron, and the poem is a reflection of their companionship, Julian standing for Shelley, Maddalo for Byron, and the child being Byron's daughter, Allegra. It was written in the fall, at Este, and received its last revision in May, 1819, but was not published, notwith- standing some efforts of Shelley to bring it out, until after his death, when it was included in the Posthumous Poems, 1824. Shelley had it in mind to write three other similar poems, laying the scenes at Rome, Florence and Naples, but he did not carry out the plan. He once refers to the tale, or ' conversation ' as among ' his saddest verses ; ' but his impor- tant comment on it is contained in a letter to Hunt, August 15, 1819: ' I send you a little poem to give to Oilier for publication, but without my name. Peacock will correct the proofs. I wrote it with the idea of offering it to the Examiner, but I find it is too long. It was composed last year at Este ; two of the characters you will recog- nize ; and the third is also in some degree a painting from nature, but, with respect to time and place, ideal. You will find the little piece, I think, in some degree consistent with your own ideas of the manner in which poetry ought to be written. I have employed a certain familiar style of language to express the actual way in which people talk with each other, whom education and a certain refinement of sentiment have placed above the use of vulgar idioms. I use the word vulgar in its most ex- tensive sense. The vulgarity of rank and fashion is as gross in its way as that of pov- erty, and its cant terms equally expressive of base conceptions, and, therefore, equally unfit for poetry. Not that the familiar style is to be admitted in the treatment of a subject wholly ideal, or in that part of any subject 152 JULIAN AND MADDALO which relates to common life, where the pas- sion, exceeding 1 a certain limit, touches the boundaries of that which is ideal. Strong passion expresses itself in metaphor, hoi-rowed from objects alike remote or near, and casts over all the shadow of its own greatness. But what am I about ? If my grandmother sucks e SS a i was it I wno taught her ? ' If you would really correct the proof, I need, not trouble Peacock, who, I suppose, has enough. Can you take it as a compliment that I prefer to trouble you ? ' I do not particularly wish this poem to be known as mine ; but, at all events, I would not put my name to it. I leave you to judge whether it is best to throw it into the fire, or to publish it. So much for self self, that burr that will stick to one.' PREFACE COUNT MADDALO is a Venetian nobleman of ancient family and of great fortune, who, without mixing much in the society of his countrymen, resides chiefly at his magnificent palace in that city. He is a person of the most consummate genius, and capable, if he would direct his energies to such an end, of becoming the redeemer of his degraded country. But it ii his weakness to be proud. He derives, from a comparison of his own extraordinary mind with the dwarfish intellects that surround him, an intense apprehension of the nothingness of human life. His passions and his powers are incomparably greater than those of other men ; and, instead of the latter having been employed in curbing the former, they have mutually lent each other strength. His ambition preys upon itself, for want of objects which it can con- I RODE one evening with Count Maddalo Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow Of Adria towards Venice. A bare strand Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand, Matted with thistles and amphibious weeds, Such as from earth's embrace the salt ooze breeds, Is this; an uninhabited sea-side, Which the lone fisher, when his nets are dried, Abandons; and no other object breaks The waste but one dwarf tree and some few stakes 10 Broken and unrepaired, and the tide makes A narrow space of level sand thereon, Where 't was our wont to ride while day went down. sider worthy of exertion. I say that Mad- dalo is proud, because I can find no other word to express the concentred and impatient feel- ings which consume him ; but it is on his own hopes and affections only that he seems to trample, for in social life no human being can be more gentle, patient and unassuming than Maddalo. He is cheerful, frank and witty. His more serious conversation is a sort of in- toxication ; men are held by it as by a spell. He has travelled much ; and there is an inex- pressible charm in his relation of his adventures in different countries. Julian is an Englishman of good family, passionately attached to those philosophical notions which assert the power of man over his own mind, and the immense improvements of which, by the extinction of certain moral superstitions, human society may be yet sus- ceptible. Without concealing the evil in the world he is forever speculating how good may be made superior. He is a complete infidel and a scoffer at all things reputed holy ; and Maddalo takes a wicked pleasure in drawing out his taunts against religion. What Mad- dalo thinks on these matters is not exactly known. Julian, in spite of his heterodox opin- ions, is conjectured by his friends to possess some good qualities. How far this is possible the pious reader will determine. Julian is rather serious. Of the Maniac I can give no information. He seems, by his own account, to have been disappointed in love. He was evidently a very cultivated and amiable person w hen in his right senses. His story, told at length, might be like many other stories of the same kind. The un- connected exclamations of his agony will per- haps be found a sufficient comment for the text of every heart. This ride was my delight. I love all waste And solitary places; where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be; And such was this wide ocean, and this shore More barren than its billows; and yet more Than all, with a remembered friend I love 20 To ride as then I rode; for the winds drove The living spray along the sunny air Into our faces; the blue heavens were bare, Stripped to their depths by the awakening north; And from the waves sound like delight broke forth Harmonizing with solitude, and sent Into our hearts aerial merriment. JULIAN AND MADDALO '53 So, as we rode, we talked; and the swift thought, Winging itself with laughter, lingered not, But flew from brain to brain, such glee was ours, 30 Charged with light memories of remem- bered hours, None slow enough for sadness; till we came Homeward, which always makes the spirit tame. This day had been cheerful but cold, and now The sun was sinking, and the wind also. Our talk grew somewhat serious, as may be Talk interrupted with such raillery As mocks itself, because it cannot scorn The thoughts it would extinguish. 'T was forlorn, Yet pleasing; such as once, so poets tell, 40 The devils held within the dales of Hell, Concerning God, freewill and destiny; Of all that earth has been, or yet may be, All that vain men imagine o; believe, Or hope can paint, or suffering may achieve, We descanted; and I (for ever still Is it not wise to make the best of ill ?) Argued against despondency, but pride Made my companion take the darker side. The sense that he was greater than his kind 50 Had struck, methinks, his eagle spirit blind By gazing on its own exceeding light. Meanwhile the sun paused ere it should alight, Over the horizon of the mountains. Oh, How beautiful is sunset, when the glow Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee, Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy ! Thy mountains, seas and vineyards and the towers Of cities they encircle ! It was ours To stand on thee, beholding it; and then, 60 Just where we had dismounted, the Count's men Were waiting for us with the gondola. As those who pause on some delightful way Though bent on pleasant pilgrimage, we stood Looking upon the evening, and the flood, Which lay between the city and the shore, Paved with the image of the sky. The hoar And aery Alps towards*the north appeared, Through mist, an heaven-sustaining bul- wark reared Between the east and west; and half the sky 7 o Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry, Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew Down the steep west into a wondrous hue Brighter than burning gold, even to the rent Where the swift sun yet paused in his descent Among the many-folded hills. They were Those famous Euganean hills, which bear, As seen from Lido through the harbor piles, The likeness of a clump of peaked isles; 79 And then, as if the earth and sea had been Dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen Those mountains towering as from waves of flame Around the vaporous sun, from which there came The inmost purple spirit of light, and made Their very peaks transparent. ' Ere it fade,' Said my companion, ' I will show yon soon A better station.' So, o'er the laguue We glided; and from that funereal bark I leaned, and saw the city, and could mark How from their many isles, in evening's gleam, 90 Its temples and its palaces did seem Like fabrics of enchantment piled to Heaven. I was about to speak, when ' We are even Now at the point I meant,' said Maddalo, And bade the gondolieri cease to row. ' Look, Julian, on the west, and listen well If you hear not a deep and heavy bell.' I looked, and saw between us and the sun A building on an island, such a one As age to age might add, for uses vile, 100 A windowless, deformed and dreary pile; And on the top an open tower, where hung A bell, which in the radiance swayed and swung; We could just hear its hoarse and iron tongue; The broad sun sunk behind it, and it tolled In strong and black relief. 'What we behold Shall be the madhouse and its belfry tower,' Said Maddalo ; ' and ever at this hour Those who may cross the water hear that bell, Which calls the maniacs each one from his cell no 154 JULIAN AND MADDALO To vespers.' ' As much skill as need to pray In thanks or hope for their dark lot have they To their stern Maker,' I replied. ' O ho ! You talk as in years past,' said Maddalo. ' 'T is strange men change not. You were ever still Among Christ's flock a perilous infidel, A wolf for the meek lambs if you can't swim. Beware of Providence.' I looked on him, But the gay smile had faded in his eye, ' And such,' he cried, 'is our mortality; 120 And this must be the emblem and the sign Of what should be eternal and divine ! And, like that black and dreary bell, the soul, Hung in a heaven-illumined tower, must toll Our thoughts and our desires to meet below Round the rent heart and pray as mad- men do For what ? they know not, till the night of death, As sunset that strange vision, severcth 128 Our memory from itself, and us from all We sought, and yet were baffled.' I recall The sense of what he said, although I mar The force of his expressions. The broad star Of day meanwhile had sunk behind the hill, And the black bell became invisible, And the red tower looked gray, and all between, The churches, ships and palaces were seen Huddled in gloom; into the purple sea The orange hues of heaven sunk silently. We hardly spoke, and soon the gondola Conveyed me to my lodgings by the way. The following morn was rainy, cold, and dim. 141 Ere Maddalo arose, I called on him, And whilst I waited, with his child I played. A lovelier toy sweet Nature never made; A serious, subtle, wild, yet gentle being, Graceful without design, and unforeseeing, With eyes oh, speak not of her eyes ! which seem Twin mirrors of Italian heaven, yet gleam With such deep meaning as we never see But in the human countenance. With me She was a special favorite; I had nursed Her fine and feeble limbs when she came first 152 To this bleak world; and she yet seemed to know On second sight her ancient playfellow, Less changed than she was by six mouths or so; For, after her first shyness was worn out, We sate there, rolling billiard balls about, When the Count entered. Salutations past ' The words you spoke last night might well have cast A darkness on my spirit. If man be 160 The passive thing you say, I should not see Much harm in the religions and old saws, (Though I may never own such leaden laws) Which break a teachless nature to the yoke. Mine is another faith.' Thus much I spoke, And noting he replied not, added: ' See This lovely child, blithe, innocent and free; She spends a happy time with little care, While we to such sick thoughts subjected are i6 9 As came on yon last night. It is our will That thus enchains ns to permitted ill. We might be otherwise; we might be all We dream of happy, high, majestical. Where is the love, .beauty and truth we seek, But in onr mind ? and if we were not weak, Should we be less in deed than iu desire ? ' ' Ay, if we were not weak and we aspire How vainly to be strong ! ' said Maddalo; ' You talk Utopia.' ' It remains to know,' I then rejoined, 'and those who try may find 180 How strong the chains are which our spirit bind ; Brittle perchance as straw. We are assured Much may be conquered, much may be endured Of what degrades and crushes us. We know That we have power over ourselves to do And suffer what, we know not till we try; But something nobler than to live and die. So taught those kings of old philosophy, Who reigned before religion made men blind; And those who suffer with their suffering kind 190 Yet feel this faitn religion.' ' My dear friend,' Said Maddalo, ' my judgment will not bend JULIAN AND MADDALO 155 To your opinion, though I think you might Make such a system refutation-tight As far as words go. I knew one like you, Who to this city came some months ago, With whom I argued in this sort, and he Is now gone mad, and so he answered me, Poor fellow ! but if you would like to go, \Ve '11 visit him, and his wild talk will show 200 How vain are such aspiring theories.' ' I hope to prove the induction otherwise, And that a want of that true theory still, Which seeks " a soul of goodness " in things ill, Or in himself or others, has thus bowed His being. There are some by nature proud, Who patient in all else demand but this To love and be beloved with gentleness; And, being scorned, what wonder if they die Some living death ? this is not destiny 210 But man's own wilful ill.' As thus I spoke, Servants announced the gondola, and we Through the fast-falling rain and high- wrought sea Sailed to the island where the madhouse stands. We disembarked. The clap of tortured hands, Fierce yells and bowlings and lamentings keen, And laughter where complaint had merrier been, Moans, shrieks, and curses, and blasphem- ing prayers, 218 Accosted us. We climbed the oozy stairs Into an old courtyard. I heard on high, Then, fragments of most touching melody, But looking up saw not the singer there. Through the black bars in the tempestuous air I saw, like weeds on a wrecked palace growing, Long tangled locks flung wildly forth, and flowing, Of those who on a sudden were beguiled Into strange silence, and looked forth and smiled Hearing sweet sounds. Then I: 'Methinks there were A cure of these with patience and kind care If music can thus move. But what is he, Whom we seek here ? ' ' Of his sad history I know but this,' said Maddalo: ' he came To Venice a dejected man, and fame Said he was wealthy, or he had been so. Some thought the loss of fortune wrought him woe; But he was ever talking in such sort As you do far more sadly ; he seemed hurt, Even as a man with his peculiar wrong, To hear but of the oppression of the strong, Or those absurd deceits (I think with you In some respects, you know) which carry through 241 The excellent impostors of this earth When they outface detection. He had worth, Poor fellow ! but a humorist in his way.' ' Alas, what drove him mad ? ' 'I cannot say; A lady came with him from France, and when She left him and returned, he wandered then About yon lonely isles of desert sand Till he grew wild. He had no cash or land Remaining; the police had brought him here ; 250 Some fancy took him and he would not bear Removal; so I fitted up for him Those rooms beside the sea, to please his whim, And sent him busts and books and urns for flowers, Which had adorned his life in happier hours, And instruments of music. You may guess A stranger could do little more or less For one so gentle and unfortunate; And those are his sweet strains which charm the weight From madmen's chains, and make this Hell appear 260 A heaven of sacred silence, hushed to hear.' 1 Nay, this was kind of you; he had no claim, As the world says.' ' None but the very same Which I on all mankind, were I as he Fallen to such deep reverse. His melody Is interrupted; now we hear the din Of madmen, shriek on shriek, again begin. Let us now visit him ; after this strain He ever communes with himself again, '5* JULIAN AND MADDALO And sees nor hears not any.' Having said These words, we called the keeper, and he led 271 To an apartment opening on the sea. There the poor wretch was sitting mourn- fully Near a piano, his pale fingers twined One with the other, and the ooze and wind Rushed through an open casement, and did sway His hair, and starred it with the brackish spray; His head was leaning on a music-book, And he was muttering, and his lean limbs shook; 279 His lips were pressed against a folded leaf, In hue too beautiful for health, and grief Smiled in their motions as they lay apart. As one who wrought from his own fervid heart The eloquence of passion, soon he raised His sad meek face, and eyes lustrous and glazed, And spoke sometimes as one who wrote, and thought His words might move some heart that heeded not, If sent to distant lands; and then as one Reproaching deeds never to be undone With wondering self-compassion ; then his speech 290 Was lost in grief, and then his words came each Unmodulated, cold, expressionless, But that from one jarred accent you might guess It was despair made them so uniform; And all the while the loud and gusty storm Hissed through the window, and we stood behind Stealing his accents from the envious wind Unseen. I yet remember what he said Distinctly ; such impression his words made. 4 Month after month,' he cried, ' to bear this load, 300 And, as a jade urged by the whip and goad, To drag life on which like a heavy chain Lengthens behind with many a link of pain ! And not to speak my grief oh, not to dare To give a human voice to my despair, But live, and move, and, wretched thing ! smile on As if I never went aside to groan; And wear this mask of falsehood even to those Who are most dear not for my own re- pose Alas, no scorn or pain or hate could be 310 So heavy as that falsehood is to me ! But that I cannot bear more altered faces Than needs must be, more changed and cold embraces, More misery, disappointment and mistrust To own me for their father. Would the dust Were covered in upon my body now ! That the life ceased to toil within my brow ! And then these thoughts would at the least be fled; Let us not fear such pain can vex the dead. ' What Power delights to torture us ? I know 320 That to myself I do not wholly owe What now I suffer, though in part I may. Alas ! none strewed sweet flowers upon the way Where, wandering heedlessly, I met pale Pain, My shadow, which will leave me not again. If I have erred, there was no joy in error, But pain and insult and unrest and terror; I have not, as some do, bought penitence With pleasure, and a dark yet sweet of- fence ; For then if love and tenderness and truth 330 Had overlived hope's momentary youth, My creed should have redeemed me from repenting; But loathed scorn and outrage unrelenting Met love excited by far other seeming Until the end was gained; as one from dreaming Of sweetest peace, I woke, and found my state Such as it is ' O Thou my spirit's mate ! Who, for thou art compassionate and wise, Wouldst pity me from thy most gentle eyes If this sad writing thou shouldst ever see 340 My secret groans must be unheard by thee; Thou wouldst weep tears bitter as blood to know Thy lost friend's incommunicable woe. JULIAN AND MADDALO ' Ye few by whom my nature has been weighed In friendship, let me not that name de- grade By placing on your hearts the secret load Which crushes mine to dust. There is one road To peace, and that is truth, which follow ye ! Love sometimes leads astray to misery. Yet think not, though subdued and I may well 350 Say that I am subdued that the full hell Within me would infect the untainted breast Of sacred Nature with its own unrest; As some perverted beings think to find In scorn or hate a medicine for the mind Which scorn or hate have wounded oh, how vain ! The dagger heals not, but may rend again ! Believe that I am ever still the same In creed as in resolve ; and what may tame My heart must leave the understanding free, 360 Or all would sink in this keen agony; Nor dream that I will join the vulgar cry; Or with my silence sanction tyranny; Or seek a moment's shelter from my pain In any madness which the world calls gain, Ambition or revenge or thoughts as stern As those which make me what I am; or turn To avarice or misanthropy or lust. Heap on me soon, O grave, thy welcome dust ! Till then the dungeon may demand its P re y> 370 And Poverty and Shame may meet and say, Halting beside me on the public way, " That love-devoted youth is ours; let 's sit Beside him; he may live some six months yet." Or the red scaffold, as our country bends, May ask some willing victim ; or ye, friends, May fall under some sorrow, which this heart Or hand may share or vanquish or avert; I am prepared in truth, with no proud J U J > To do or suffer aught, as when a boy I did devote to justice and to love My nature, worthless now ! 380 ' I must remove A veil from my pent mind. 'Tis torn aside ! pallid as Death's dedicated bride, Thou mockery which art sitting by my side, Am I not wan like thee ? at the grave's call 1 haste, invited to thy wedding-ball, To greet the ghastly paramour for whom Thou hast deserted me and made the tomb Thy bridal bed but I beside your feet 390 Will lie and watch ye from my winding- sheet Thus wide-awake though dead yet stay, oh, stay ! Go not so soon I know not what I say Hear but my reasons I am mad, I fear, My fancy is o'erwrought thou art not here; Pale art thou, 't is most true but thou art gone, Thy work is finished I am left alone. ' Nay, was it I who wooed thee to this breast, Which like a serpent thou envenomest As in repayment of the warmth it lent ? 400 Didst thou not seek me for thine own con- tent ? Did not thy love awaken mine ? I thought That thou wert she who said " You kiss me not Ever; I fear you do not love me now " In truth I loved even to my overthrow Her who would fain forget these words; but they Cling to her mind, and cannot pass away. ' You say that I am proud that when I speak My lip is tortured with the wrongs which break The spirit it expresses. Never one 410 Humbled himself before, as I have done ! Even the instinctive worm on which we tread Turns, though it wound not then with prostrate head Sinks in the dust and writhes like me and dies ? No: wears a living death of agonies ! As the slow shadows of the pointed grass Mark the eternal periods, his pangs pass. '58 JULIAN AND MADDALO Slow, ever-moving, making moments be As mine seem, each ail immortality ! 'That you had never seen me never heard 420 My voice, and more than all had ne'er en- dured The deep pollution of my loathed em- brace That your eyes ne'er had lied love in my face That, like some maniac monk, I had torn out The nerves of manhood by their bleeding root With mine own quivering finger?, so that ne'er Our hearts had fora moment mingled there To disunite in horror these were not With thee like some suppressed and hideous thought Which flits athwart our musings but can find 430 No rest within a pure and gentle mind ; Thou sealedst them with many a bare broad word, And sear'dst my memory o'er them, for I heard And can forget not; they were ministered One after one, those curses. Mix them np Like self-destroying poisons in one cup, And they will make one blessing, which thou ne'er Didst imprecate for on me, death. ' It were A cruel punishment for one most cruel, If such can love, to make that love the fuel 440 Of the mind's hell hate, scorn, remorse, despair; But me, whose heart a stranger's tear might wear As water-drops the sandy fountain-stone, Who loved and pitied all things, and could moan For woes which others hear not, and could see The absent with the glance of fantasy, And with the poor and trampled sit and weep, Following the captive to his dungeon deep; Me who am as a nerve o'er which do creep . 449 The else unfelt oppressions of this earth, And was to thee the flame upon thy hearth, When all beside was cold : that thou on me Shouldst rain these plagues of blistering agony ! Such curses are from lips once eloquent With love's too partial praise ! Let none relent Who intend deeds too dreadful for a name Henceforth, if an example for the same They seek: for thou on me look'dst so, and so And didst speak thus and thus. I live to show 459 How much men bear and die not ! ' Thou wilt tell With the grimace of hate how horrible It was to meet my love when thine grew less; Thou wilt admire how I could e'er address Such features to love's work. This taunt, though true, (For indeed Nature nor in form nor hue Bestowed on me her choicest workmanship) Shall not be thy defence ; for since thy lip Met mine first, years long past, since thine eye kindled With soft fire under mine, I have not dwindled, Nor changed in mind or body, or in aught But as love changes what it loveth not 471 After long years and many trials. 1 How vain Are words ! I thought never to speak again, Not even in secret, not to mine own heart; But from my lips the unwilling accents start, And from my pen the words flow as I write, Dazzling my eyes with scalding tears ; my sight Is dim to see that charactered in vain On this unfeeling leaf, which burns the brain And eats into it, blotting all things fair 480 And wise and good which time had written there. Those who inflict must suffer, for they see The work of their own hearts, and this must be Our chastisement or recompense. O child ! I would that thine were like to be more mild JULIAN AND MADDALO '59 For both our wretched sakes, for thine the most Who feelest already all that thou hast lost Without the power to wish it thine again ; And as slow years pass, a funereal train, Each with the ghost of some lost hope or friend 490 Following it like its shadow, wilt thou bend No thought on my dead memory ? Alas, love ! Fear me not against thee I would not move A finger in despite. Do I not live That thou mayst have less bitter cause to grieve ? I give thee tears for scorn, and love for hate; And that thy lot may be less desolate Than his on whom thou tramplest, I refrain From that sweet sleep which medicines all pain. 499 Then, when thou speakest of me, never say " He could forgive not." Here I cast away All human passions, all revenge, all pride; I think, speak, act no ill; I do but hide Under these words, like embers, every spark Of that which has consumed me. Quick and dark The grave is yawning as its roof shall cover My limbs with dust and worms under and over, So let Oblivion hide this grief the air Closes upon my accents as despair 509 Upon my heart let death upon despair ! ' He ceased, and overcome leant back awhile ; Then rising, with a melancholy smile, Went to a sofa, and lay down, and slept A. heavy sleep, and in his dreams he wept, And muttered some familiar name, and we Wept without shame in his society. I think I never was impressed so much ; The man who were not must have lacked a touch 5 i8 Of human nature. Then we lingered not, Although our argument was quite forgot; But, calling the attendants, went to dine At Maddalo's ; yet neither cheer nor wine Could give us spirits, for we talked of him Aud nothing else, till daylight made stars dim; And we agreed his was some dreadful ill Wrought on him boldly, yet unspeakable, By a dear friend; some deadly change iu love Of one vowed deeply, which he dreamed not of; For whose sake he, it seemed, had fixed a blot Of falsehood on his mind which flourished not 530 But in the light of all-beholding truth; And having stamped this canker on his youth She had abandoned him and how much more Might be his woe, we guessed not; he had store Of friends and fortune once, as we could guess From his nice habits and his gentleness; These were now lost it were a grief indeed If he had changed one unsustaining reed For all that such a man might else adorn. The colors of his mind seemed yet unworn ; For the wild language of his grief was high 541 Such as in measure were called poetry. And I remember one remark which then Maddalo made. He said ' Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong; They learn in suffering what they teach in song.' If I had been an unconnected man, I, from this moment, should have formed some plan Never to leave sweet Venice, for to me It was delight to ride by the lone sea; 550 And then the town is silent one may write Or read in gondolas by day or night, Having the little brazen lamp alight, Unseen, uninterrupted; books are there, Pictures, and casts from all those statues fair Which were twin-born with poetry, and all We seek in towns, with little to recall Regrets for the green country. I might sit In Maddalo's great palace, and his wit And subtle talk would cheer the winter night 560 And make me know myself, and the fire- light i6o PROMETHEUS UNBOUND Would flash upon our faces, till the day Might dawn and make me wonder at my stay. But I had friends in London too. The chief Attraction here was that I sought relief From the deep tenderness that maniac wrought Within me 't was perhaps an idle thought, But I imagined that if day by day 568 I watched him, and but seldom went away, And studied all the beatings of his heart With zeal, as men study some stubborn art For their own good, and could by patience find An entrance to the caverns of his mind, I might reclaim him from this dark estate. In friendships I had been most fortunate, Yet never saw I one whom I would call More willingly my friend ; and this was all Accomplished not; such dreams of baseless good Oft come and go in crowds and solitude And leave no trace, but what I now de- signed 580 Made, for long years, impression on my mind. The following morning, urged by my affairs, I left bright Venice. After many years, And many changes, I returned; the name Of Venice, and its aspect, was the same; But Maddalo was travelling far away Among the mountains of Armenia. His dog was dead. His child had now be- come 588 A woman; such as it has been my doom To meet with few, a wonder of this earth, Where there is little of transcendent worth, Like one of Shakespeare's women. Kindly she, And with a manner beyond courtesy, Received her father's friend; and, when I asked Of the lorn maniac, she her memory tasked, And told, as she had heard, the mournful tale: ' That the poor sufferer's health began to fail Two years *from my departure, but that then The lady, who had left him, came again. Her mien had been imperious, but she now Looked meek perhaps remorse had brought her low. 601 Her coming made him better, and they stayed Together at my father's for I played As I remember with the lady's shawl; I might be six years old but after all She left him.' ' Why, her heart must have been tough. How did it end ? ' ' And was not this enough ? They met they parted.' ' Child, is there no more ? ' ' Something within that interval which bore The stamp of why they parted, how they met; 610 Yet if thine aged eyes disdain to wet Those wrinkled cheeks with youth's re- membered tears, Ask me no more, but let the silent years Be closed and cered over their memory, As yon rnute marble where their corpses lie.' I urged and questioned still; she told me how All happened but the cold world shall not know. PROMETHEUS UNBOUND A LYRICAL DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS AUDISNB HMC, AMPHIAK.*, SUB TF.RRAM ABDITB? Prometheus Unbound best combines the va- rious elements of Shelley's genius in their most complete expression, and unites harmoniously his lyrically creative power of imagination and his ' passion for reforming the world.' It if the fruit of an outburst of poetic energy un- der the double stimulus of his enthusiastic Greek studies, begun under Peacock's influ- INTRODUCTORY NOTE 161 ence, and of his delight in the beauty of Italy, whither he had removed for health and rest. It marks his full mastery of his powers. It is, not less than Queen Mab and The Revolt of Islam, a poem of the moral perfection of man ; and, not less than Alastor and Epipsychidion, a poera of spiritual ideality. He was himself in love with it : 'a poem of a higher character than anything I have yet attempted and per- haps less an imitation of anything that has gone before it,' he writes to Oilier ; and again, ' a poem in my best style, whatever that may amount to, ... the most perfect of my pro- ductions,' and ' the best thing I ever wrote ; ' and finally he says, ''Prometheus Unbound,-]. must tell you, is my favorite poem ; I charge you, therefore, especially to pet him and feed him with fine ink and good paper. ... I think, if I can judge by its merits, the Prometheus cannot sell beyond twenty copias.' Nor did he lose his affection for it. Trelawny records him as saying, ' If that is not durable poetry, tried by the severest test, I do not know what is. It is a lofty subject, not inadequately treated, and should not perish with me.' . . . ' My friends say my Prometheus is too wild, ideal, and perplexed with imagery. It may be so. It has no resemblance to the Greek drama. It is original ; and cost me severe mental labor. Authors, like mothers, prefer the children who have given them most trouble.' The drama was begun in the summer-house of his garden at Este about September, 1818, and the first Act had been finished as early as October 8; it was apparently laid aside, and again taken up at Rome in the spring of 1819, where, under the circumstances described in the preface, the second and third Acts were added, and the work, in its first form, was thus completed by April 6. The fourth Act was an afterthought, and was composed at Florence toward the end of the year. The whole was published, with other poems, in the summer of 1820. The following extracts from Mrs. Shelley's long and admirable note show the progress of the poem during its composition, the atmo- sphere of its creation, and its general scheme : ' The first aspect of Italy enchanted Shelley ; it seemed a garden of delight placed beneath a clearer and brighter heaven than any he had lived under before. He wrote long descriptive letters during the first year of his residence in Italy, which, as compositions, are the most beautiful in the world, and show how truly he appreciated and studied the wonders of nature and art in that divine land. ' The poetical spirit within him speedily re- vived with all the power and with more than all the beauty of his first attempts. He medi- tated three subjects as the groundwork for lyrical Dramas. One was the story of Tasso : of this a slight fragment of a song of Tasso remains. The other was one founded on the book of Job, which he never abandoned in idea, but of which no trace remains among his papers. The third was the Prometheus Un- bound. The Greek tragedians were now his most familiar companions in his wanderings, and the sublime majesty of ^Eschylus filled him with wonder and delight. The father of Greek tragedy does not possess the pathos of Sophocles, nor the variety and tenderness of Euripides ; the interest on which he founds his dramas is often elevated above human vicis- situdes into the mighty passions and throes of gods and demigods such fascinated the ab- stract imagination of Shelley. ' We spent a month at Milan, visiting the Lake of Coma during that interval. Thence we passed in succession to Pisa, Leghorn, the Baths of Lucca, Venice, Este, Rome, Naples, and back again to Rome, whither we returned early in March, 1819. During all this time Shelley meditated the subject of his drama, and wrote portions of it. Other poems were composed during this interval, and while at the Bagui di Lucca he translated Plato's Symposium. But though he diversified his studies, his thoughts centred in the Prometheus. At last, when at Rome, during a bright and beautiful spring, he gave up his whole time to the composition. The spot selected for his study was, as he men- tions in his preface, the mountainous ruins of the Baths of Caracalla. These are little known to the ordinary visitor at Rome. He describes them iu a letter, with that poetry, and delicacy, and truth of description, which rendered his narrated impressions of scenery of unequalled beauty and interest. ' At first he completed the drama in three acts. It was not till several months after, when at Florence, that he conceived that a fourth act, a sort of hymn of rejoicing in the fulfilment of the prophecies with regard to Prometheus, ought to be added to complete the composition. ' The prominent, feature of Shelley's theory of the destiny of the human species was, that evil is not inherent in the system of the creation, but an accident that might be expelled. This also forms a portion of Christianity ; God made earth and man perfect, till he, by his fall, ' " Brought death into the world and all our woe." Shelley believed that mankind had only to will that there should be no evil, and there would be none. It is not my part in these notes to notice the arguments that have been urged against this opinion, but to mention the fact that he entertained it, and was indeed attached to it with fervent enthusiasm. That man could 162 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND be so perfectionized as to be able to expel evil from his own nature, and from the greater part of the creation, was the cardinal point of his system. And the subject he loved best to dwell on, was the image of One warring with the Evil Principle, oppressed not only by it, but by all. even the good, who were deluded into considering evil a necessary portion of hu- manity ; a victim full of fortitude and hope, and the spirit of triumph emanating from a reliance in the ultimate omnipotence of good. Such he had depicted in his last poem, when he made Laou the enemy and the victim of tyrants. He now took a more idealized image of the same subject. He followed certain classical authorities in figuring Saturn as the good principle. Jupiter the usurping evil one, and Prometheus as the regenerator, who, un- able to bring mankind back to primitive inno- cence, used knowledge as a weapon to defeat evil, by leading mankind beyond the state wherein they are sinless through ignorance, to that in which they are virtuous through wis- dom. Jupiter punished the temerity of the Titan by chaining him to a rock of Caucasus, and causing a vulture to devour his still-re- newed heart. There was a prophecy afloat in heaven portending the fall of Jove, the secret of averting which was known only to Prome- theus ; and the god offered freedom from tor- ture on condition of its being communicated to him. According to the mythological story, this referred to the offspring of Thetis, who was destined to be greater than his father. Prometheus at last bought pardon for his crime of enriching mankind with his gifts, by revealing the prophecy. Hercules killed the vulture and set him free, and Thetis was mar- ried to Peleus the father of Achilles. ' Shelley adapted the catastrophe of this Btory to his peculiar views. The son, greater than his father, born of the nuptials of Jupiter and Thetis, was to dethrone Evil and bring back a happier reign than that of Saturn. Prometheus defies the power of his enemy, and endures centuries of torture, till the hour arrives when Jove, blind to the real event, but darkly guessing that some great good to him- gelf will flow, espouses Thetis. At the moment, the Primal Power of the world drives him from his usurped throne, and Strength, in the per- son of Hercules, liberates Humanity, typified in Prometheus, from the tortures generated by evil done or suffered. Asia, one of the Ocean- ides, is the wife of Prometheus she was, according to other mythological interpreta- tions, the same as Venus and Nature. When the Benefactor of Mankind is liberated, Nature resumes the beauty of her prime, and is united to her husband, the emblem of the human race, in perfect and happy union. In the fourth Act, the poet gives further scope to his imagination, and idealizes the forms of crea- tion, such as we know them, instead of such as they appeared to the Greeks. Maternal Earth, the mighty Parent, is superseded by the Spirit of the Earth the guide of our planet through the realms of sky while his fair and weaker companion and attendant, the Spirit of the Moon, receives bliss from the annihilation of Evil in the superior sphere. ' Shelley develops, more particularly in the lyrics of this drama, his abstruse and imagina- tive theories with regard to the Creation. It requires a mind as subtle and penetrating as his own to understand the mystic meanings scattered throughout the poem. They elude the ordinary reader by their abstraction and delicacy of distinction, but they are far from vague. It was his design to write prose meta- physical essays on the nature of Man, which would have served to explain much of what is obscure in his poetry ; a few scattered frag- ments of observations and remarks alone re- main. He considered these philosophical views of mind and nature to be instinct with the intensest spirit of poetry. ' More popular poets clothe the ideal with familiar and sensible imagery. Shelley loved to idealize the real to gift the mechanism of the material universe with a soul and a voice, and to bestow such also on the most delicate and abstract emotions and thoughts of the mind. . . . ' Through the whole Poem there reigns a sort of calm and holy spirit of love ; it soothes the tortured, and is hope to the expectant, till the prophecy is fulfilled, and Love, untainted by any evil, becomes the law of the world. . . . ' The charm of the Roman climate helped to clothe his thoughts in greater beauty than they had ever worn before ; and as he wandered among the ruins, made one with nature in their decay, or ga?.ed on the Praxitelean shapes that throng the Vatican, the Capitol, and the palaces of Rome, his soul imbibed forms of loveliness which became a portion of itself. There are many passages in the Prometheus which show the intense delight he received from such studies, and give back the impression with a beauty of poetical description peculiarly his own.' PREFACE The Greek tragic writers, in selecting as their subject any portion of their national his- tory or mythology, employed in their treatment of it a certain arbitrary discretion. They by no means conceived themselves bound to ad- here to the common interpretation or to imitate in story as in title their rivals and predecessors. AUTHOR'S PREFACE 163 Such a system would have amounted to a resignation of those claims to preference over their competitors which incited the composition. The Agamemnon! an story was exhibited on the Athenian theatre with as many variations as dramas. I have presumed to employ a similar license. The Prometheus Unbound of ^Eschylus sup- posed the reconciliation of Jupiter with his victim as the price of the disclosure of the danger threatened to his empire by the con- summation of his marriage with Thetis. Thetis, according to this view of the subject, was given in marriage to Peleus, and Prome- theus, by the permission of Jupiter, delivered from his captivity by Hercules. Had I framed my story on this model, I should have done no more than have attempted to restore the lost drama of ^Eschylus ; an ambition which, if my preference to this mode of treating the subject had incited me to cherish, the recollec- tion of the high comparison such an attempt would challenge might well abate. But, in truth, I was averse from a catastrophe so feeble as that of reconciling the Champion with the Oppressor of mankind. The moral interest of thu fable, which is so powerfully sustained by the sufferings and endurance of Prometheus, would be annihilated if we could conceive of him as unsaying his high language and quailing before his successful and perfidious adversary. The only imaginary being, resembling in any degree Prometheus, is Satan ; and Prometheus is, in my judgment, a more poetical character than Satan, because, in addition to courage, and majesty, and firm and patient opposition to omnipotent force, he is susceptible of being described as exempt from the taints of ambi- tion, envy, revenge, and a desire for personal Sn-randizement, which, in the hero of Paradise st, interfere with the interest. The charac- ter of Satan engenders in the mind a pernicious casuistry which leads us to weigh his faults with his wrongs, and to excuse the former be- cause the latter exceed all measure. In the minds of those who consider that magnificent fiction with a religious feeling it engenders something worse. But Prometheus is, as it were, the type of the highest perfection of moral and intellectual nature impelled by the purest and the truest motives to the best and noblest ends. This Poem was chiefly written upon the mountainous ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, among the flowery glades and thickets of odor- iferous blossoming trees, which are extended in ever winding labyrinths upon its immense platforms and dizzy arches suspended in the air. The bright blue sky of Rome, and the effect of the vigorous awakening spring in that dirinest climate, and the new life with which it drenches the spirits even to intoxication, were the inspiration of this drama. The imagery which I have employed will be found, in many instances, to have been drawn from the operations of the human mind, or from those external actions by which they are expressed. This is unusual in modern poetry, although Dante and Shakespeare are full of instances of the same kind ; Dante indeed more than any other poet, and with greater success. But the Greek poets, as writers to whom no resource of awakening the sympathy of their contemporaries was unknown, were in the habitual use of this power ; and it is the study of their works (since a higher merit would probably be denied me) to which I am willing that my readers should impute this singularity. One word is due in candor to the degree in which the study of contemporary writings may have tinged my composition, for such has been a topic of censure with regard to poems far more popular, and indeed more deservedly popular, than mine. It is impossible that any one, who inhabits the same age with such writers as those who stand in the foremost ranks of our own, cau conscientiously assure himself that his language and tone of thought may not have been modified by the study of the pro- ductions of those extraordinary intellects. It is true that, not the spirit of their genius, but the forms in which it has manifested itself, are due less to the peculiarities of their own minds than to the peculiarity of the moral and intellectual condition of the minds among which they have been produced. Thus a number of writers possess the form, whilst they want the spirit of those whom, it is alleged, they imitate ; because the former is the endowment of the age in which they live, and the latter must be the uncommunicated lightning of their own mind. The peculiar style of intense and comprehen- sive imagery which distinguishes the modern literature of England has not been, as a general power, the product of the imitation of any par- ticular writer. The mass of capabilities re- mains at every period materially the same ; the circumstances which awaken it to action perpetually change. If England were divided into forty republics, each equal in population and extent to Athens, there is no reason to suppose but that, under institutions not more perfect than those of Athens, each would pro- duce philosophers and poete equal to those who (if we except Shakespeare) have never been surpassed. We owe the great writers of the golden age of our literature to that fervid awakening of the public mind which shook to dust the oldest and most oppressive form of the Christian religion. We owe Milton to the 164 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND progress and development of the same spirit : the sacred Milton was, let it ever be remem- bered, a republican and a bold inquirer into morals and religion. The great writers of our own age are, we have reason to suppose, the companions and forerunners of some unima- gined change in our social condition or the opin- ions which cement it. The cloud of mind is discharging its collected lightning, and the equilibrium between institutions and opinions is now restoring or is about to be restored. As to imitation, poetry is a mimetic art. It creates, but it creates by combination and re- presentation. Poetical abstractions are beauti- ful and new, not because the portions of which they are composed had no previous existence in the mind of man or in Nature, but because the whole produced by their combination has some intelligible and beautiful analogy with those sources of emotion and thought and with the contemporary condition of them. One great poet is a masterpiece of Nature which another not only ought to study but must study. He might as wisely and as easily de- termine that his mind should no longer be the mirror of all that is lovely in the visible uni- verse as exclude from his contemplation the beautiful which exists in the writings of a great contemporary. The pretence of doing it would be a presumption in any but the greatest; the effect, even in him, would be strained, un- natural and ineffectual. A poet is the com- bined product of such internal powers as mod- ify the nature of others, and of such external influences as excite and sustain these powers ; he is not one, but both. Every man's mind is, in this respect, modiBed by all the objects of Nature and art ; by every word and every sug- gestion which he ever admitted to act upon his consciousness ; it is the mirror upon which all forms are reflected and in which they compose one form. Poets, not otherwise than philoso- phers, painters, sculptors and musicians, are, in one sense, the creators, and, in another, the creations, of their age. From this subjection the loftiest do not escape. There is a similar- ity between Homer and Hesiod, between ^Es- chylus and Euripides, between Virgil aud Hor- ace, between Dante and Petrarch, between Shakespeare and Fletcher, between Dryden and Pope ; each has a generic resemblance under which their specific distinctions are ar- ranged. If this similarity be the result of imi- tation, I am willing to confess that I have imitated. Let this opportunity be conceded to me of acknowledging that I have what a Scotch philosopher characteristically terms a ' passion for reforming the world : ' what passion incited him to write and publish his book he omits to explain. For my part I had rather be damned with Plato and Lord Bacon than go to Heaven with Paley and Malthus. But it is a mistake to suppose that I dedicate my poetical compo- sitions solely to the direct enforcement of re- form, or that I consider them in any degree as containing a reasoned system on the theory of human life. Didactic poetry is my abhorrence ; nothing can be equally well expressed in prose that is not tedious and supererogatory in verse. My purpose has hitherto been simply to famil- iarize the highly refined imagination of the more select classes of poetical readers with beautiful idealisms of moral excellence ; aware that, until the mind can love, and admire, and trust, and hope, and endure, reasoned princi- ples of moral conduct are seeds cast upon the highway of life which the unconscious pas- senger tramples into dust, although they would bear the harvest of his happiness. Should I live to accomplish what I purpose, that is, produce a systematical history of what appear to me to be the genuine elements of human society, let not the advocates of injustice and superstition flatter themselves that I should take ^Eschylus rather than Plato as my model. The having spoken of myself with unaffected freedom will need little apology with the can- did ; and let the uncandid consider that they injure me less than their own hearts and minds by misrepresentation. Whatever talents a person may possess to amuse and instruct others, be they ever so inconsiderable, he is yet bound to exert them : if his attempt be ineffectual, let the punishment of an unaccom- plished purpose have been sufficient ; let none trouble themselves to heap the dust of oblivion upon his efforts ; the pile they raise will betray his grave which might otherwise have been unknown. ACT I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 165 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND DRAMATIS PERSONS PROMETHEUS. DEMoaoRaoN. JUPITER. THE EARTH. OCEAN. APOLLO. MBRCCRY. HEBCULSS. ASIA ] PANTHEA > Oceauides. TONE THE PHANTASM OF JUPITEB. THE SPIRIT OF THE EARTH. THE SPIRIT OF THE MOON. SPIRITS OF THE HOCKS. SPIRITS. ECHOES. FAUNS. FURIES. ACT I SCENE, a Ravine of Icy Rocks in the Indian Caucasus. PROMETHEUS is discovered bound io the Precipice. PANTHEA and TONE are seated at his feet. Time, Night. During the Scene morning slowly breaks. PKOMETHEUS MONARCH of Gods and Daemons, and all Spirits But One, who throng those bright and roll- ing worlds Which Thou and I alone of living things Behold with sleepless eyes! regard this Earth Made multitudinous with thy slaves, whom thou Requitest for knee-worship, prayer, and praise, And toil, and hecatombs of broken hearts, With fear and self-contempt and barren hope; Whilst me, who am thy foe, eyeless in hate, Hast thou made reign and triumph, to thy scorn, io O'er mine own misery and thy vain re- venge. Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours, And moments aye divided by keen pangs Till they seemed years, torture and soli- tude, Scorn and despair these are mine em- pire: More glorious far than that which thou surveyest From thine unenvied throne, O Mighty God! Almighty, had I deigned to share the shame Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling moun- tain, 20 Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured; without herb, Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life. Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, forever ! No change, no pause, no hope ! Yet I endure. I ask the Earth, have not the mountains felt? I ask you Heaven, the all-beholding Sun, Has it not seen ? The Sea, in storm or calm, Heaven's ever-changing shadow, spread below, Have its deaf waves not heard my agony ? Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, forever ! 30 The crawling glaciers pierce me with the spears Of their moon-freezing crystals; the bright chains Eat with their burning cold into my bones. Heaven's winged hound, polluting from thy lips His beak in poison not his own, tears up My heart; and shapeless sights come wan- dering by, The ghastly people of the realm of dream, Mocking me; and the Earthquake-fiends are charged To wrench the rivets from my quivering wounds When the rocks split and close again be- hind ; 40 While from their loud abysses howling throng The genii of the storm, urging the rage Of whirlwind, and afflict me with keen hail. And yet to me welcome is day and night, Whether one breaks the hoar-frost of the morn, Or starry, dim, and slow, the other climbs The leaden-colored east; for then they lead The wingless, crawling hours, one among whom As some dark Priest hales the reluctant victim Shall drag thee, cruel King, to kiss the blood 50 From these pale feet, which then might trample thee If they disdained not such a prostrate slave. i66 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT 1 Disdain ! Ah, no ! I pity thee. What ruin Will hunt thee undefended through the wide Heaven! How will thy soul, cloven to its depth with terror, Gape like a hell within ! I speak in grief, Not exultation, for I hate no more, As then ere misery made me wise. The curse Once breathed on thee I would recall. Ye Mountains, Whose many-voiced Echoes, through the mist 60 Of cataracts, flung the thunder of that spell ! Ye icy Springs, stagnant with wrinkling frost, Which vibrated to hear me, and then crept Shuddering through India ! Thou serenest Air Through which the . Sun walks burning without beams ! And ye swift Whirlwinds, who on poised wings Hung mute and moveless o'er yon hushed abyss, As thunder, louder than your own, made rock The orbed world ! If then my words had power, Though I am changed so that aught evil wish 70 Is dead within; although no memory be Of what is hate, let them not lose it now ! What was that curse ? for ye all heard me speak. FIRST VOICE : from the Mountains Thrice three hundred thousand years O'er the earthquake's couch we stood; Oft, as men convulsed with fears, We trembled in our multitude. SECOND VOICE : from the Springs Thunderbolts had parched our water, We had been stained with bitter blood, And had run mute, 'mid shrieks of slaughter 80 Through a city and a solitude. THIRD VOICE : from the Air I had clothed, since Earth uprose, Its wastes in colors not their own, And oft had my serene repose Been cloven by many a rending groan. FOURTH VOICE : from the Whirlwinds We had soared beneath these mountains Unresting ages; nor had thunder, Nor yon volcano's flaming fountains, Nor any power above or under Ever made us mute with wonder. 90 FIRST VOICE But never bowed our snowy crest As at the voice of thine unrest. SECOND VOICE Never such a sound before To the Indian waves we bore. A pilot asleep ou the howling sea Leaped up from the deck in agony, And heard, and cried, ' Ah, woe is me ! ' And died as mad as the wild waves be. THIRD VOICE By such dread words from Earth to Heaven My still realm was never riven; 100 When its wound was closed, there stood Darkness o'er the day like blood. FOURTH VOICE And we shrank back : for dreams of ruin To frozen caves our flight pursuing Made us keep silence thus and thus Though silence is a hell to us. THE EARTH The tongueless caverns of the craggy hills Cried, 'Misery ! ' then; the hollow Heaven replied, ' Misery ! ' And the Ocean's purple waves, Climbing the land, howled to the lashing winds, no And the pale nations heard it, ' Misery ! ' PROMETHEUS I hear a sound of voices; not the voice Which I gave forth. Mother, thy sous and thou Scorn him, without whose all-enduring will Beneath the fierce omnipotence of Jove, Both they and thou had vanished, like thin mist Unrolled on the morning wind. Know ye not me, The Titan ? He who made his agony The barrier to your else all-conquering foe ? O rock-embosomed lawns and snow-fed streams, no Now seen athwart frore vapors, deep below, ACT I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND Through whose o'ershadowiug woods I wandered once With Asia, drinking life from her loved eyes; Why scorns the spirit, which informs ye, now To commune with me? me alone who checked, As one who checks a fiend-drawn charioteer, The falsehood and the force of him who reigns Supreme, and with the groans of pining slaves Fills your dim glens and liquid wildernesses: Why answer ye not, still ? Brethren I THE EARTH They dare not. 130 PROMETHEUS Who dares ? for I would hear that curse again. Ha, what an awful whisper rises up ! 'T is scarce like sound; it tingles through the frame As lightning tingles, hovering ere it strike. Speak, Spirit ! from thine inorganic voice I only know that thou art moving near And love. How cursed I him ? THE EARTH How canst thou hear Who knowest not the language of the dead ? PROMETHEUS Thou art a living spirit; speak as they. THE EARTH I dare not speak like life, lest Heaven's fell King ' 140 Should hear, and link me to some wheel of pain More torturing than the one whereon I roll. Subtle thou art and good; and though the Gods Hear not this voice, yet thou art more than God, Being wise and kind: earnestly hearken now. PROMETHEUS Obscurely through my brain, like shadows dim, Sweep awful thoughts, rapid and thick. I feel Faint, like one mingled in entwining love; Yet 't is not pleasure. THE EARTH No, thou canst not hear; Thou art immortal, and this tongue is known 150 Only to those who die. PROMETHEUS And what art thou, O melancholy Voice ? THE EARTH I am the Earth, Thy mother; she within whose stony veins, To the last fibre of the loftiest tree Whose thin leaves trembled in the frozen air, Joy ran, as blood within a living frame, When thou didst from her bosom, like a cloud Of glory, arise, a spirit of keen joy .' And at thy voice her pining sous uplifted Their prostrate brows from the polluting dust, 160 And our almighty Tyrant with fierce dread Grew pale, until his thunder chained thee here. Then see those million worlds which burn and roll Around us their inhabitants beheld My sphered light wane in wide Heaven; the sea Was lifted by strange tempest, and new fire From earthquake-rifted mountains of bright snow Shook its portentous hair beneath Heaven's frown ; Lightning and Inundation vexed the plains; Blue thistles bloomed in cities; foodless toads i 7C Within voluptuous chambers panting crawled. When Plague had fallen on man and beast and worm, And Famine; and black blight on herb and tree; And in the corn, and vines, and meadow- grass, Teemed ineradicable poisonous weeds Draining their growth, for my wan breasi was dry With grief, and the thin air, my breatt, was stained 1 68 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT I With the contagion of a mother's hate Breathed on her child's destroyer; ay, I heard Thy curse, the which, if thou reinemberest not, 180 Yet my innumerable seas and streams, Mountains, and caves, and winds, and yon wide air, And the inarticulate people of the dead, Preserve, a treasured spell. We meditate In secret joy and hope those dreadful words, But dare not speak them. PROMETHEUS Venerable mother ! All else who live and suffer take from thee Some comfort; flowers, and fruits, and happy sounds, And love, though fleeting; these may not be mine. But mine own words, I pray, deny me not. 190 THE EARTH They shall be told. Ere Babylon was dust, The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child, Met his own image walking in the gar- den. That apparition, sole of men, he saw. For know there are two worlds of life and death: One that which thou beholdest; but the other Is underneath the grave, where do inhabit The shadows of all forms that think and live, Till death unite them and they part no more; 199 Dreams and the light imaginings of men, And all that faith creates or love desires, Terrible, strange, sublime and beauteous shapes. There thou art, and dost hang, a writhing shade, 'Mid whirlwind-peopled mountains; all the gods Are there, and all the powers of nameless worlds, Vast, sceptred phantoms; heroes, men, and beasts ; And Demogorgon, a tremendous gloom; And he, the supreme Tyrant, on his throne Of burning gold. Son, one of these shall utter The curse which all remember. Call at will 2ia Thine own ghost, or the ghost of Jupiter, Hades or Typhon, or what mightier Gods From all-prolific Evil, since thy ruin, Have sprung, and trampled on my prostrate sons. Ask, and they must reply: so the revenge Of the Supreme may sweep through vacant shades, As rainy wind through the abandoned gate Of a fallen palace. PROMETHEUS Mother, let not aught Of that which may be evil pass again My lips, or those of aught resembling me. Phantasm of Jupiter, arise, appear ! 221 My wings are folded o'er mine ears; My wings are crossel o'er mine eyes; Yet through their silver shade appears, And through their lulling plumes arise, A Shape, a throng of sounds. May it be no ill to thee O thou of many wounds ! Near whom, for our sweet sister's sake, Ever thus we watch and wake. 239 The sound is of whirlwind underground, Earthquake, and fire, and mountains cloven ; The shape is awful, like the sound, Clothed in dark purple, star-inwoven, A sceptre of pale gold, To stay steps proud, o'er the slow cloud, His veined hand doth hold. Cruel he looks, but calm and strong, Like one who does, not suffers wrong. PHANTASM OF JUPITER Why have the secret powers of this strange world 240 Driven me, a frail and empty phantom, hither On direst storms ? What unaccustomed sounds Are hovering on my lips, unlike the voice With which our pallid race hold ghastly talk In darkness ? And, proud sufferer, who art thou ? ACT I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 169 PROMETHEUS Tremendous linage ! as thou art must be He whom thou shadowest forth. I am his foe, The Titan. Speak the words which I would hear, Although no thought inform thine empty voice. THE EARTH Listen ! And though your echoes must be mute, 250 Gray mountains, and old woods, and haunted springs, Prophetic caves, and isle - surrounding streams, Rejoice to hear what yet ye cannot speak. PHANTASM A spirit seizes me and speaks within; It tears me as fire tears a thunder-cloud. PANTHEA See how he lifts his mighty looks ! the Heaven Darkens above. IONE He speaks ! Oh, shelter me ! PROMETHEUS I see the curse on gestures proud and cold, And looks of firm defiance, and calm hate, And such despair as mocks itself with smiles, 260 Written as on a scroll: yet speak ! Oh, speak ! PHANTASM Fiend, I defy thee ! with a calm, fixed mind, All that thou canst inflict I bid thee do; Foul tyrant both of Gods and human- kind, One only being shalt thou not sub- due. Rain then thy plagues upon me here, Ghastly disease, and frenzying fear ; And let alternate frost and fire Eat into me, and be thine ire Lightning, and cutting hail, and legioned forms 270 Of furies, driving by upon the wounding storms. Ay, do thy worst ! Thou art omnipotent. O'er all things but thyself I gave thee power, And my own will. Be thy swift mis- chiefs sent To blast mankind, from yon ethereal tower. Let thy malignant spirit move In darkness over those I love; On me and mine I imprecate The utmost torture of thy hate; And thus devote to sleepless agony, 2 8o This undeclining head while thou must reign on high. But thou, who art the God and Lord: O thou Who fillest with thy soul this world of woe, To whom all things of Earth and Heaven do bow In fear and worship all-prevailing foe ! I curse thee ! let a sufferer's curse Clasp thee, his torturer, like remorse; Till thine Infinity shall be A robe of envenomed agony; 289 And thine Omnipotence a crown of pain, To cling like burning gold round thy dis- solving brain! Heap on thy soul, by virtue of this Curse, 111 deeds; then be thou damned, be- holding good; Both infinite as is the universe, And thou, and thy self-torturing soli- tude. An awful image of calm power Though now thou sittest, let the hour Come, when thou must appear to be That which thou art internally; And after many a false and fruitless crime, 300 Scorn track thy lagging fall through boundless space and time ! PROMETHEUS Were these my words, O Parent ? THE EARTH They were thine. PROMETHEUS It doth repent me; words are quick and vain; I 7 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT I Grief for awhile is blind, and so was mine. I wish no living thing to suffer pain. THE EABTH Misery, oh, misery to me, That Jove at length should vanquish thee! Wail, howl aloud, Land and Sea, 308 The Earth's rent heart shall answer ye ! Howl, Spirits of the living and the dead, Tour refuge, your defence, lies fallen and vanquished ! FIRST ECHO Lies fallen and vanquished ! SECOND ECHO Fallen and vanquished ! Fear not: 't is but some passing spasm, The Titan is unvanquished still. But see, where through the azure chasm Of you forked and snowy hill, Trampling the slant winds on high With golden-sandalled feet, that glow Under plumes of purple dye, 320 Like rose-ensanguined ivory, A Shape comes now, Stretching on high from his right hand A serpent-cinctured wand. PANTHEA T is Jove's world- wandering herald, Mer- cury. And who are those with hydra tresses And iron wings, that climb the wind, Whom the frowning God represses, Like vapors steaming up behind, Clanging loud, an endless crowd ? 330 These are Jove's tempest-walking hounds, Whom he gluts with groans and blood, When charioted on sulphurous cloud He bursts Heaven's bounds. Are they now led from the thin dead On new pangs to be fed ? PANTHEA The Titan looks as ever, firm, not proud. FIRST FUBY Ha ! I scent life ! SECOND FURY Let me but look into his eyes ! THIRD FURY The hope of torturing him smells like a heap Of corpses to a death-bird after battle. 340 FIRST FURY Barest thou delay, O Herald ! take cheer, Hounds Of Hell: what if the Son of Maia soon Should make us food and sport who can please long The Omnipotent ? MERCURY Back to your towers of iron, And gnash, beside the streams of fire and wail, Your food less teeth. Geryon, arise ! and Gorgon, ChimaBra, and thou Sphinx, subtlest of fiends, Who ministered to Thebes Heaven's poi- soned wine, 348 Unnatural love, and more unnatural hate: These shall perform your task. FIRST FURY Oh, mercy ! mercy ! We die with our desire ! drive us not back ! MERCURY Crouch then in silence. Awful Sufferer ! To thee unwilling, most unwillingly I come, by the great Father's will driven down, To execute a doom of new revenge. Alas ! I pity thee, and hate myself That I can do no more ; aye from thy sight Returning, for a season, Heaven seems Hell, So thy worn form pursues me night and day, Smiling reproach. Wise art thou, firm and good, 3 6< ACT I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 171 But vainly wouldst stand forth alone in strife Against the Omnipotent; as yon clear lamps, That measure and divide the weary years From which there is no refuge, long have taught And long must teach. Even now thy Tor- turer arms With the strange might of uuimagined pains The powers who scheme slow agonies in Hell, And my commission is to lead them here, Or what more subtle, foul, or savage fiends People the abyss, and leave them to their task. 370 Be it not so ! there is a secret known To thee, and to none else of living things, Which may transfer the sceptre of wide Heaven, The fear of which perplexes the Supreme. Clothe it in words, and bid it clasp his throne In intercession; bend thy soul in prayer, And like a suppliant in some gorgeous fane, Let the will kneel within thy haughty heart, For benefits and meek submission tame The fiercest and the mightiest. PROMETHEUS Evil minds Change good to their own nature. I gave all 381 He has; and in return he chains me here Years, ages, night and day; whether the Sun Split my parched skin, or in the moony night The crystal-winged snow cling round my hair; Whilst my beloved race is trampled down By his thought-executing ministers. Such is the tyrant's recompense. 'T is just. He who is evil can receive no good; And for a world bestowed, or a friend lost, He can feel hate, fear, shame; not grati- tude. 391 He but requites me for his own misdeed. Kindness to such is keen reproach, which breaks With bitter stings the light sleep of Re- veuge. Submission thou dost know I cannot try. For what submission but that fatal word, The death-seal of mankind's captivity, Like the Sicilian's hair-suspended sword, Which trembles o'er his crown, would he accept, Or could 1 yield ? Which yet I will not yield. 4 oo Let others flatter Crime where it sits throned In brief Omnipotence; secure are they; For Justice, when triumphant, will weep down Pity, not punishment, on her own wrongs, Too much avenged by those who err. I wait, Enduring thus, the retributive hour Which since we spake is even nearer now. But hark, the hell-hounds clamor: fear delay: Behold ! Heaven lowers under thy Father's frown. 409 MERCURY Oil, that we might be spared; I to inflict, And thou to suffer f Once more answer me. Thou knowest not the period of Jove's power ? PROMETHEUS I know but this, that it must come. MERCURY Alas! Thou canst not count thy years to come of pain ! PROMETHEUS They last while Jove must reign; nor more, nor less Do I desire or fear. Yet pause, and plunge Into Eternity, where recorded time, Even all that we imagine, age on age, Seems but a point, and the reluctant mind Flags wearily in its unending flight, 420 Till it sink, dizzy, blind, lost, shelterless; Perchance it has not numbered the slow years Which thou must spend in torture, unre- prieved ? 172 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT I PROMETHEUS Perchance no thought can count them, yet they pass. MERCURY If thou mightst dwell among the Gods the while, Lapped in voluptuous joy ? PROMETHEUS I would not quit This bleak ravine, these unrepentant pains. MERCURY Alas ! I wonder at, yet pity thee. PROMETHEUS Pity the self-despising slaves of Heaven, Not rne, within whose mind sits peace serene, 430 As light in the sun, throned. How vain is talk! Call up the fiends. IONE Oh, sister, look ! White fire Has cloven to the roots yon huge snow- loaded cedar; How fearfully God's thunder howls be- hind ! MERCURY I must obey his words and thine. Alas ! Most heavily remorse hangs at my heart ! PANTHEA See where the child of Heaven, with winged feet, Runs down the slanted sunlight of the dawn. Dear sister, close thy plumes over thine eyes Lest thou behold and die; they come they come 440 Blackening the birth of day with countless wings, And hollow underneath, like death. FIRST FURY BECOND FURY Immortal Titan 1 Prometheus ! THIRD FURY Champion of Heaven's slaves ! PROMETHEUS He whom some dreadful voice invokes is here, Prometheus, the chained Titan. Horrible forms, What and who are ye ? Never yet there came Phantasms so foul through monster-teeming Hell From the all-miscreative brain of Jove. Whilst I behold such execrable shapes, Methinks I grow like what I contemplate, And laugh and stare in loathsome sym- pathy. 451 FIRST FURY We are the ministers of pain, and fear, And disappointment, and mistrust, and hate, And clinging crime; and as lean dogs pur- sue Through wood and lake some struck and sobbing fawn, We track all things that weep, and bleed, and live, When the great King betrays them to our will. PROMETHEUS many fearful natures in one name, 1 know ye; and these lakes and echoes know The darkness and the clangor of your wings ! 460 But why more hideous than your loathed selves Gather ye up in legions from the deep ? SECOND FURY We knew not that. Sisters, rejoice, re- joice 1 PROMETHEUS Can aught exult in its deformity ? SECOND FURY The beauty of delight makes lovers glad, Gazing on one another: so are we. As from the rose which the pale priestess kneels To gather for her festal crown of flowers The aerial crimson falls, flushing her cheek, ACT I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 173 So from our victim's destined agony 470 The shade which is our form invests us round ; Else we are shapeless as our mother Night. PROMETHEUS I laugh your power, and his who sent you here, To lowest scorn. Pour forth the cup of pain. FIRST FURY Thou thinkest we will rend thee bone from bone And nerve from nerve, working like fire within ? PROMETHEUS Pain is my element, as hate is thine; Ye rend me now; I care not. SECOND FURY Dost imagine We will but laugh into thy lidless eyes ? PROMETHEUS I weigh not what ye do, but what ye suffer, Being evil. Cruel was the power which called 481 You, or aught else so wretched, into light. THIRD FURY Thou think'st we will live through thee, one by one, Like animal life, aud though we can obscure not The soul which burns within, that we will dwell Beside it, like a vain loud multitude, Vexing the self-content of wisest men; That we will he dread thought beneath thy brain, And foul desire round thine astonished heart, And blood within thy labyrinthine veins 490 Crawling like agony ? PROMETHEUS Why, ye are thus now; Yet am I king over myself, and rule The torturing and conflicting throngs within, As Jove rules you when Hell grows muti- nous. CHORUS OF FURIES From the ends of the earth, from the ends of the earth, Where the night has its grave and the morning its birth, Come, come, come ! O ye who shake hills with the scream of your mirth When cities sink howling in ruin; and ye Who with wingless footsteps trample the sea, 500 And close upon Shipwreck and Famine's track Sit chattering with joy on the foodless wreck; Come, come, come ! Leave the bed, low, cold, and red, Strewed beneath a nation dead; Leave the hatred, as in ashes Fire is left for future burning; It will burst in bloodier flashes When ye stir it, soon returning; Leave the self-contempt implanted 510 In young spirits, sense-enchanted, Misery's yet unkiudled fuel; Leave Hell's secrets half unchanted To the maniac dreamer; cruel More than ye can be with hate Is he with fear. Come, come, come ! We are steaming up from Hell's wide gate And we burden the blasts of the atmo- sphere, But vainly we toil till ye come here. 520 Sister, I hear the thunder of new wings. PANTHEA These solid mountains quiver with the sound Even as the tremulous air; their shadows make The space within my plumes more black than night. FIRST FURY Your call was as a winged car, Driven on whirlwinds fast and far; It rapt us from red gulfs of war. SECOND FURY From wide cities, famine-wasted; THIRD FURY Groans half heard, and blood untasted; '74 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT I FOUBTH FURY Kingly conclaves stern and cold, 530 Where blood with gold is bought and sold ; FIFTH FURY From the furnace, white and hot, In which A FURY Speak not; whisper not; I know all that ye would tell, But to speak might break the spell Which must bend the Invincible, The stern of thought; He yet defies the deepest power of Hell. Tear the veil ! ANOTHER FUBY It is torn. The pale stars of the morn Shine on a misery, dire to be borne. 540 Dost thou faint, mighty Titan ? We laugh thee to scorn. Dost thou boast the clear knowledge thou waken'dst for man ? Then was kindled within him a thirst which outran Those perishing waters; a thirst of fierce fever, Hope, love, doubt, desire, which consume him forever. One came forth of gentle worth, Smiling on the sanguine earth; His words outlived him, like swift poison Withering up truth, peace, and pity. Look ! where round the wide horizon 550 Many a million-peopled city Vomits smoke in the bright air ! Mark that outcry of despair ! 'T is his mild and gentle ghost Wailing for the faith he kindled. Look again ! the flames almost To a glow-worm's lamp have dwindled; The survivors round the embers Gather in dread. Jy. jy iy ' & Past ages crowd on thee, but each one re- members, And the future is dark, and the present is spread Like a pillow of thorns for thy slumberless head. SEMICHORUS I Drops of bloody agony flow From his white and quivering brow. Grant a little respite now. See ! a disenchanted nation Springs like day from desolation; To Truth its state is dedicate, And Freedom leads it forth, her mate; A legioned band of linked brothers, 571 Whom Love calls children SEMICHORUS II 'Tis another's. See how kindred murder kin ! 'T is the vintage-time for Death and Sin; Blood, like new wine, bubbles within; Till Despair smothers The struggling world, which slaves and tyrants win. [All the FURIES vanish, except one. Hark, sister ! what a low yet dreadful groan Quite unsuppressed is tearing up the heart Of the good Titan, as storms tear the deep, And beasts hear the sea moan in inland caves. 581 Darest thou observe how the fiends torture him ? PANTHEA Alas ! I looked forth twice, but will no more. IONE What didst thou see ? PANTHEA A woful sight: a youth With patient looks nailed to a crucifix. IONE What next ? The heaven around, the earth below, Was peopled with thick shapes of human death, AH horrible, and wrought by human hands; And some appeared the work of human hearts, 589 ACT I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 175 For men were slowly killed by frowiis and smiles; And other sights too foul to speak and live Were wandering by. Let us not tempt worse fear By looking forth; those groans are grief enough. Behold an emblem: those who do endure Deep wrongs for man, and scorn, and chains, but heap Thousand-fold torment on themselves and him. PROMETHEUS Remit the anguish of that lighted stare; Close those wan lips; let that thorn- wounded brow Stream not with blood; it mingles with thy tears ! Fix, fix those tortured orbs in peace and death, 600 So thy sick throes shake not that crucifix, So those pale fingers play not with thy gore. Oh, horrible ! Thy name I will not speak It hath become a curse. I see, I see The wise, the mild, the lofty, and the just, Whom thy slaves hate for being like to thee, Some hunted by foul lies from their heart's home, An early-chosen, late-lamented home, As hooded ounces cling to the driven hind ; Some linked to corpses in unwholesome cells; 610 Some hear 1 not the multitude laugh loud? Impaled in lingering fire; and mighty realms Float by my feet, like sea-uprooted isles, Whose sons are kneaded down in common blood By the red light of their own burning homes. Blood thou canst see, and fire; and canst hear groans: Worse things unheard, unseen, remain be- hind. PBOMETHEUS Worse ? FURY In each human heart terror survives The ruin it has gorged: the loftiest fear All that they would disdain to think were true. 620 Hypocrisy and custom make their minds The fanes of many a worship, now outworn. They dare not devise good for man's es- tate, And yet they know not that they do not dare. The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness \raut; worse need for them. The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom; And all best things are thus confused to ill. Many are strong and rich, and would be just, 629 But live among their suffering fellow-men As if none felt; they know not what they do. PROMETHEUS Thy words are like a cloud of winged snakes; And yet I pity those they torture not. FURY Thou pitiest them ? I speak no more ! [ Vanishes. PROMETHEUS Ah woe ! Ah woe ! Alas ! pain, pain ever, forever f I close my tearless eyes, but see more clear Thy works within my woe-illumed mind, Thou subtle tyrant ! Peace is in the grave. The grave hides all things beautiful and good. I am a God and cannot find it there, 640 Nor would I seek it ; for, though dread revenge, This is defeat, fierce king, not victory. The sights with which thou torturest gird my soul With new endurance, till the hour arrives When they shall be no types of things which are. PANTHEA Alas ! what sawest thou ? I 7 6 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT I PROMETHEUS There are two woes To speak and to behold; thou spare me one. Names are there, Nature's sacred watch- words, they Were borne aloft in bright emblazonry; The nations thronged around, and cried aloud, 650 As with one voice, Truth, Liberty, and Love ! Suddenly fierce confusion fell from heaven Among them; there was strife, deceit, and fear; Tyrants rushed in, and did divide the spoil. This was the shadow of the truth I saw. THE EARTH I lelt thy torture, son, with such mixed iy As pain and virtue give. To cheer thy state I bid ascend those subtle and fair spirits, Whose homes are the dim caves of human thought, 659 And who inhabit, as birds wing the wind, Its world-surrounding ether; they behold Beyond that twilight realm, as in a glass, The future; may they speak comfort to thee! Look, sister, where a troop of spirits ga- ther, Like flocks of clouds in spring's delightful weather, Thronging in the blue air ! IONB And see ! more come, Like fountain-vapors when the winds are dumb, That climb up the ravine in scattered lines. And hark ! is it the music of the pines ? Is it the lake ? Is it the waterfall ? 670 PANTHEA Tis something sadder, sweeter far than all. CHORUS OF SPIRITS From unremembered ages we Gentle guides and guardians be Of heaven-oppressed mortality; And we breathe, and sicken not, The atmosphere of human thought: Be it dim, and dank, and gray, Like a storm-extinguished day, Travelled o'er by dying gleams; Be it bright as all between 68< Cloudless skies and windless streams, Silent, liquid, and serene ; As the birds within the wind, As the fish within the wave, As the thoughts of man's own mind Float through all above the grave; We make there our liquid lair, Voyaging cloudlike and unpent Through the boundless element: Thence we bear the prophecy 690 Which begins and ends in thee ! More yet come, one by one; the air around them Looks radiant as the air around a star. FIRST SPIRIT On a battle-trumpet's blast I fled hither, fast, fast, fast, 'Mid the darkness upward cast. From the dust of creeds outworn, From the tyrant's banner torn, Gathering round me, onward borne, There was mingled many a cry 700 Freedom ! Hope ! Death ! Victory ! Till they faded through the sky; And one sound above, around, One sound beneath, around, above, Was moving; 't was the soul of love; 'T was the hope, the prophecy, Which begins and ends in thee. SECOND SPIRIT A rainbow's arch stood on the sea, Which rocked beneath, immovably; And the triumphant storm did flee, 710 Like a conqueror, swift and proud, Begirt with many a captive cloud, A shapeless, dark and rapid crowd, Each by lightning riven in half. ,1 heard the thunder hoarsely laugh. Mighty fleets were strewn like chaff And spread beneath a hell of death O'er the white waters. I alit On a great ship lightning-split, And speeded hither on the sigh JM Of one who gave an enemy His plank, then plunged aside to die. ACT I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 177 THIKD SPIRIT I sat beside a sage's bed, And the lamp was burning red Near the book where he had fed, When a Dreain with plumes of iiame To his pillow hovering came, And I knew it was the same Which had kindled long ago Pity, eloquence, and woe; 730 And the world awhile below Wore the shade its lustre made. It has borne me here as fleet As Desire's lightning feet; I must ride it back ere morrow, Or the sage will wake in sorrow. FOURTH SPIRIT On a poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept; Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, 740 But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt thought's wilder- nesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be; But from these create he can Forms more real than living man, Nurslings of immortality ! One of these awakened me, 750 And I sped to succor thee. Behold'st thou not two shapes from the east and west Come, as two doves to one beloved nest, Twin nurslings of the all-sustaining air, On swift still wings glide down the at- mosphere ? And, hark ! their sweet sad voices ! 't is despair Mingled with love and then dissolved in sound. Canst thou speak, sister ? all my words are drowned. Their beauty gives me voice. See how they float On their sustaining wings of skyey grain, 760 Orange and azure deepening into gold '. Their soft smiles light the air like a star's fire. CHORUS OF SPIRITS Hast thou beheld the form of Love ? FIFTH SPIRIT As over wide dominions I sped, like some swift cloud that wings the wide air's wildernesses, That planet-crested Shape swept by on lightning-braided pinions, Scattering the liquid joy of life from his ambrosial tresses. His footsteps paved the world with light; but as I passed 't was fading, And hollow Ruin yawned behind; great sages bound in madness, And headless patriots, and pale youths who perished, uuupbraidiiig, Gleamed in the night. I wandered o'er, till thou, O King of sadness, 770 Turned by thy smile the worst I saw to recollected gladness. SIXTH SPIRIT Ah, sister ! Desolation is a delicate thing: It walks not on the earth, it floats not on the air, But treads with killing footstep, and fans with silent wing The tender hopes which in their hearts the best and gentlest bear; Who, soothed to false repose by the fan- ning plumes above And the music-stirring motion of its soft and busy feet, Dream visions of aerial joy, and call the monster, Love, And wake, and find the shadow Pain, as he whom now we greet. Though Ruin now Love's shadow be, 783 Following him, destroyingly, On Death's white and winged steed, Which the fleetest cannot flee, Trampling down both flower and weed, Man and beast, and foul and fair, Like a tempest through the air; Thou shalt quell this horseman grim, Woundless though in heart or limb. , 7 8 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT ii: sc. i PROMETHEUS Spirits ! how know ye this shall be ? CHORUS In the atmosphere we breathe, 790 As buds grow red, when the suow-storms flee, From spring gathering up beneath, Whose mild winds shake the elder-brake, And the wandering herdsmen know That the white-thorn soon will blow: Wisdom, Justice, Love, and Peace, When they struggle to increase, Are to us as soft winds be To shepherd boys, the prophecy Which begins and ends in thee. 800 IONE Where are the Spirits fled ? PANTHEA Only a sense Remains of them, like the omnipotence Of music, when the inspired voice and lute Languish, ere yet the responses are mute, Which through the deep and labyrinthine soul, Like echoes through long caverns, wind and roll. PROMETHEUS How fair these air-born shapes ! and yet I feel Most vain all hope but love; and thou art far, Asia ! who, when my being overflowed, 809 Wert like a golden chalice to bright wine Which else had sunk into the thirsty dust. All things are still. Alas ! how heavily This quiet morning weighs upon my heart; Though I should dream I could even sleep with grief, If slumber were denied not. I would fain Be what it is my destiny to be, The saviour and the strength of suffering man, Or sink into the original gulf of things. There is no agonv, and no solace left; Earth can console, Heaven can torment no more. 820 PANTHKA Hast thon forgotten one who watches tliee The cold dark night, and never sleeps but when The shadow of thy spirit falls on her ? PROMETHEUS I said all hope was vain but love; thou lovest. PANTHEA Deeply in truth; but the eastern star looks white, And Asia waits in that far Indian vale, The scene of her sad exile; rugged once And desolate and frozen, like this ravine; But now invested with fair flowers and herbs, And haunted by sweet airs and sounds, which flow 830 Among the woods and waters, from the ether Of her transforming presence, which would fade If it were mingled not with thine. Fare- well ! ACT II SCENE I. Morning. A lovely Vale in the Indian Caucasus. ASIA, alone. ASIA FROM all the blasts of heaven thou hast descended; Yes, like a spirit, like a thought, which makes Unwonted tears throng to the horny ej'es, And beatings haunt the desolated heart, Which should have learned repose; thou hast descended Cradled in tempests; thou dost wake, O Spring ! O child of many winds ! As suddenly Thou comest as the memory of a dream, Which now is sad because it hath been sweet; Like genius, or like joy which riseth up 10 As from the earth, clothing with golden clouds The desert of our life. This is the season, this the day, the hour; At sunrise thou shouldst come, sweet sister mine, Too long desired, too long delaying, come ! How like death-worms the wingless mo- ments crawl ! The point of one white star is quivering still Deep in the orange light of widening morn Beyond the purple mountains; through a chasm ' ACT II: SG I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 179 Of wind-divided mist the darker lake 20 Reflects it; now it wanes; it gleams again As the waves fade, and as the burning threads Of woven cloud unravel in pale air; 'T is lost ! and through yon peaks of cloud- like snow The roseate sunlight quivers; hear I not The ^Eolian music of her sea-green plumes Winnowing the crimson dawn ? PANTHEA enters I feel, I see Those eyes which burn through smiles that fade in tears, Like stars half-quenched in mists of silver dew. 29 Beloved and most beautiful, who wearest The shadow of that soul by which I live, How late thou art ! the sphered sun had climbed The sea; my heart was sick with hope, before The priutless air felt thy belated plumes. PANTHEA Pardon, great Sister ! but my wings were faint With the delight of a remembered dream, As are the noontide plumes of summer winds Satiate with sweet flowers. I was wont to sleep Peacefully, and awake refreshed and calm, Before the sacred Titan's fall and thy 40 Unhappy love had made, through use and p'ty. Both love and woe familiar to my heart As they had grown to thine: erewhile I slept Under the glaucous caverns of old Ocean Within dim bowers of green and purple moss, Our young Zone's soft and milky arms Locked then, as now, behind my dark, moist hair, While my shut eyes and cheek were pressed within The folded depth of her life-breathing bosom : 49 But not as now, since I am made the wind Which fails beneath the music that I bear Of thy most wordless converse; since dis solved Into the sense with which love talks, my rest Was troubled and yet sweet; my waking hours Too full of care and pain. Lift up thine eyes, And let me read thy dream. PANTHEA As I have said, With our sea-sister at his feet I slept. The mountain mists, condensing at our voice Under the moon, had spread their snowy flakes, From the keen ice shielding our linked sleep. 60 Then two dreams came. One I rememher not. But in the other his pale wound- worn limbs Fell from Prometheus, and the azure night Grew radiant with the glory of that form Which lives unchanged within, and his voice fell Like music which makes giddy the dim brain, Faint with intoxication of keen joy: ' Sister of her whose footsteps pave the world With loveliness more fair than aught but her, Whose shadow thou art lift thine eyes on me.' 7 o I lifted them; the overpowering light Of that immortal shape was shadowed o'er By love ; which, from his soft and flowing limbs, And passion-parted lips, and keen, faint eyes, Steamed forth like vaporous fire; an at- mosphere Which wrapped me in its alt-dissolving power, As the warm ether of the morning sun Wraps ere it drinks some cloud of wander- ing dew. I saw not, heard not, moved not, only felt His presence flow and mingle through my blood 80 Till it became his life, and his grew mine, And I was thus absorbed, until it passed, And like the vapors when the sun sinks down, i8o PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT II : SC. I Gathering again iii drops upon the pines, And tremulous as they, in the deep night My being was condensed; and as the rays Of thought were slowly gathered, I could hear His voice, whose accents lingered ere they died Like footsteps of weak melody ; thy name Among the many sounds alone I heard 90 Of what might be articulate; though still I listened through the night when sound was none. lone wakened then, and said to me: ' Canst thou divine what troubles me to- night ? I always knew what I desired before, Nor ever found delight to wish in vain. But now I cannot tell thee what I seek; I know not; something sweet, since it is sweet Even to desire ; it is thy sport, false sis- ter; Thou hast discovered some enchantment old, ioo Whose spells have stolen my spirit as 1 slept And mingled it with thine; for when just now We kissed, I felt within thy parted lips The sweet air that sustained me; and the warmth Of the life-blood, for loss of which I faint, Quivered between our intertwining arms.' I answered not, for the Eastern star grew pale, But fled to thee. ASIA Thou speakest, but thy words Are as the air; I feel them not. Oh, lift Thine eyes, that I may read his written soul ! no PANTHEA I lift them, though they droop beneath the load Of that they would express; what canst thou see But thine own fairest shadow imaged there ? Thine eyes are like the deep, blue, bound- less heaven Contracted to two circles underneath Their long, fine lashes; dark, far, measure- less, Orb within orb, and line through line in- woven. PANTHEA Why lookest thou as if a spirit passed ? There is a change; beyond their inmost depth I see a shade, a shape: 'tis He, arrayed 120 In the soft light of his own smiles, which spread Like radiance from the cloud-surrounded moon. Prometheus, it is thine ! depart not yet ! Say not those smiles that we shall meet again Within that bright pavilion which their beams Shall build on the waste world ? The dream is told. What shape is that between us ? Its rude hair Roughens the wind that lifts it, its regard Is wild and quick, yet 't is a thing of air, For through its gray robe gleams the golden dew 130 Whose stars the noon has quenched not. DREAM Follow ! Follow ! PANTHEA It is mine other dream. ASIA It disappears. PANTHEA It passes now into my mind. Methought As we sate here, the flower-infolding buds Burst on you lightning - blasted almond tree; When swift from the white Scythian wil- derness A wind swept forth wrinkling the Earth with frost; I looked, and all the blossoms were blown down; But on each leaf was stamped, as the blue bells Of Hyacinth tell Apollo's written grief, 140 OH, FOLLOW, FOLLOW i ACT II : SC. I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 181 ASIA As you speak, your words Fill, pause by pause, iny owu forgotten sleep With shapes. Methought among the lawns together We wandered, underneath the young gray dawn, And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds Were wandering in thick flocks along the mountains, Shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind; And the white dew on the new-bladed grass, Just piercing the dark earth, hung silently; And there was more which I remember not-, 150 But on the shadows of the morning clouds, Athwart the purple mountain slope, was written FOLLOW, OH, FOLLOW ! as they vanished by; And on each herb, from which Heaven's dew had fallen, The like was stamped, as with a withering fire; A wind arose among the pines ; it shook The clinging music from their boughs, and then Low, sweet, faint sounds, like the farewell of ghosts, Were heard: OH, FOLLOW, FOLLOW, FOLLOW ME ! And then I said, ' Panthea, look on me.' 160 But in the depth of those beloved eyes Still I Saw, FOLLOW, FOLLOW ! ECHO Follow, follow ! PANTHEA The crags, this clear spring morning, mock our voices, As they were spirit-tongued. ASIA It 3s some being Around the crags. What fine clear sounds ! Oh, list! ECHOES, unseen Echoes we: listen! We cannot stay: As dew-stars glisten Then fade away Child of Ocean 1 170 Hark ! Spirits speak. The liquid re- sponses Of their aerial tongues yet sound. I hear. ECHOES Oh, follow, follow, As our voice recedeth Through the caverns hollow, Where the forest spreadeth; (More distant) Oh, follow, follow ! Through the caverns hollow, As the song floats thou pursue, Where the wild bee never flew, 180 Through the noontide darkness deep, By the odor-breathing sleep Of faint night-flowers, and the waves At the fountain-lighted caves, While our music, wild and sweet, Mocks thy gently falling feet, Child of Ocean ! ASIA Shall we pursue the sound ? It grows more faint And distant. PANTHEA List ! the strain floats nearer now. 190 ECHOES In the world unknown Sleeps a voice unspoken; By thy step alone Can its rest be broken; Child of Ocean ! How the notes sink upon the ebbing wind ! Ob, follow, follow ! Through the caverns hollow, As the song floats thou pursue, By the woodland noontide dew; By the forests, lakes, and fountains, 200 Through the many-folded mountains; To the rents, and gulfs, and chasms, Where the Earth reposed from spasms, On the day when He and thou Parted, to commingle now; Child of Ocean 1 182 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT ii : sc. n ASIA Come, sweet Panthea, link thy hand in mine, And follow, ere the voices fade away. SCENE II. A Forest intermingled with Socks and Caverns. ASIA and PANTHEA pass into it. Two young Fauns are sitting on a Rock, listening. SEMICHORDS I OF SPIRITS The path through which that lovely twain Have passed, by cedar, pine, and yew, And each dark tree that ever grew, Is curtained out from Heaven's wide blue; Nor sun, nor moon, nor wind, nor rain, Can pierce its interwoven bowers, Nor aught, save where some cloud of dew, Drifted along the earth-creeping breeze Between the trunks of the hoar trees, 9 Hangs each a pearl in the pale flowers Of the green laurel blown anew, And bends, and then fades silently, One frail and fair anemone ; Or when some star of many a one That climbs and wanders through steep night, Has found the cleft through which alone Beams fall from high those depths upon, Ere it is borne away, away, By the swift Heavens that cannot stay, It scatters drops of golden light, 20 Like lines of rain that ne'er unite; And the gloom divine is all around ; And underneath is the mossy ground. SEMICHORUS II There the voluptuous nightingales, Are awake through all the broad noon- day: When one with bliss or sadness fails, And through the windless ivy-boughs, Sick with sweet love, droops dying away On its mate's music-panting bosom; Another from the swinging blossom, 30 Watching to catch the languid close Of the last strain, then lifts on high The wings of the weak melody, Till some new strain of feeling bear The song, and all the woods are mute; When there is heard through the dim air The rush of wings, and rising there, Like many a lake-surrounded flute, Sounds overflow the listener's brain So sweet, that joy is almost pain. 4 o SEMICHORUS I There those enchanted eddies play Of echoes, music-tongued, which draw, By Deiuogorgon's mighty law, With melting rapture, or sweet awe, All spirits on that secret way, As inland boats are driven to Ocean Down streams made strong with inountain- thaw; And first there comes a gentle sound To those iu talk or slumber bound, And wakes the destined; soft emo- tion JQ Attracts, impels them; those who saw Say from the breathing earth behind There steams a plume-uplifting wind Which drives them on their path, while they Believe their own swift wings and feet The sweet desires within obey; And so they float upon their way, Until, still sweet, but loud and strong, The storm of sound is driven along, Sucked up and hurrying; as they fleet 6c Behind, its gathering billows meet And to the fatal mountain bear Like clouds amid the yielding air. FIRST FAUK Canst thou imagine where those spirits live Which make such delicate music in the woods ? We haunt within the least frequented caves And closest coverts, and we know these wilds, Yet never meet them, though we hear them oft: Where may they hide themselves ? SECOND FAUN T is hard to tell; I have heard those more skilled in spirits say, 7 o The bubbles, which the enchantment of the sun Sucks from the pale faint water-flowers that pave The oozy bottom of clear lakes and pools, Are the pavilions where such dwell and float Under the green and golden atmosphere ACT II : SC. Ill PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 183 Which noontide kindles through the woven leaves ; And when these burst, and the thin fiery air, The which they breathed within those lu- cent domes, Ascends to flow like meteors through the night, They ride on them, and rein their headlong speed, 80 And bow their burning crests, and glide in fire Under the waters of the earth again. FIRST FAUN If such live thus, have others other lives, Under pink blossoms or within the bells Of meadow flowers or folded violets deep, Or on their dying odors, when they die, Or in the sunlight of the sphered dew ? SECOND FAUN Ay, many more which we may well divine. But should we stay to speak, noontide would come, And thwart Silemis find his goats un- drawn, 90 And grudge to sing those wise and lovely songs Of Fate, and Chance, and God, and Chaos old, And Love and the chained Titan's woful doom, And how he shall be loosed, and make the earth One brotherhood; delightful strains which cheer Our solitary twilights, and which charm To silence the uneiivying nightingales. SCENE III. A Pinnacle of Rock among Mountains. ASIA and PANTHEA. PANTHEA Hither the sound has borne us to the realm Of Demogorgon, and the mighty portal, Like a volcano's meteor-breathing chasm, Whence the oracular vapor is hurled up Which lonely men drink wandering in their youth, And call truth, virtue, love, genius, or joy, That maddening wine of life, whose dregs they drain To deep intoxication; and uplift, Like Maenads who cry loud, Evoe ! Evoe! The voice which is contagion to the world. 10 Fit throne for such a Power ! Magnifi- cent ! How glorious art thou, Earth ! and if thou be The shadow of some spirit lovelier still, Though evil stain its work, and it should be Like its creation, weak yet beautiful, I could fall down and worship that and thee. Even now my heart adoreth. Wonderful ! Look, sister, ere the vapor dim thy brain: Beneath is a wide plain of billowy mist, As a lake, paving in the morning sky, 20 With azure waves which burst in silver light, Some Indian vale. Behold it, rolling on Under the curdling winds, and islanding The peak whereon we stand, midway, around, Encinctured by the dark and blooming forests, Dim twilight-lawns, and stream-illumined caves, And wind-enchanted shapes of wandering mist; And far on high the keen sky-cleaving mountains From icy spires of sunlike radiance fling 29 The dawn, as lifted Ocean's dazzling spray, From some Atlantic islet scattered up, Spangles the wind with lamp-like water- drops. The vale is girdled with their walls, a howl Of cataracts from their thaw-cloven ra- vines Satiates the listening wind, continuous, vast, Awful as silence. Hark ! the rushing snow ! The sun-awakened avalanche ! whose mass, Thrice sifted by the storm, had gathered there Flake after flake, in heaven-defying minds As thought by thought is piled, till some great truth 40 Is loosened, and the nations echo round, Shaken to their roots, as do the mountains now. 184 ACT ii : sc. rv Look how the gusty sea of mist is breaking In crimson foam, even at our feet ! it rises As Ocean at the enchantment of the moon Round foodless men wrecked ou some oozy isle. The fragments of the cloud are scattered up; The wind that lifts them disentwiues my hair; Its billows now sweep o'er mine eyes; my brain 49 Grows dizzy; I see shapes within the mist. FANTHEA A countenance with beckoning smiles; there burns An azure fire within its golden locks ! Another and another: hark ! they speak ! SONG OF SPIRITS To the deep, to the deep, Down, down ! Through the shade of sleep, Through the cloudy strife Of Death and of Life; Through the veil and the bar Of things which seem and are, 60 Even to the steps of the remotest throne, Down, down ! While the sound whirls around, Down, down ! As the fawn draws the hound, As the lightning the vapor, As a weak moth the taper; Death, despair; love, sorrow; Time, both; to-day, to-morrow; As steel obeys the spirit of the stone, 70 Down, down ! Through the gray, void abysm, Down, down ! Where the air is no prism, And the moon and stars are not, And the cavern-crags wear not The radiance of Heaven, Nor the gloom to Earth given, Where there is one pervading, one alone, Down, down ! 80 Like veiled lightning asleep, Like the spark nursed in embers, The last look Love remembers, Like a diamond, which shines On the dark wealth of mines, A spell is treasured but for thee alone. Down, down 1 We have bound thee, we guide thee; 90 Down, down ! With the bright form beside thee; Resist not the weakness, Such strength is in meekness That the Eternal, the Immortal, Must unloose through life's portal The snake-like Doom coiled underneath his throne By that alone. SCENE IV. The Cave of DEMOGORGON. ASIA and PANTHEA. PANTHEA What veiled form sits on that ebon throne ? The veil has fallen. PANTHEA I see a mighty darkness Filling the seat of power, and rays of gloom Dart round, as light from the meridian sun, Ungazed upon and shapeless; neither limb, Nor form, nor outline; yet we feel it is A living Spirit. DEMOGOROON Ask what thou wouldst know. ASIA What canst thou tell ? DEMOGORGON All things thou dar'st demand. ASIA Who made the living world ? DEMOGORGON God. ASIA Who made all That it contains ? thought, passion, reason, will, 10 Imagination ? ACT II : SC. IV PROMETHEUS UNBOUND '85 DEMOGORGON God : Almighty God. Who made that sense which, when the winds of spring In rarest visitation, or the voice Of one beloved heard in youth alone, Fills the faint eyes with falling tears which dim The radiant looks of unbewailing flowers, And leaves this peopled earth a solitude When it returns no more ? DEMOGORGON Merciful God. ASIA And who made terror, madness, crime, re- morse, Which from the links of the great chain of things 20 To every thought within the mind of man Sway and drag heavily, and each one reels Under the load towards the pit of death ; Abandoned hope, and love that turns to hate; And self-contempt, bitterer to drink than blood; Pain, whose unheeded and familiar speech Is howling, and keen shrieks, day after day; And Hell, or the sharp fear of Hell ? DEMOGORGON He reigns. Utter his name ; a world pining in pain Asks but his name; curses shall drag him down. DKMOGORGON He reigns. ASIA I feel, I know it: who ? DEMOGORGON He reigns. Who reigns ? There was the Heaven and Earth at first, And Light and Love; then Saturn, from whose throne Time fell, an envious shadow; such the state Of the earth's primal spirits beneath his sway, As the calm joy of flowers and living leaves Before the wind or sun has withered them And semivital worms ; but he refused The birthright of their being, knowledge, power, The skill which wields the elements, the thought 40 Which pierces this dim universe like light, Self-empire, and the majesty of love; For thirst of which they fainted. Then Prometheus Gave wisdom, which is strength, to Jupiter, And with this law alone, 'Let man be free,' Clothed him with the dominion of wide Heaven. To know nor faith, nor love, nor law, to be Omnipotent but friendless, is to reign; And Jove now reigned; for on the race of man First famine, and then toil, and then dis- ease, 50 Strife, wounds, and ghastly death unseen before, Fell; and the unseasonable seasons drove, With alternating shafts of frost and fire, Their shelterless, pale tribes to mountain caves; And in their desert hearts fierce wants he sent, And mad disquietude?, and shadows idle Of unreal good, which levied mutual war, So ruining the lair wherein they raged. Prometheus saw, and waked the legioned hopes 59 Which sleep within folded Elysian flowers, Nepenthe, Moly, Amaranth, fadeless blooms, That they might hide with thin and rain- bow wings The shape of Death ; and Love he sent to bind The disunited tendrils of that vine Which bears the wine of life, the human heart; And he tamed fire which, like some beast of prey, Most terrible, but lovely, played beneath i86 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT II : SC. IV The frown of maii; and tortured to bis will Iron and gold, the slaves and signs of power, And gems and poisons, and all subtlest forms 70 Hidden beneath the mountains and the waves. He gave man speech, and speech created thought, Which is the measure of the universe; And Science struck the thrones of earth and heaven, Which shook, but fell not; and the har- monious mind Poured itself forth in all-prophetic song; And music lifted up the listening spirit Until it walked, exempt from mortal care, Godlike, o'er the clear billows of sweet sound ; And human hands first mimicked and then mocked, 80 With moulded limbs more lovely than its own, The human form, till marble grew divine; And mothers, gazing, drank the love men see Reflected in their race, behold, and perish. He told the hidden power of herbs and springs, And Disease drank and slept. Death grew like sleep. He taught the implicated orbits woven Of the wide- wandering stars; and how the sun Changes his lair, and by what secret spell The pale moon is transformed, when her broad eye 90 Gazes not on the interlnnar sea. He taught to rule, as life directs the limbs, The tempest-winged chariots of the Ocean, And the Celt knew the Indian. Cities then Were built, and through their snow-like columns flowed The warm winds, and the azure ether shone, And the blue sea and shadowy hills were seen. Such, the alleviations of his state, Prometheus gave to man, for which he hangs Withering in destined pain; but who rains down ioo Evil, the immedicable plague, which, while Man looks on his creation like a god And sees that it is glorious, drives him on, The wreck of his own will, the scorn of earth, The outcast, the abandoned, the alone ? Not Jove : while yet his frown shook heaven ay, when His adversary from adamantine chains Cursed him, he trembled like a slave. De- clare Who is his master ? Is he too a slave ? DEMOGOKGON All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil: no Thou knowest if Jupiter be such or no. ASIA. Whom called'st thou God ? DEMOGOKGON I spoke but as ye speak, For Jove is the supreme of living thiugs. ASIA Who is the master of the slave ? DEMOGOKGON - If the abysm Could vomit forth its secrets but a voice Is wanting, the deep truth is imageless; For what would it avail to bid thee gaze On the revolving world ? What to bid speak Fate, Time, Occasion, Chance and Change ? To these All things are subject but eternal Love, no So much I asked before, and my heart gave The response thou hast given; and of such truths Each to itself must be the oracle. One more demand; and do thou answer me As my own soul would answer, did it know That which I ask. Prometheus shall arise Henceforth the sun of this rejoicing world: When shall the destined hour arrive ? DEMOGORGON Behold ? The rocks are cloven, and through the pur- ple night I see cars drawn by rainbow - winged steeds 130 ACT II : SC. V PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 187 Which trample the dim winds; in each there stands A wild-eyed charioteer urging their flight. Some look behind, as fiends pursued them there, And yet I see no shapes but the keen stars; Others, with burning eyes, lean forth, and drink With eager lips the wind of their own speed, As if the thing they loved fled on before, And now, even now, they clasped it. Their bright locks Stream like a comet's flashing hair; they all 139 Sweep onward. DEMOGORGON These are the immortal Hours, Of whom thou didst demand. One waits for thee. ASIA A Spirit with a dreadful countenance Checks its dark chariot by the craggy gulf. Unlike thy brethren, ghastly Charioteer, Who art thou ? Whither wouldst thou bear me ? Speak ! SPIRIT I am the Shadow of a destiny More dread than is my aspect; ere yon planet Has set, the darkness which ascends with me Shall wrap in lasting night heaven's kingless throne. 149 ASIA What meanest thou ? That terrible Shadow floats Up from its throne, as may the lurid smoke Of earthquake-ruined cities o'er the sea. Lo ! it ascends the car; the coursers fly Terrified ; watch its path among the stars Blackening the night ! ASIA Thus I am answered: strange ! See, near the verge, another chariot stays; An ivory shell inlaid with crimson fire, Which comes and goes within its sculptured rim Of delicate strange tracery; the young Spirit That guides it has the dove-like eyes of hope; 160 How its soft smiles attract the soul ! as light Lures winged insects through the lampless air. My coursers are fed with the lightning, They drink of the whirlwind's stream, And when the red morning is brigbt'ning They bathe in the fresh sunbeam. They have strength for their swiftness I deem; Then ascend with me, daughter of Ocean. I desire and their speed makes night kjndle ; I fear they outstrip the typhoon; 170 Ere the cloud piled on Atlas can dwindle We encircle the earth and the moon. We shall rest from long labors at noon; Then ascend with me, daughter of Ocean. SCENE V. The Car pauses within a Cloud on the Top of a snowy Mountain. ASIA, PAN- THEA, and the SPIRIT OF THE HOUR. SPIRIT On the brink of the night and the morning My coursers are wont to respire; But the Earth has just whispered a warn- ing That their flight must be swifter than fire; They shall drink the hot speed of desire ! Thou breathest on their nostrils, but my breath Would give them swifter speed. SPIRIT Alas ! it could not PANTHEA O Spirit ! pause, and tell whence is the light Which fills the cloud ? the sun is yet un- risen. 9 i88 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT II : SC. V SPIRIT The sun will rise not until noon. Apollo Is held in heaven by wonder; and the light Which fills this vapor, as the aerial hue Of fountain-gazing roses fills the water, Flows from thy mighty sister. Yes, I feel ASIA What is it with thee, sister? Thou art pale. PANTHEA How thou art changed ! I dare not look on thee; I feel but see thee not. I scarce endure The radiance of thy beauty. Some good change Is working in the elements, which suffer Thy presence thus unveiled. The Nereids tell 20 That on the day when the clear hyaline Was cloven at thy uprise, and thou didst stand Within a veined shell, which floated on Over the calm floor of the crystal sea, Among the JEgean isles, and by the shores Which bear thy name, love, like the at- mosphere Of the sun's fire filling the living world, Burst from thee, and illumined earth and heaven And the deep ocean and the sunless caves And all that dwells within them ; till grief cast 30 Eclipse upon the soul from which it came. Such art thou now; nor is it I alone, Thy sister, thy companion, thine own chosen one, But the whole world which seeks thy sym- pathy. Hearest thou not sounds i' the air which speak the love Of all articulate beings ? Feelest thou not The inanimate winds enamoured of thee ? List ! [Music. ASIA Thy words are sweeter than aught else but his Whose echoes they are; yet all love is sweet, Given or returned. Common as light is love, 40 And its familiar voice wearies not ever. Like the wide heaven, the all-sustaiuing air, It makes the reptile equal to the God; They who inspire it most are fortunate, As I am now; but those who feel it most Are happier still, after long sufferings, As I shall soon become. PANTHEA List ! Spirits speak. VOICE in the air, singing Life of Life, thy lips enkindle With their love the breath between them ; And thy smiles before they dwindle 50 Make the cold air fire; then screen them In those looks, where whoso gazes Faints, entangled in their mazes. Child of Light ! thy limbs are burning Through the vest which seems to hide them ; As the radiant lines of morning Through the clouds, ere they divide them; And this atmosphere divinest Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest. Fair are others; none beholds thee, 60 But thy voice sounds low and tender Like the fairest, for it folds thee From the sight, that liquid splendor, And all feel, yet see thee never, As I feel now, lost forever ! Lamp of Earth ! where'er thou movest Its dim shapes are clad with brightness, And the souls of whom thou lovest Walk upon the winds with lightness, Till they fail, as I am failing, 70 Dizzy, lost, yet uubewailing ! My soul is an enchanted boat, Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float Upon the silver waves of thy sweet sing- ing; And thine doth like an angel sit Beside a helm conducting it, Whilst all the winds with melody are ring- ing. It seems to float ever, forever, Upon that many-winding river, Between mountains, woods, abysses, 80 A paradise of wildernesses ! ACT III : SC. I PROMETHEUS UNBOUND Till, like one in slumber bound, Borne to the ocean, I float down, around, Into a sea profound of ever-spreading sound. Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions In music's most serene dominions; Catching the winds that fail that happy heaven. And we sail on, away, afar, Without a course, without a star, But, by the instinct of sweet music driven; 90 Till through Elysian garden islets By thee most beautiful of pilots, Where never mortal pinnace glided, The boat of my desire is guided; Realms where the air we breathe is love, Which in the winds on the waves doth move, Harmonizing this earth with what we feel We have passed Age's icy caves, And Manhood's dark and tossing waves, And Youth's smooth ocean, smiling to betray; 100 Beyond the glassy gulfs we flee Of shadow-peopled Infancy, Through Death and Birth, to a diviner day; A paradise of vaulted bowers Lit by downward-gazing flowers, And watery paths that wind between Wildernesses calm and green, Peopled by shapes too bright to see, And rest, having beheld; somewhat like thee; Which walk upon the sea, and chant melo- diously ! no ACT III SCENE I. Heaven. JUPITER on his Throne; THETIS and the other Deities assembled. YE congregated powers of heaven, who share The glory and the strength of him ye serve, Rejoice ! henceforth I am omnipotent. All else had been subdued to me ; alone The soul of man, like unextinguished fire, Yet burns towards heaven with fierce re- proach, and doubt, And lamentation, and reluctant prayer, Hurling up insurrection, which might make Our antique empire insecure, though built On eldest faith, and hell's coeval, fear; 10 And though my curses through the pendu- lous air, Like snow on herbless peaks, fall flake by flake, And cling to it; though under my wrath's night It climb the crags of life, step after step, Which wound it, as ice wounds uusaudalled feet, It yet remains supreme o'er misery, Aspiring, unrepressed, yet soon to fall; Even now have I begotten a strange won- der, That fatal child, the terror of the earth, Who waits but till the destined hour ar- rive, 20 Bearing from Demogorgon's vacant throue The dreadful might of ever- living limbs Which clothed that awful spirit unbeheld, To redescend, and trample out the spark. Pour forth heaven's wine, Idsean Gany- mede, And let it fill the daedal cups like fire, And from the flower-inwoven soil divine, Ye all-triumphant harmonies, arise, As dew from earth under the twilight stars. Drink ! be the nectar circling through your veins 30 The soul of joy, ye ever-living Gods, Till exultation burst in one wide voice Like music from Elysian winds. And thou Ascend beside me, veiled in the light Of the desire which makes thee one with me, Thetis, bright image of eternity ! When thou didst cry, ' Insufferable might ! God ! spare me ! I sustain not the quick flames, The penetrating presence; all my being, Like him whom the Numidian seps did thaw 40 Into a dew with poison, is dissolved, Sinking through its foundations,' even then Two mighty spirits, mingling, made a third Mightier than either, which, unbodied now, IQO PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT in: sc. n Between us floats, felt, although unbeheld, Waiting the incarnation, which ascends, (Hear ye the thunder of the fiery wheels Griding the winds ?) from Demogorgon's throne. Victory ! victory ! Feel'st thou not, O world, The earthquake of his chariot thundering up 50 Olympus ? [The Car of the HOUR arrives. DEMO- GORGON descends and moves towards the Throne of JUPITER. Awful shape, what art thou ? Speak ! DEMOGORGON Eternity. Demand no direr name. Descend, and follow me down the abyss. I am thy child, as thou wert Saturn's child; Mightier than thee; and we must dwell to- gether Henceforth in darkness. Lift thy light- nings not. The tyranny of heaven none may retain, Or reassume, or hold, succeeding thee; Yet if thou wilt, as 't is the destiny Of trodden worms to writhe till they are dead, 60 Put forth thy might. JUPITER Detested prodigy ! Even thus beneath the deep Titauian prisons I trample thee ! Thou lingerest ? Mercy ! mercy ! No pity, no release, no respite ! Oh, That thou wouldst make mine enemy my judge, Even where he hangs, seared by my long revenge, On Caucasus ! he would not doom me thus. Gentle, and just, and dreadless, is he not The monarch of the world ? What then art thou ? 69 No refuge ! no appeal ! Sink with me then, We two will sink on the wide waves of ruin, Even as a vulture and a snake outspent Drop, twisted in inextricable fight, Into a shoreless sea ! Let hell unlock Its mounded oceans of tempestuous fire, And whelm on them into the bottomless void This desolated world, and thee, and me, The conqueror and the conquered, and the wreck Of that for which they combated ! Ai, Ai ! The elements obey me not. I sink 80 Dizzily down, ever, forever, down. And, like a cloud, mine enemy above Darkens my fall with victory ! Ai, Ai ! SCENE II. The Mouth of a great River in the Island Atlantis. OCEAN is discovered reclin- ing near the shore; APOLLO stands beside him. OCEAN He fell, thou sayest, beneath his conquer- or's frown ? Ay, when the strife was ended which made dim The orb I rule, and shook the solid stars, The terrors of his eye illumined heaven With sanguine light, through the thick ragged skirts Of the victorious darkness, as he fell; Like the last glare of day's red agony, Which, from a rent among the fiery clouds, Burns far along the tempest-wrinkled deep. OCEAN He sunk to the abyss ? to the dark void ? jo APOLLO An eagle so caught in some bursting cloud On Caucasus, his thunder-baffled wings Entangled in the whirlwind, and his eyes, Which gazed on the uudazzling sun, now blinded By the white lightning, while the ponder- ous hail Beats on his struggling form, which sinks at length Prone, and the aerial ice clings over it. OCEAN Henceforth the fields of Heaven-reflecting sea Which are my realm, will heave, unstained with blood, ACT III : SC. Ill PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 191 Beneath the uplifting winds, like plains of corn 20 Swayed by the summer air; my streams will flow Round many-peopled continents, and round Fortunate isles; and from their glassy thrones Blue Proteus and his humid nymphs shall mark The shadow of fair ships, as mortals see The floating bark of the light-laden moon With that white star, its sightless pilot's crest, Borne down the rapid sunset's ebbing sea ; Tracking their path no more by blood and groans, And desolation, and the mingled voice 30 Of slavery and command; but by the light Of wave-reflected flowers, and floating odors, And music soft, and mild, free, gentle voices, That sweetest music, such as spirits love. APOLLO And I shall gaze not on the deeds which make My mind obscure with sorrow, as eclipse Darkens the sphere I guide. But list, I hear The small, clear, silver lute of the young Spirit That sits i' the morning star. OCEAN Thou must away ; Thy steeds will pause at even, till when farewell. 40 The loud deep calls me home even now to feed it With azure calm out of the emerald urns Which stand forever full beside my throne. Behold the Nereids under the green sea, Their wavering limbs borne on the wind- like stream, Their white arms lifted o'er their stream- ing hair, With garlands pied and starry sea-flower crowns, Hastening to grace their mighty sister's joy. \_A sound of waves is heard. It is the unpastured sea hungering for calm. Peace, monster; I come now. Farewell. APOLLO Farewell. 50 SCENE III. Caucasus. PROMETHEUS, HER- CULES, ZONE, the EARTH, SPIRITS, ASIA, and PANTHEA, borne in the Car with the SPIRIT OF THE HOUR. HERCULES unbinds PBO- METHEUS, who descends. HERCULES Most glorious among spirits ! thus doth strength To wisdom, courage, and long-suffering love, And thee, who art the form they animate, Minister like a slave. PBOMETHEUS Thy gentle words Are sweeter even than freedom long de- sired And long delayed. Asia, thou light of life, Shadow of beauty unbeheld; and ye, Fair sister nymphs, who made long years of pain Sweet to remember, through your love and care; Henceforth we will not part. There is a cave, 10 All overgrown with trailing odorous plants, Which curtain out the day with leaves and flowers, And paved with veined emerald; and a fountain Leaps in the midst with an awakening sound. From its curved roof the mountain's frozen tears, Like snow, or silver, or long diamond spires, Hang downward, raining forth a doubtful light; And there is heard the ever-moving air Whispering without from tree to tree, and birds, And bees; and all around are mossy seats, 20 And the rough walls are clothed with long soft grass; A simple dwelling, which shall be our own ; Where we will sit and talk of time and change, As the world ebbs and flows, ourselves un- changed. What can hide man from mutability ? And if ye sigh, then I will smile; and thou, I 9 2 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT III : SC. Ill lone, shalt chant fragments of sea-music, Until I weep, when ye shall smile away The tears she brought, which yet were sweet to shed. We will entangle buds and flowers and beams 30 Which twinkle on the fountain's brim, and make Strange combinations out of common things, Like human babes in their brief innocence; And we will search, with looks and words of love, For hidden thoughts, each lovelier than the last, Our unexhausted spirits; and, like lutes Touched by the skill of the enamoured wind, Weave harmonies divine, yet ever new, From difference sweet where discord can- not be; And hither come, sped on the charmed winds, 40 Which meet from all the points of heaven as bees From every flower aerial Enna feeds At their known island-homes in Himera The echoes of the human world, which tell Of the low voice of love, almost unheard, And dove-eyed pity's murmured pain, and music, Itself the echo of the heart, and all That tempers or improves man's life, now free; And lovely apparitions, dim at first, Then radiant, as the mind arising bright 50 From the embrace of beauty (whence the forms Of which these are the phantoms) casts on them The gathered rays which are reality Shall visit us, the progeny immortal Of Painting, Sculpture, and rapt Poesy, And arts, though unimagined, yet to be; The wandering voices and the shadows these Of all that man becomes, the mediators Of that best worship, love, by him and us Given and returned; swift shapes and sounds, which grow 60 More fair and soft as man grows wise and kind, And, veil by veil, evil and error fall. Such virtue has the cave and place around. [ Turning to the SPIRIT OF THE HOUB. For thee, fair Spirit, one toil remains. lone, Give her that curved shell, which Proteus old Made Asia's nuptial boon, breathing within it A voice to be accomplished, and which thou Didst hide in grass under the hollow rock. Thou most desired Hour, more loved and lovely Than all thy sisters, this is the mystic shell. 7 o See the pale azure fading into silver Lining it with a soft yet glowing light. Looks it not like lulled music sleeping there ? SPIRIT It seems in truth the fairest shell of Ocean : Its sound must be at once both sweet and strange. PROMETHEUS Go, borne over the cities of mankind On whirlwind-footed coursers; once again Outspeed the sun around the orbed world ; And as thy chariot cleaves the kindling air, Thou breathe into the many-folded shell, Loosening its mighty music; it shall be 81 As thunder mingled with clear echoes; then Return; and thou shalt dwell beside our cave. And thou, O Mother Earth ! THE EARTH I hear, I feel; Thy lips are on me, and thy touch runs down Even to the adamantine central gloom Along these marble nerves; 'tis life, 'tis jy> And, through my withered, old, and icy frame The warmth of an immortal youth shoots down Circling. Henceforth the many children fair 90 Folded in my sustaining arms; all plants, And creeping forms, and insects rainbow- winged, And birds, and beasts, and fish, and human ACT III : SC. Ill PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 193 Which drew disease and pain from my wan bosom, Draining the poison of despair, shall take And interchange sweet nutriment; to me Shall they become like sister-antelopes By one fair 4 am > snow-white, and swift as wind, Nursed among lilies near a brimming stream. The dew-mists of my sunless sleep shall float ioo Under the stars like balm; night-folded flowers Shall suck unwithering hues in their repose; And men and beasts in happy dreams shall gather Strength for the coming day, and all its joy; And death shall be the last embrace of her Who takes the life she gave, even as a mo- ther, Folding her child, says, 'Leave me not again.' ASIA Oh, mother ! wherefore speak the name of death ? Cease they to love, and move, and breathe, and speak, Who die ? THE EARTH It would avail not to reply; no Thou art immortal and this tongue is known But to the uncommunicating dead. Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted; and meanwhile In mild variety the seasons mild With rainbow-skirted showers, and odorous winds, And long blue meteors cleansing the dull night, And the life-kindling shafts of the keen sun's All-piercing bow, and the dew-mingled rain Of the calm moonbeams, a soft influence mild, I20 Shall clothe the forests and the fields, ay, even The crag-built deserts of the barren deep, With ever-living leaves, and fruits, and flowers. And thou ! there is a cavern where my spirit Was panted forth in anguish whilst thy pain Made my heart mad, and those who did inhale it Became mad too, and built a temple there, And spoke, and were oracular, and lured The erring nations round to mutual war, And faithless faith, such as Jove kept with thee ; 130 Which breath now rises as amongst tall weeds A violet's exhalation, and it fills With a sereuer light and crimson air Intense, yet soft, the rocks and woods around ; It feeds the quick growth of the serpent vine, And the dark linked ivy tangling wild, And budding, blown, or odor-faded blooms Which star the winds with points of col- ored light As they rain through them, and bright golden globes Of fruit suspended in their own green hea- ven, , 4D And through their veined leaves and amber stems The flowers whose purple and trauslucid bowls Stand ever mantling with aerial dew, The drink of spirits; and it circles round, Like the soft waving wings of noonday dreams, Inspiring calm and happy thoughts, like mine, Now thou art thus restored. This cave is thine. Arise ! Appear ! [A SPIRIT rises in the likeness of a winged child. This is my torch-bearer ; Who let his lamp out in old time with gazing On eyes from which he kindled it anew 150 With love, which is as fire, sweet daughter mine, For such is that within thine own. Run, wayward, And guide this company beyond the peak Of Bacchic Nysa, Meenad-haunted moun- tain, And beyond Indus and its tribute rivers, Trampling the torrent streams and glassy lakes With feet unwet, unwearied, undelaying, And up the green ravine, across the vale, 194 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT III : SC. IV Beside the windless and crystalline pool, Where ever lies, on unerasing waves, 160 The image of a temple, built above, Distinct with column, arch, and architrave, And palm-like capital, and overwrought, And populous most with living imagery, Praxitelean shapes, whose marble smiles Fill the hushed air with everlasting love. It is deserted now, but once it bore Thy name, Prometheus; there the emulous youths Bore to thy honor through the divine gloom The lamp which was thine emblem; even as those 170 Who bear the uutransmitted torch of hope Into the grave, across the night of life, As thou hast borne it most triumphantly To this far goal of Time. Depart, fare- well ! Beside that temple is the destined cave. SCENE IV. A Forest. In the background a Cave. PROMETHEUS, ASIA, PANTHEA, IONE, and the SPIKIT OF THE EARTH. Sister, it is not earthly; how it glides Under the leaves ! how on its head there burns A light, like a green star, whose emerald beams Are twined with its fair hair ! how, as it moves, The splendor drops in flakes upon the grass ! Knowest thou it ? PANTHEA It is the delicate spirit That guides the earth through heaven. From afar The populous constellations call that light The loveliest of the planets ; and sometimes It floats along the spray of the salt sea, 10 Or makes its chariot of a foggy cloud, Or walks through fields or cities while men sleep, Or o'er the mountain tops, or down the rivers, Or through the green waste wilderness, as now, Wondering at all it sees. Before Jove reigned It loved our sister Asia, and it came Each leisure hour to drink the liquid light Out of her eyes, for which it said it thirsted As one bit by a dipsas, and with her It made its childish confidence, and told her 20 All it had known or seen, for jt saw much, Yet idly reasoned what it saw; and called her, For whence it sprung it knew not, nor do I, Mother, dear mother. THE SPIKIT OF THE EARTH, running to ASIA Mother, dearest mother ! May I then talk with thee as I was wont ? May I then hide my eyes in thy soft arms, After thy looks have made them tired of py? May I then play beside thee the long noons, When work is none in the bright silent air ? 29 ASIA I love thee, gentlest being, and henceforth Can cherish thee uuenvied. Speak, I prey; Thy simple talk once solaced, now de- lights. SPIRIT OF THE EARTH Mother, I am grown wiser, though a child Cannot be wise like thee, within this day; And happier too; happier and wiser both. Thou knowest that toads, and snakes, and loathly worms, And venomous and malicious beasts, and boughs That bore ill berries in the woods, were ever An hindrance to my walks o'er the green world; And that, among the haunts of human- kind, 40 Hard-featured men, or with proud, angry looks, Or cold, staid gait, or false and hollow smiles, Or the dull sneer of self-loved ignorance, Or other such foul masks, with which ill thoughts Hide that fair being whom we spirits call man; And women too, ugliest of all things evil, (Though fair, even in a world where thou art fair, ACT III : SC. IV PROMETHEUS UNBOUND J 95 When good and kind, free and sincere like thee) When false or frowning made me sick at heart To pass them, though they slept, and I un- seen. 50 Well, my path lately lay through a great city Into the woody hills surrounding it; A sentinel was sleeping at the gate; When there was heard a sound, so loud, it shook The towers amid the moonlight, yet more sweet Than any voice but thine, sweetest of all; A long, long sound, as it would never end; And all the inhabitants leapt suddenly Out of their rest, and gathered in the streets, Looking in wonder up to Heaven, while yet 60 The music pealed along. I hid myself Within a fountain in the public square, Where I lay like the reflex of the moon Seen in a wave under green leaves; and soon Those ugly human shapes and visages Of which I spoke as having wrought me pain, Passed floating through the air, and fading still Into the winds that scattered them; and those From whom they passed seemed mild and lovely forms After some foul disguise had fallen, and all 70 Were somewhat changed, and after brief surprise And greetings of delighted wonder, all Went to their sleep again; and when the dawn Came, wouklst thou think that toads, and snakes, and efts, Could e'er be beautiful ? yet so they were, And that with little change of shape or hue; All things had put their evil nature off; I cannot tell my joy, when o'er a lake, Upon a drooping bough with nightshade twined, I saw two azure halcyons clinging down- ward 80 And thinning one bright bunch of amber berries, With quick long beaks, and iu the deep there lay Those lovely forms imaged as in a sky; So with my thoughts full of these happy changes, We meet again, the happiest change of all. ASIA And never will we part, till thy chaste sister, Who guides the frozen and inconstant moon, Will look on thy more warm and equal light Till her heart thaw like flakes of April snow, 89 And love thee. 8PIBIT OF THE KAKTII What ! as Asia loves Prometheus ? Peace, wanton ! thou art yet not old enough. Think ye by gazing on each other's eyes To multiply your lovely selves, and fill With sphered fires the interlunar air ? SPIRIT OF THE EARTH Nay, mother, while my sister trims her lamp 'T is hard I should go darkling. ASIA Listen; look ! The SPIRIT OF THE HOUR enters PROMETHEUS We feel what thou hast heard and seen; yet speak. SPIRIT OF THE HOUR Soon as the sound had ceased whose thunder filled The abysses of the sky and the wide earth, There was a change; the impalpable thin air ioo And the all-circling sunlight were trans- formed, As if the sense of love, dissolved in them, Had folded itself round the sphered world. My vision then grew clear, and I could see Into the mysteries of the universe. Dizzy as with delight I floated down; 196 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT III : SC. IV Winnowing the lightsome air with languid plumes, My coursers sought their birthplace in the sun, Where they henceforth will live exempt from toil, Pasturing flowers of vegetable fire, no And where my moonlike car will stand within A temple, gazed upon by Phidian forms Of thee, and Asia, and the Earth, and me, And you, fair nymphs, looking the love we feel, In memory of the tidings it has borne, Beneath a dome fretted with graven flowers, Poised on twelve columns of resplendent stone, And open to the bright arnd liquid sky. Yoked to it by an amphisbeuic snake The likeness of those winged steeds will mock 120 The flight from which they find repose. Alas, Whither has wandered now my partial tongue When all remains untold which ye would hear ? As I have said, I floated to the earth; It was, as it is still, the pain of bliss To move, to breathe, to be. I wandering went Among the haunts and dwellings of man- kind, And first was disappointed not to see Such mighty change as I had felt within Expressed in outward things; but soon I looked, 130 And behold, thrones were kingless, and men walked One with the other even as spirits do None fawned, none trampled; hate, dis- dain, or fear, Self-love or self-contempt, on human brows No more inscribed, as o'er the gate of hell, ' All hope abandon, ye who enter here.' None frowned, none trembled, none with eager fear Gazed on another's eye of cold command, Until the subject of a tyrant's will 139 Became, worse fate, the abject of his own, Which spurred him, like auoutspent horse, to death. None wrought his lips in truth-entangling lines Which smiled the lie his tongue disdained to speak. None, with firm sneer, trod out in his own heart The sparks of love and hope till there re- mained Those bitter ashes, a soul self-consumed, And the wretch crept a vampire among men, Infecting all with his own hideous ill. None talked that common, false, cold, hol- low talk Which makes the heart deny the yes it breathes, z 50 Yet question that unmeant hypocrisy With such a self-mistrust as lias no name. And women, too, frank, beautiful, and kind, As the free heaven which rains fresh light and dew On the wide earth, passed; gentle, radiant forms, From custom's evil taint exempt and pure; Speaking the wisdom once they could not think, Looking emotions once they feared to feel, And changed to all which once they dared not be, Yet being now, made earth like heaven; nor pride, 160 Nor jealousy, nor envy, nor ill shame, The bitterest of those drops of treasured gall, Spoiled the sweet taste of the nepenthe, love. Thrones, altars, judgment-seats, and pris- ons, wherein, And beside which, by wretched men were borne Sceptres, tiaras, swords, and chains, and tomes Of reasoned wrong, glozed on by ignorance, Were like those monstrous and barbaric shapes, The ghosts of a no-more-remembered fame Which from their unworn obelisks, look forth , 70 In triumph o'er the palaces and tombs Of those who were their conquerors; mould- ering round, Those imaged to the pride of kings and priests A dark yet mighty faith, a power as wide As is the world it wasted, and are now But an astonishment; even so the tools ACT IV PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 197 And emblems of its last captivity, Amid the dwellings of the peopled earth, Stand, not o'erthrown, but unregarded now. And those foul shapes, abhorred by god and man, 180 Which, under many a name and many a form Strange, savage, ghastly, dark, and ex- ecrable, Were Jupiter, the tyrant of the world, And which the nations, panic-stricken, served With blood, and hearts broken by long hope, and love Dragged to his altars soiled and garland- less, And slain among men's unreclaiming tears, Flattering the thing they feared, which fear was hate, Frown, mouldering fast, o'er their aban- doned shrines. The painted veil, by those who were, called life, 190 Which mimicked, as with colors idly spread, All men believed and hoped, is torn aside; The loathsome mask has fallen, the man remains Sceptreless, free, uncircumscribed, but man Equal, unclassed, tribeless, and nationless, Exempt from awe, worship, degree, the king Over himself; just, gentle, wise; but man Passionless no, yet free from guilt or pain, Which were, for his will made or suffered them; Nor yet exempt, though ruling them like slaves, 200 From chance, and death, and mutability, The clogs of that which else might over- soar The loftiest star of unascended heaven, Pinnacled dim in the intense inane. ACT IV SCENE A part of the Forest near the Cave of PROMETHEUS. PANTHEA and IONK are sleeping : they awaken gradually during the first Song. VOICE OF UNSEEN 8PIKIT8 THE pale stars are gone ! For the sun, their swift shepherd To their folds them compelling, In the depths of the dawn, Hastes, in meteor-eclipsing array, and they flee Beyond his blue dwelling, As fawns flee the leopard, But where are ye ? A Train of dark Forms and Shadows passes by confusedly, singing. Here, oh, here ! We bear the bier w Of the father of many a cancelled year 1 Spectres we Of the dead Hours be; We bear Time to his tomb in eternity,, Strew, oh, strew Hair, not yew ! Wet the dusty pall with tears, not dew I Be the faded flowers Of Death's bare bowers Spread on the corpse of the King of Hours ! 20 Haste, oh, haste ! As shades are chased, Trembling, by day, from heaven's blue waste, We melt away, Like dissolving spray, From the children of a diviner day, With the lullaby Of winds that die On the bosom of their own harmony ! TONE What dark forms were they ? sc PANTHEA The past Hours weak and gray, With the spoil which their toil Raked together From the conquest but One could foil. IONE Have they passed ? PANTHEA They have passed; They outspeecled the blast, While 't is said, they are fled ! IONE Whither, oh, whither ? PANTHEA To the dark, to the past, to the dead. 198 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT IV VOICE OF UKSEEN SPIRITS Bright clouds float in heaven, 40 Dew-stars gleam on earth, Waves assemble on ocean, They are gathered and driven By the storm of delight, by the panic of glee ! They shake with emotion, They dance in their mirth. But where are ye ? The pine boughs are singing Old songs with new gladness, The billows and fountains 50 Fresh music are flinging, Like the notes of a spirit from land and from sea; The storms mock the mountains With the thunder of gladness, But where are ye ? IONE What charioteers are these ? PANTHEA Where are their chariots ? 8EMICHOBUS OF HOCKS The voice of the Spirits of Air and of Earth Has drawn back the figured curtain cf sleep, Which covered our being and darkened our birth 59 In the deep. A VOICE In the deep ? SEMICHORUS II Oh ! below the deep. SEMICHORUS I An hundred ages we had been kept Cradled in visions of hate and care, And each one who waked as his brother slept Found the truth SEMICHORUS II Worse than his visions were ! SEMICHORUS I W e have heard the lute of Hope in sleep; We have known the voice of Love in dreams ; We have felt the wand of Power, and leap BEMICHOHUS II As the billows leap in the morning beams ! Weave the dance on the floor of the breeze, Pierce with song heaven's silent light, 70 Enchant the day that too swiftly flees, To check its flight ere the cave of uight. Once the hungry Hours were hounds Which chased the day like a bleeding deer, And it limped and stumbled with many wounds Through the nightly dells of the desert year. But now, oh, weave the mystic measure Of music, and dance, and shapes of light, Let the Hours, and the Spirits of might and pleasure, 79 Like the clouds and sunbeams, unite A VOICE Unite ! See, where the Spirits of the human mind, Wrapped in sweet sounds, as in bright veils, approach. CHORUS OF SPIRITS We join the throng Of the dance and the song, By the whirlwind of gladness borne along; As the flying-fish leap From the Indian deep And mix with the sea-birds half-asleep. CHORUS OF HOURS Whence come ye, so wild and so fleet, 8t> For sandals of lightning are on your feet, And your wings are soft and swift as thought, And your eyes are as love which is veiled not?" CHORUS OF SPIRITS We come from the mind Of humankind, ACT IV PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 199 Which was late so dusk, and obscene, and blind ; Now 't is an ocean Of clear emotion, A heaven of serene and mighty motion. From that deep abyss Of wonder and bliss, 100 Whose caverns are crystal palaces; From those skyey towers Where Thought's crowned powers Sit watching your dance, ye happy Hours ! From the dim recesses Of woven caresses, Where lovers catch ye by your loose tresses; From the azure isles, Where sweet Wisdom smiles, 109 Delaying your ships with her siren wiles. From the temples high Of Man's ear and eye, Roofed over Sculpture and Poesy ; From the murmiirings Of the unsealed springs, Where Science bedews his dffidal wings. Years after years, Through blood, and tears, And a thick hell of hatreds, and hopes, and fears, W 7 e waded and flew, 120 And the islets were few Where the bud-blighted flowers of happi- ness grew. Our feet now, every palm, Are sandalled with calm, And the dew of our wings is a rain of balm; And, beyond our eyes, The human love lies, Which makes all it gazes on Paradise. CHORUS OF SPIRITS AND HOURS Then weave the web of the mystic mea- sure ; From the depths of the sky and the ends of the earth, 130 Come, swift Spirits of might and of plea- sure, Fill the (lance and the music of mirth, As the waves of a thousand streams rush by To an ocean of splendor and harmony I CHORUS OF SPIRITS Our spoil is won, Our task is done, We are free to dive, or soar, or run; Beyond and around, Or within the bound 139 Which clips the world with darkness round. We '11 pass the eyes Of the starry skies Into the hoar deep to colonize; Death, Chaos and Night, From the sound of our flight, Shall flee, like mist from a tempest's might. And Earth, Air and Light, And the Spirit of Might, Which drives round the stars in their fiery flight; And Love, Thought and Breath, 150 The powers that quell Death, Wherever we soar shall assemble beneath. And our singing shall build In the void's loose field A world for the Spirit of Wisdom to wield ; We will take our plan From the new world of man, And our work shall be called the Prome- thean. CHORUS OF HOURS Break the dance, and scatter the song; Let some depart, and some remain; 160 SEMICHORUS I We, beyond heaven, are driven along; SEMICHORUS II Us the enchantments of earth retain; SEMICHORUS I Ceaseless, and rapid, and fierce, and free, With the Spirits which build a new earth and sea, Aud a heaven where yet heaven could never DC J SEMICHORUS H Solemn, and slow, and serene, and bright, Leading the Day, and outspeediug the Night, W T ith the powers of a world of perfect light; 200 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT IV SEMICHORUS I We whirl, singing loud, round the gather- ing sphere, Till the trees, and the beasts, and the clouds appear 170 From its chaos made calm by love, not fear; SEMICHORUS II We encircle the ocean ami mountains of earth, And the happy forms of its death and birth Change to the music of our sweet mirth. CHORUS OF HOURS AND SPIRITS Break the dance, and scatter the song; Let some depart, and some remain; Wherever we fly we lead along In leashes, like star-beams, soft yet strong, The clouds that are heavy with love's sweet rain. 179 PANTHEA Ha ! they are gone ! IONE Yet feel you no delight From the past sweetness ? PANTHEA As the bare green hill, When some soft clond vanishes into rain, Laughs with a thousand drops of sunny water To the unpavilioned sky ! Even whilst we speak New notes arise. What is that awful sound ? PANTHEA 'Tis the deep music of the rolling world, Kindling within the strings of the waved air JEolian modulations. Listen too, How every pause is filled with under-notes, Clear, silver, icy, keen awakening tones. Which pierce the sense, and live within the SOIll, 191 As the sharp stars pierce winter's crystal air And gaze upon themselves within the sea. But see where, through two openings in the forest Which hanging branches overcanopy, And where two runnels of a rivulet, Between the close moss violet-inwoven, Have made their path of melody, like sis- ters Who part with sighs that they may meet in smiles, Turning their dear disunion to an isle zco Of lovely grief, a wood of sweet sad thoughts; Two visions of strange radiance float upon The ocean-like enchantment of strong sound, Which flows intenser, keener, deeper yet, Under the ground and through the wind- less air. I see a chariot like that thinnest boat In which the mother of the months is borne By ebbing night into her western cave, When she upsprings from iuterlunar dreams; 209 O'er which is curved an orb-like canopy Of gentle darkness, and the hills and woods, Distinctly seen through that dusk airy veil, Regard like shapes in an enchanter's glass ; Its wheels are solid clouds, azure and gold, Such as the genii of the thunder-storm Pile on the floor of the illumined sea When the sun rushes under it; they roll And move and grow as with an inward wind; Within it sits a winged infant white Its countenance, like the whiteness of bright snow, 220 Its plumes are as feathers of sunny frost, Its limbs gleam white, through the wind- flowing folds Of its white robe, woof of ethereal pearl, Its hair is white, the brightness of white light Scattered in strings; yet its two eyes are heavens Of liquid darkness, which the Deity Within seems pouring, as a storm is poured From jagged clouds, out of their arrowy lashes, Tempering the cold and radiant air around With fire that is not brightness; in its hand It sways a quivering moonbeam, from whose point 231 ACT IV PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 201 A guiding power directs the chariot's prow Over its wheeled clouds, which as they roll Over the grass, and flowers, and waves, wake sounds, Sweet as a singing rain of silver dew. And from the other opening in the wood Rushes, with loud and whirlwind harmony, A sphere, which is as many thousand spheres; Solid as crystal, yet through all its mass Flow, as through empty space, music and light; 240 Ten thousand orbs involving and involved, Purple and azure, white, green and golden, Sphere within sphere; and every space between Peopled with unimaginable shapes, Such as ghosts dream dwell in the lampless deep; Yet each inter-transpicuous; and they whirl Over each other with a thousand motions, Upon a thousand sightless axles spinning, And witli the force of self -destroying swift- ness, Intensely, slowly, solemnly, roll on, 250 Kindling with mingled sounds, and many tones, Intelligible words and music wild. With mighty whirl the multitudinous orb Grinds the bright brook into an azure mist Of elemental subtlety, like light; And the wild odor of the forest flowers, The music of the living grass and air, The emerald light of leaf-entangled beams, Round its intense yet self-conflicting speed Seem kneaded into one aerial mass 260 Which drowns the sense. Within the orb itself, Pillowed upon its alabaster arms, Like to a child o'erwearied with sweet toil, On its own folded wings and wavy hair The Spirit of the. Earth is laid asleep, And you can see its little lips are moving, Amid the changing light of their own smiles, Like one who talks of what he loves in dream. IOKE 'T is only mocking the orb's harmony. And from a star upon its forehead shoot, 270 Like swords of azure fire or golden spears With tyrant-quelling myrtle overtwined, Embleming heaven and earth united now, Vast beams like spokes of some invisible wheel W T hich whirl as the orb whirls, swifter than thought, Filling the abyss with sun-like lightnings, And perpendicular now, and now transverse, Pierce the dark soil, and as they pierce and pass Make bare the secrets of the earth's deep heart; Infinite mine of adamant and gold, 280 Valueless stones, and uuimagiued gems, And caverns on crystalline columns poised With vegetable silver overspread ; Wells of unfathomed fire, and water-springs Whence the great sea even as a child is fed, Whose vapors clothe earth's monarch mountain-tops With kingly, ermine snow. The beams flash on And make appear the melancholy ruins Of cancelled cycles; anchors, beaks of ships; Planks turned to marble; quivers, helms, and spears, 290 And gorgon-headed targes, and the wheels Of scythed chariots, and the emblazonry Of trophies, standards, and armorial beasts, Round which death laughed, sepulchred emblems Of dead destruction, ruin within ruin ! The wrecks beside of many a city vast, Whose population which the earth grew over Was mortal, but not human; see, they lie, Their monstrous works, and uncouth skele- tons, Their statues, homes and fanes; prodigious shapes 300 Huddled in gray annihilation, split, Jammed in the hard, black deep; and over these, The anatomies of unknown winged things, And fishes which were isles of living scale, And serpents, bony chains, twisted around The iron crags, or within heaps of dust To which the tortuous strength of their last pangs Had crushed the iron crags; and over these The jagged alligator, and the might 309 Of earth-convulsing behemoth, which once Were monarch beasts, and on the slimy shores, 2O2 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT IV And weed-overgrown continents of earth, Increased and multiplied like summer worms On an abandoned corpse, till the blue globe Wrapped deluge round it like a cloke, and they Yelled, gasped, and were abolished; or some God, Whose throne was in a comet, passed, and cried, Be not ! and like my words they were no more. THE EARTH The joy, the triumph, the delight, the mad- ness ! The boundless, overflowing, bursting glad- ness, 320 The vaporous exultation not to be confined ! Ha ! ha ! the animation of delight Which wraps me, like an atmosphere of light, And bears me as a cloud is borne by its own wind. THE MOON Brother mine, calm wanderer, Happy globe of land and air, Some Spirit is darted like a beam from thee, Which penetrates my frozen frame, And passes with the warmth of flame, With love, and odor, and deep melody 330 Through me, through me ! THE EARTH Ha ! ha ! the caverns of my hollow moun- tains, My cloven fire-crags, sound-exulting fountains, Laugh with a vast and- inextinguishable laughter. The oceans, and the deserts, and the abysses, And the deep air's unmeasured wilder- nesses, Answer from all their clouds and billows, echoing after. They cry aloud as I do. Sceptred curse, Who all our green and azure universe Threatenedst to muffle round with black destruction, sending 34 o A solid cloud to rain hot thunder-stones And splinter and knead down my chil- dren's bones, All I bring forth, to one void mass batter- ing and blending, Until each crag-like tower, and storied column, Palace, and obelisk, and temple solemn, My imperial mountains crowned with cloud, and snow, and fire, My sea-like forests, every blade and blossom Which finds a grave or cradle in my bosom, Were stamped by thy strong hate into a lifeless mire: How art thou sunk, withdrawn, covered, drunk up 35 o By thirsty nothing, as the brackish cup Drained by a desert-troop, a little drop for all; And from beneath, around, within, above. Filling thy void annihilation, love Bursts in like light on caves cloven by the thunder-ball ! THE MOON The snow upon my lifeless mountains Is loosened into living fountains, My solid oceans flow, and sing and shine; A spirit from my heart bursts forth, It clothes with unexpected birth 360 My cold bare bosom. Oh, it must be thine On mine, on mine ! Gazing on thee I feel, I know, Green stalks burst forth, and bright flowers grow, And living shapes upon my bosom move; Music is in the sea and air, Winged clouds soar here and there Dark with the rain new buds are dream- ing of: 'T is love, all love ! THE EARTH It interpenetrates my granite mass, 370 Through tangled roots and trodden clay doth pass Into the utmost leaves and delicatest flow- ers; Upon the winds, among the clouds 't is spread, It wakes a life in the forgotten dead, They breathe a spirit up from their obscur- est bowers; ACT IV PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 203 And like a storm bursting its cloudy prison With thunder, and with whirlwind, has arisen Out of the lampless caves of unimagined being; With earthquake shock and swiftness making shiver Thought's stagnant chaos, unremoved forever, 380 Till hate, and fear, and pain, light-van- quished shadows, fleeing, Leave Man, who was a many-sided mir- ror Which could distort to many a shape of error This true fair world of things, a sea re- flecting love; Which over all his kind, as the sun's hea- ven Gliding o'er ocean, smooth, serene, and even, Darting from starry depths radiance and life doth move: Leave Man even as a leprous child is left, Who follows a sick beast to some warm cleft Of rocks, through which the might of heal- ing springs is poured; 390 Then when it wanders home with rosy smile, Unconscious, and its mother fears awhile It is a spirit, then weeps on her child re- stored: Man, oh, not men ! a chain of linked thought, Of love and might to be divided not, Compelling the elements with adamantine stress; As the sun rules even with a tyrant's gaze The unquiet republic of the maze Of planets, struggling fierce towards hea- ven's free wilderness: Man, one harmonious soul of many a soul, 4 oo Whose nature is its own divine control, Where all tilings flow to all, as rivers to the sea; Familiar acts are beautiful through love ; Labor, and pain, and grief, in life's green grove Sport like tame beasts; none knew how gentle they could be ! His will, with all mean passions, bad delights, And selfish cares, its trembling satellites, A spirit ill to guide, but mighty to obey, Is as a tempest-winged ship, whose helm Love rules, through waves which dare not overwhelm, 410 Forcing life's wildest shores to own its sov- ereign sway. All things confess his strength. Through the cold mass Of marble and of color his dreams pass Bright threads whence mothers weave the robes their children wear; Language is a perpetual Orphic song, Which rules with dajual harmony a throng Of thoughts and forms, which else senseless and shapeless were. The lightning is his slave; heaven's ut- most deep Gives up her stars, aud like a flock of sheep They pass before his eye, are numbered, and roll on ! 420 The tempest is his steed, he strides the air; And the abyss shouts from her depth laid bare, ' Heaven, hast thou secrets ? Man unveils me; I have none.' THK MOON The shadow of white death has passed From my path in heaven at last, A clinging shroud of solid frost and sleep; And through my newly woven bowers, Wander happy paramours, Less mighty, but as mild as those who keep Thy vales more deep. 430 THE EARTH As the dissolving warmth of dawn may fold A half unfrozen dew-globe, green, and gold, 204 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND ACT IV And crystalline, till it becomes a winged mist, And wanders up the vault of the blue day, Outlives the noon, and on the sun's last ray Hangs o'er the sea, a fleece of fire and amethyst. THE MOON Thou art folded, thou art lying In the light which is undying Of thine own joy, and heaven's smile divine ; All suns and constellations shower 440 On thee a light, a life, a power, Which doth array thy sphere; thou pour- est thine On mine, on mine ! THB EAKTH I spin beneath my pyramid of night Which points into the heavens, dreaming delight, Murmuring victorious joy in my enchanted sleep ; As a youth lulled in love-dreams faintly sighing, Under the shadow of his beauty lying, Which round his rest a watch of light and warmth doth keep. THE MOOX As in the soft and sweet eclipse, 450 When soul meets soul on lovers' lips, High hearts are calm, and brightest eyes are dull; So when thy shadow falls on me, Then am I mute and still, by thee Covered ; of thy love, Orb most beautiful, Full, oh, too full ! Thon art speeding round the sun, Brightest world of many a one; Green and azure sphere which shinest With a light whicli is divinest 460 Among all the lamps of Heaven To whom life and light is given; I, thy crystal paramour, Borne beside thee by a power Like the polar Paradise, Magnet-like, of lovers' eyes; I, a most enamoured maiden, Whose weak brain is overladen With the pleasure of her love, Mauiac-like around thee move, 470 Gazing, an insatiate bride, On thy form from every side, Like a Mfenad round the cup Which Agave lifted up In the weird Cadmean forest. Brother, wheresoe'er thou soarest I must hurry, whirl and follow Through the heavens wide and hollow, Sheltered by the warm embrace Of thy soul from hungry space, 480 Drinking from thy sense and sight Beauty, majesty and might, As a lover or a chameleon Grows like what it looks upon, As a violet's gentle eye Gazes on the azure sky Until its hue grows like what it beholds, As a gray and watery mist Glows like solid amethyst Athwart the western mountain it en- folds, 49 o When the sunset sleeps Upon its snow. THE EARTH And the weak day weeps That it should be so. O gentle Moon, the voice of thy delight Falls on me like thy clear and tender light Soothing the seaman borne the summer night Through isles forever calm; O gentle Moon, thy crystal accents pierce The caverns of my pride's deep universe, 500 Charming the tiger joy, whose tramplings fierce Made wounds which need thy balm. I rise as from a bath of sparkling water, A bath of azure light, among dark rocks, Out of the stream of sound. Ah me ! sweet sister, The stream of sound has ebbed away from us, And you pretend to rise out of its wave, Because your words fall like the clear soft dew Shaken from a bathing wood-nymph's limbs and hair. ACT IV PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 205 PANTHEA Peace, peace ! a mighty Power, which is as darkness, 510 Is rising out of Earth, and from the sky Is showered like night, and from within the air Bursts, like eclipse which had been gathered up Into the pores of sunlight; the bright visions, Wherein the singing Spirits rode and shone, Gleam like pale meteors through a watery night. TONE There is a sense of words upon mine ear. PANTHEA An universal sound like words: Oh, list ! DEMOGORGON Thou, Earth, calm empire of a happy soul, Sphere of divinest shapes and harmo- nies, 520 Beautiful orb ! gathering as thou dost roll The love which paves thy path along the skies: THE EARTH I hear: I am as a drop of dew that dies. DEMOGORGON Thou, Moon, which gazest on the nightly Earth With wonder, as it gazes upon thee; Whilst each to men, and beasts, and the swift birth Of birds, is beauty, love, calm, harmony: THE MOON I hear: I am a leaf shaken by thee. DEMOGORGON Ye kings of suns and stars, Daemons and Gods, Ethereal Dominations, who possess 530 Elysian, windless, fortunate abodes Beyond Heaven's constellated wilder- ness: A VOICK (from above) Our great Republic hears: we are blessed, and bless. DEMOGOROON Ye happy dead, whom beams of brightest Are clouds to hide, not colors to portray, Whether your nature is tliat universe Which once ye saw and suffered A VOICE FROM BENEATH Or, as they Whom we have left, we change and pass away. DEMOGORGON Ye elemental Genii, who have homes From man's high mind even to the cen- tral stone 540 Of sullen lead ; from Heaven's star-fretted domes To the dull weed some sea- worm battens A CONFUSED VOICE We hear: thy words waken Oblivion. DEMOGORGON Spirits, whose homes are flesh; ye beasts and birds, Ye worms and fish; ye living leaves and buds; Lightning and wind; and ye untamable herds, Meteors and mists, which throng air's solitudes: A VOICE Thy voice to us is wind among still woods. DEMOGORGON Man, who wert once a despot and a slave, A dupe and a deceiver, a decay, 550 A traveller from the cradle to the grave Through the dim night of this immortal day: Speak: thy strong words may never pass away. DEMOGORGON This is the day which down the void abysm At the Earth-born's spell yawns for Hea- ven's despotism, And Conquest is dragged captive through the deep; Love, from its awful throne of patient power In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour Of dread endurance, from the slippery, steep, 206 THE CENCI And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs 560 And folds over the world its healing wings. Gentleness, Virtue, Wisdom, and Endur- ance These are the seals of that most firm assur- ance Which bars the pit over Destruction's strength ; And if, with infirm hand, Eternity, Mother of many acts and hours, should free The serpent that would clasp her with his length, These are the spells by which to rcassume An empire o'er the disentangled doom. 569 To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contem- plates; Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and Vic- tory ! THE CENCI A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS The Cenci was Shelley's first attempt at writ- ing drama, a form of composition for which lie had conceived himself to have no talent. It was executed with greater rapidity than any of liia earlier works, being begun at Rome by May 14, and finished at Leghorn, August 8, 181U, though as usual Shelley continued to revise it till it left his hands. He printed two hundred and fifty copies at an Italian press, and these were issued in the spring of 1820, at London, as the first edition. A second edition was pub- lished the following year. Shelley desired that the play should be put upon the stage, and had it offered at Covent Garden by Pea- cock, but it was declined on account of the subject. He thought it was written in a way to make it popular, and that the repulsive ele- ment in the story had been eliminated by the delicacy of his treatment. His interest in it lessened after its refusal by the managers ; but their judgment was supported by the unfavor- able impression made by it when it was pri- vately played for the first time under the auspices of the Shelley Society, at London, in 188(5. Mrs. Shelley's note, as usual, gives nearly all that is essential to the history of the poem and of Shelley's interest in it : ' When in Rome, in 1819, a friend put into our hands the old manuscript account of the story of The Cenci. We visited the Colonna and Doria palaces, where the portraits of Bea- trice were to be found ; and her beauty cast the reflection of its own grace over her appall- ing story. Shelley's imagination became strongly excited, and he urged the subject to me as one fitted for a tragedy. More than ever I felt my incompetence ; but I entreated him to write it instead ; and he began and pro- ceeded swiftly, urged on by intense sympa- thy with the sufferings of the human beings whose passions, so long cold in the tomb, lie revived, and gifted with poetic language. This tragedy is the only one of his works that he communicated to me during its progress. We talked over the arrangement of the scenes together. . . . ' We suffered a severe affliction in Rome by the loss of our eldest child, who was of such beauty and promise as to cause him deservedly to be the idol of our hearts. We left the cap- ital of the world, anxious for a time to escape a spot associated too intimately with his pre- sence and loss. Some friends of ours were residing in the neighborhood of Leghorn, and we took a small house, Villa Valsovauo, about half-way between the town and Monte Nero, where we remained during the summer. Our villa was situated in the midst of a podere ; the peasants sang as they worked beneath our windows, during the heats of a very hot sea- son, and at night the water-wheel creaked as the process of irrigation went on, and the fire- flies flashed from among the myrfle hedges : nature was bright, sunshiny, and cheerful, or diversified by storms of a majestic terror, such as we had never before witnessed ' At the top of the house there was a sort of terrace. There is often such in Italy, gener- ally roofed. This one was very small, yet not INTRODUCTORY NOTE 207 only roofed but glazed ; this Shelley made his study ; it looked out on a wide prospect of fer- tile country, and commanded a view of the near sea. The storms that sometimes varied our day showed themselves most picturesquely as they were driven across the ocean ; sometimes the dark lurid clouds dipped towards the waves, and became water spouts, that churned up the waters beneath, as they were chased onward, and scattered by the tempest. At other times the dazzling 1 sunlight and heat made it almost intolerable to every other ; but Shelley basked in both, and his health and spirits revived under their influence. In this airy cell he wrote the principal part of The Cenci. He was making a study of Calderon at the time, reading his best tragedies wkh an accomplished lady [Mrs. Gisborne] living near us, to whom his letter from Leghorn was addressed during the fol- lowing year. He admired Calderon, both for his poetry and his dramatic genius ; but it shows his judgment and originality, that, though greatly struck by his first acquaintance with the Spanish poet, none of his peculiarities crept into the composition of The Cenci; and there is no trace of his new studies, except in that passage to which he himself alludes, as suggested by one in El Purgatorio de San Patricia. ' Shelley wished The Cenci to be acted. He was not a play-goer, -being of such fastidious taste that he was easily disgusted by the bad filling up of the inferior parts. While pre- paring for our departure from England, how- ever, he saw Miss O'Neil several times ; she was then in the zenith of her glory, and Shelley was deeply moved by her impersonation of several parts, and by the graceful sweetness, the intense pathos, and sublime vehemence of passion she displayed. She was often in his thoughts as he wrote, and when he had finished, he became anxious that his tragedy should be acted, and receive the advantage of having this accomplished actress to fill the part of the heroine. With this view he wrote the follow- ing letter to a friend [Peacock, July, 1819] in London : ' " The object of the present letter is to ask a favor of you. I have written a tragedy on the subject of a story well known in Italy, and, in my conception, eminently dramatic. I have taken some pains to make my play fit for re- presentation, and those who have already seen it judge favorably. It is written without any of the peculiar feelings and opinions which characterize my other compositions : I having attended simply to the impartial development of such characters as it is probable the persons represented really were, together with the great- est degree of popular effect to be produced by such a development. I send you a translation of the Italian MS. on which my play is founded ; the chief subject of which I have touched verj delicately ; for my principal doubt as to whether it would succeed, as an acting play, hangs entirely on the question, as to whether such a thing as incest in this shape, however treated, would be admitted on the stage. I think, however, it will form no objection, con- sidering, first, that the facts are matter of his- tory and, secondly, the peculiar delicacy with which I have treated it. ' " I am exceedingly interested in the ques- tion of whether this attempt of mine will suc- ceed or no. I am strongly inclined to the affirmative at present ; founding my hopes on this, that as a composition it,, is certainly not inferior to any of the modern plays that have been acted, with the exception of Remorse; that the interest of its plot it incredibly greater and more real, and that there is nothing beyond what the multitude are contented to believe that they can understand, either in imagery, opinion, or sentiment. I wish to preserve a complete incognito, and can trust to you that, whatever else you do, you will at least favor me on this point. Indeed this is essential, deeply essential to its success. After it had been acted, and successfully (could I hope such a thing), I would own it if I pleased, and use the celebrity it might acquire, to my own pnr- 1 " What I want you to do, is to procure for me its presentation at Covent Garden. The principal character, Beatrice, is precisely fitted for Miss O'Neil, and it might even seem written for her, (God forbid that I should ever see her play it it would tear my nerves to pieces,) and in all respects it is fitted only for Covent Garden. The chief male character I confess I should be very unwilling that any one but Kean should play that is impossible, and I must be contented with an inferior ac- tor." ' The play was accordingly sent to Mr. Harris. He pronounced the subject to be so objectionable that he could not even submit the part to Miss O'Neil for perusal, but ex- pressed his desire that the author would write a tragedy on some other subject, which he would gladly accept. Shelley printed a small edition at Leghorn, to insure its correctness ; as he was much annoyed by the many mistakes that crept into his text, 'when distance prevented him from correcting the press. ' Universal approbation soon stamped The Cenci as the best tragedy of modern times. Writing concerning 1 it. Shelley said : " I have been cautious to avoid the introducing faults of youthful composition ; diffuseness, a profu- sion of inapplicable imagery, vagueness, gener- ality, and, as Hamlet says, words, word*" 208 THE CENCI There is nothing that is not purely dramatic throughout ; and the character of Beatrice, proceeding from vehement struggle to horror, to deadly resolution, and lastly, to the ele- vated dignity of calm suffering, joined to pas- sionate tenderness and pathos, is touched with hues so vivid and so beautiful, that the poet seems to have read intimately the secrets of the noble heart imaged in the lovely counte- nance of the unfortunate girl. The Fifth Act is a masterpiece. It is the finest thing he ever wrote, and may claim proud comparison not only with any contemporary, but preceding poet. The varying feelings of Beatrice are expressed with passionate, heart-reaching elo- quence. Every character has a voice that echoes truth in its tones. It is curious, to one acquainted with the written story, to mark the success with which the poet has inwoven the real incidents of the tragedy into his scenes, and yet, through the power of poetry, has obliterated all that would otherwise have shown too harsh or too hideous in the picture. His success was a double triumph ; and often after he was earnestly entreated to write ag-ain in a style that commanded popular favor, while it was not less instinct with truth and genius. But the bent of his mind went the other way ; and even -when employed on subjects whose interest depended on character and incident, he would start off in another direction, and leave the delineations of human passion, which he could depict in so able a manner, for fantas- tic creations of his fancy, or the expression of those opinions and sentiments with regard to human nature and its destiny, adesire to diffuse which was the master passion of his soul.' Though Shelley's references to the drama, in his correspondence, are many, they are rather concerned with the stage-production and publi- cation of it than with criticism. While still warm with its composition he wrote to Peacock, 4 My work on The Cenci, which was done in two months, was a fine antidote to nervous medicines and kept Tip, I think, the pain in my side as sticks do a fire. Since then I have ma- terially improved ; ' and in offering the dedica- tion to Leigh Hunt, he says, ' I have written something and finished it, different from any- thing else, and a new attempt for me ; and I mean to dedicate it to you. I should not have done so without your approbation, but I asked your picture last night, and it smiled assent. If I did not think it in some degree worthy of you, I would not make you a public offering of it. I expect to have to write to you soon about it. If Oilier is not turned Christian, Jew, or become infected with the Murrain, he will publish it. Don't let him be frightened, for it is nothing which by any courtesy of lan- guage can be termed either moral or immoral.' In letters to Oilier he describes it as ' calcu lated to produce a very popular effect,' ' ex- pressly written for theatrical exhibition.' and ' written for the multitude.' He doubtless had in mind, while using these phrases, its re- straint of style, in which it is unique among his longer works, and its freedom from abstract thought and the peculiar imagery in which he delighted. Its failure disappointed him, as it is the only one of his works from which he seems to have expected contemporary and popular success. ' The Cenci ought to have been popular,' he writes again to Oilier ; and the effect of continued neglect of his writings, in depressing his spirits, is shown in a letter the preceding day to Peacock, ' Nothing is more difficult and unwelcome than to write without a confidence of finding readers ; and if my play of The Cenci found none or few, I despair of ever producing anything that shall merit them.' Byron was ' loud in censure,' and Keats was critical, in the very point where criticism was perhaps least needed ; he wrote, acknowledging a gift copy, ' You, I am sure, will forgive me for sincerely remarking that you might curb your magnanimity, and be more of anartist. and load every rift of your subject with ore. The thought of such discipline must fall like cold chains upon you, who perhaps never sat w ; th your wings furled for six months together. And is not this extraordinary talk for the writer of Endymion, whose mind was like a pack of scattered cards ? ' Trelawny records bhelley's last, and most condensed judgment : ' In writing The Cenci my object was to see how I could succeed in describing passions I have never felt, and to tell the most dreadful story in pure and refined language. The image of Beatrice haunted me after seeing her portrait. The story is well authenticated, and the details far more horrible than I have painted them. The Cenci is a work of art ; it is not colored by my feelings nor obscured by my metaphysics. I don't think nn:ch of it. It gave me less trouble than anything I have written of the same length.' DEDICATION TO LEIGH HUNT, ESQ. MY DEAR FRIEND, I inscribe with your name, from a distant country, and after an ab- sence whose months have seemed years, this the latest of my literary efforts. Those writings which I have hitherto pub- lished have been little else than visions which impersonate my own apprehensions of the beau- tiful and the just. I can also perceive in them the literary defects incidental to youth and iin- AUTHOR'S PREFACE 209 patience ; they are dreams of what ought to be or may be. The drama which I now pre- sent to you is a sad reality. I lay aside the presumptuous attitude of an instructor and am content to paint, with such colors as my own heart furnishes, that which has been. Had I known a person more highly endowed than yoursalf with all that it becomes a man to possess, I had solicited for this work the ornament of his name. One more gentle, hon- orable, innocent and brave ; one of more ex- alted toleration for all who do and think evil, and yet himself more free from evil ; one who knows better how to receive and how to con- fer a benefit, though he must ever confer far more than he can receive ; one of simpler, and, in the highest sense of the word, of purer life and manners, I never knew ; and I had already been fortunate in friendships when your name was added to the list. In that patient and irreconcilable enmity with domestic and political tyranny and impos- ture which the tenor of your life has illus- trated, and which, had I health and talents, should illustrate mine, let us, comforting each other in our task, live and die. All happiness attend you ! Your affectionate friend, PEBCY B. SHELLEY. ROME, May 29, 1819. PREFACE A MANUSCRIPT was communicated to me during my travels in Italy, which was copied from the archives of the Cenci Palace at Rome and contains a detailed account of the horrors which ended in the extinction of one of the noblest and richest families of that city, during the Pontificate of Clement VIII., in the year 1599. The story is that an old man, having spent his life in debauchery and wickedness, conceived at length an implacable hatred towards his children ; which showed itself towards one daughter under the form of an in- cestuous passion aggravated by every circum- stance of cruelty and violence. This daughter, after long and vain attempts to escape from what she considered a perpetual contamination both of body and mind, at length plotted with her mother-in-law and brother to murder their common tvrant. The young maiden who was urged to this tremendous dead by an impulse which overpowered its horror was evidently a most gentle and amiable being, a creature formed to adorn and be admired, and thus vio- lently thwarted from her nature bvthe necessity of circumstance and opinion. The deed was quickly discovered, and, in spite of the most earnest prayers made to the Pope by the high- est persons in Rome, the criminals were put to death. The old man had during his life re- peatedly bought his pardon from the Pope for capital crimes of the most enormous and un- speakable kind at the price of a hundred thou- sand crowns ; the death therefore of his vic- tims can scarcely be accounted for by the love of justice. The Pope, among other motives for severity, probably felt that whoever killed the Count Cenci deprived his treasury of a certain and copious source of revenue. 1 Such a story, if told so as to present to the reader all the feelings of those who once acted it, their hopes and fears, their confidences and misgivings, their various interests, passions and opinions, acting upon and with each other yet all conspiring to one tremendous end, would be as a light to make apparent some of the most dark and secret caverns of the human heart. On my arrival at Rome I found that the story of the Cenci was a subject not to be mentioned in Italian society without awaken- ing a deep and breathless interest ; and that the feelings of the company never failed to in- cline to a romantic pity for the wrongs and a passionate exculpation of the horrible deed to which they urged her who has been mingled two centuries with tha common dust. All ranks of people knew the outlines of this his- tory and participated in the overwhelming in- terest which it seems to have the magic of ex- citing in the human heart. I had a copy of Guide's picture of Beatrice which is preserved in the Colonna Palace, and my servant instantly recognized it as the portrait of La Cenci. This national and universal interest which the story produces and has produced for two centuries and among all ranks of people in a great City, where the imagination is kept for- ever active and awake, first suggested to me the conception of its fitness for a dramatic purpose. In fact it is a tragedy which has al- ready received, from its capacity of awakening and sustaining the sympathy of men, appro- bation and success. Nothing remained as I im- agined but to clothe it to the apprehensions of my countrymen in such language and action as would bring it home to their hearts. The deepest and the sublimest tragic compositions, King Lear and the two plays in which the tale of CEdipus is told, were stories which already existed in tradition, as matters of popular belief and interest, before Shakespeare and Sophocles made them familiar to the sympa- thy of all succeeding generations of man- kind. This story of the Cenci is indeed eminently i The Papal Government formerly took the most ex- traordinary precautions against the publicity of facts which offer so tragical a demonstration of its own wick- edness and weakness ; so that the communication of the MS. had become, until very lately, a matter of some difficulty. 210 THE CENCI fearful and monstrous ; anything lika a dry exhibition of it on the stage would be insup- portable. The person who would treat such a subject must increase the ideal and diminish the actual horror of the events, so that the pleasure which arises from the poetry which exists in these tempestuous sufferings and crimes may mitigate the pain of the contem- plation of the moral deformity from which they spring. There must also be nothing at- tempted to make the exhibition subservient to what is vulgarly termed a moral purpose. The highest moral purpose aimed at in the highest species of the drama is the teaching the hu- man heart, through its sympathies and autipn- thies, the knowledge of itself ; in proportion to the possession of which knowledge every hu- man being is wise, just, sincere, tolerant and kind. If dogmas can do more, it is well : but a drama is no fit place for the enforcement of them. Undoubtedly no person can be truly dishonored by the act of another ; and the fit return to make to the most enormous injuries is kindness and forbearance and a resolution to convert the injurer from his dark passions by peace and love. Revenge, retaliation, atone- ment, are pernicious mistakes. If Beatrice had thought in this manner she would have been wiser and better ; but she would never have been a tragic character. The few whom each an exhibition would have interested could never have been sufficiently interested for a dramatic purpose, from the want of finding sympathy in their interest among the mass who surround them. It is in the restless and anatomizing casuistry with which men seek the justification of Beatrice, yet feel that she has done what needs justification ; it is in the superstitious horror with which they contem- plate alike her wrongs and their revenge, that the dramatic character of what she did and suffered, consists. I have endeavored as nearly as possible to represent the characters as they probably were, and have sought to avoid the error of making them actuated by my own conceptions of right or wrong, false or true : thus under a thin veil converting names and actions of the sixteenth century into cold impersonations of my own mind. They are represented as Catholics, and as Catholics deeply tinged with religion. To a Protestant apprehension there will appear something unnatural in the earnest and per- petual sentiment of the relations between God and men which pervade the tragedy of the Cenci. It will especially be startled at the combination of an undoubting persuasion of the truth of the popular religion with a cool and determined perseverance in enormous guilt. But religion in Italy is not, as in Protestant countries, a cloak to be worn on particular days ; or a passport which those who du not wish to be railed at carry with them to exhibit ; or a gloomy passion for penetrating the im- penetrable mysteries of our being, which terri- fies its possessor at the darkness of the abyss to the brink of which it has conducted him. Religion coexists, as it were, in the mind of an Italian Catholic, with a faith in that of which all men have the most certain knowledge. It is interwoven with the whole fabric of life. It is adoration, faith, submission, penitence, blind admiration ; not a rule for moral conduct. It has no necessary connection with any one vir- tue. The most atrocious villain may be rigidly devout, and without any shock to established faith confess himself to be so. Religion per- vades intensely the whole frame of society, and is, according to the temper of the mind which it inhabits, a passion, a persuasion, an excuse, a refuge ; never a check. Cenci himself built a chapel in the court of his Palace, and dedi- cated it to St. Thomas the Apostle, and estab- lished masses for the peace of his soul. Thus in the first scene of the fourth act Lucretia's design in exposing herself to the consequences of an expostulation with Cenci after having administered the opiate was to induce him by a feigned tale to confess himself before death, this being esteemed by Catholics as essential to salvation ; and she only relinquishes her purpose when she perceives that her persever- ance would expose Beatrice to new outrages. I have avoided with great care in writing this play the introduction of what is commonly called mere poetry, and I imagine there will scarcely be found a detached simile or a single isolated description, unless Beatrice's descrip- tion of the chasm appointed for her father's murder should be judged to be of that nature. 1 In a dramatic composition the imagery and the passion should interpenetrate one another, the former being reserved simply for the full development and illustration of the latter. Imagination is as the immortal God which should assume flesh for the redemption of mortal passion. It is thus that the most re- mote and the most familiar imagery may alike be fit for dramatic purposes when employed in the illustration of strong feeling, which raises what is low and levels to the apprehension that which is lofty, casting over all the shadow of its own greatness. In other respects I have written moro carelessly ; that is, without an overfastidious and learned choice of words. In this respect I entirely agree with those modern critics who assert that in order to move men to true sympathy we must use the J An idea in this speech wan snpppstfil by a moit Miblime passage in El Fnrei'ttnrio r/f S'in Patricia of Calderon; the only plagiarism which I have intention- ally committed in the whole piece. ACT I : SC. I THE CENCI 211 familiar language of men, and that our great ancestors the ancient English poets are the writers, a study of whom might incite us to do that for our own age which they have done for theirs. But it must be the real language of men in general and not that of any particular class to whose society the writer happens to belong. So much for what I have attempted ; I need not be assured that success is a very different matter ; particularly for one whose attention has but newly been awakened to the study of dramatic literature. I endeavored whilst at Rome to observe such monuments of this story as might be accessible to a stranger. The portrait of Beatrice at the Colonna Palace is admirable as a work of art ; it was taken by Guido during her confinement in prison. But it is most interesting as a just representation of one of the loveliest specimens of the workmanship of Nature. There is a fixed and pale composure upon the features ; she seems sad and stricken down in spirit, yet the despair thus expressed is lightened by the patience of gentleness. Her head is bound with folds of white drapery from which the yellow strings of her golden hair escape and fall about her neck. The moulding of her face is exquisitely delicate; the eyebrows are distinct and arched ; the lips have that perma- nent meaning of imagination and sensibility which suffering has not repressed and which it seems as if death scarcely could extinguish. Her forehead is large and clear ; her eyes, which we are told were remarkable for their vivacity, are swollen with weeping and lustre- THE CENCI DRAMATIS PERSONS ANDREA, Servant to CENCI. NOBLES. JUDGES. GUARDS. SERVANTS. LUCRETIA, Wife of CBNCI and Stepmo- ther of his children. BEATRICE, his Daugh- COUNT FRANCESCO CENCI. GIACOHO, I , . Q BERNARDO, I 3 &on8 ' CARDINAL CAMILLO. PRINCE COLONNA. ORSINO, a Prelate. SAVELLA, the Pope's Legate. OLIMPIO, ) AasaaainB . MABZIO, I Assassms. - The SCENE lies principally in Rome, but changes dur- ing the fourth Act to Pretrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines. TIME. During the Pontificate of Clament VIII. ACT I SCENE I. An Apartment in the CENCI Palace. Enter COUNT CENCI and CARDINAL CA- THAT matter of the murder is hushed up If you consent to yield his Holiness less, but beautifully tender and serene. In the whole mien there is a simplicity and dignity which, united with her exquisite loveliness and deep sorrow, are inexpressibly pathetic. Bea- trice Cenci appears to have been one of those rare persons in whom energy and gentleness dwell together without destroying one another ; her nature was simple and profound. The crimes and miseries in which she was an actor and a sufferer are as the mask and the mantle in which circumstances clothed her for her impersonation on the scene of the world. The Cenci Palace is of great extent ; and, though in part modernized, there yet remains a vast and gloomy pile of feudal architecture in the same state as during the dreadful scenes which are the subject of this tragedy. The Palace is situated in an obscure corner of Rome, near the quarter of the Jews, and from the upper windows you see the immense ruins of Mount Palatine half hidden under their profuse overgrowth of trees. There is a court in one part of the Palace (perhaps that in which Cenei built the Chapel to St. Thomas), supported by granite columns and adorned with antique friezes of fine workmanship, and built up, according to the ancient Italian fashion, with balcony over balcony of openwork. One of the gates of the Palace formed of immense stones and leading through a passage, dark and lofty and opening into gloomy subterra- nean chambers, struck me particularly. Of the Castle of Petrella, I could obtain no further information than that which is to be found in the manuscript. Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate. It needed all my interest in the conclave To bend him to this point; he said that you Bought perilous impunity with your gold; That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded Enriched the Church, and respited from hell An erring soul which might repent and live; But that the glory and the interest 10 Of the high throne he fills little consist With making it a daily mart of guilt As manifold and hideous as the deeds Which you scarce hide from men's re- volted eyes. The third of my possessions let it go ! Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope Had sent his architect to view the ground, Meaning to build a villa on my vines The next time I compounded with his uncle. I little thought he should outwit me so ! 20 212 THE CENCI ACT I : SC. I Henceforth no witness not the lamp shall see That which the vassal threatened to divulge, Whose throat is choked with dust for his reward. The deed he saw could not have rated higher Thau his most worthless life it angers me ! Respited me from Hell ! So may the Devil Respite their souls from Heaven ! No doubt Pope Clement, And his most charitable nephews, pray That the Apostle Peter and the saints Will grant for their sake that I long enjoy 30 Strength, wealth, and pride, and lust, and length of days Wherein to act the deeds which are the stewards Of their revenue. But much yet remains To which they show no title. Oh, Count Cenci ! So much that thou mightst honorably live And reconcile thyself with thine own heart And with thy God and with the offended world. How hideously look deeds of lust and blood Through those snow-white and venerable hairs ! Tour children should be sitting round you now 40 But that you fear to read upon their looks The shame and misery you have written there. Where is your wife ? Where is your gentle daughter ? Methinks her sweet looks, which make all things else Beauteous and glad, might kill the fiend within you. Why is she barred from all society But her own strange and uncomplaining wrongs ? Talk with me, Count, you know I mean you well. I stood beside your dark and fiery youth, Watching its bold and bad career, as men 50 Watch meteors, but it vanished not; I marked Your desperate and remorseless manhood ; now Do I behold you in dishonored age Charged with a thousand uurepeuted crimes. Yet I have ever hoped you would amend, And in that hope have saved your life three times. For which Aldobrandino owes you now My fief beyond the Piiician. Cardinal, One thing, I pray you, recollect henceforth, And so we shall converse with less re- straint. 60 A man you knew spoke of my wife and daughter; He was accustomed to frequent my house ; So the next day his wife and daughter came And asked if I had seen him; and I smiled. I think they never saw him any more. CAMILLO Thou execrable man, beware ! CEJTCI Of thee ? Nay, this is idle. We should know each other. As to my character for what men call crime, Seeing I please my senses as I list, And vindicate that right with force or guile, 7 o It is a public matter, and I care not If I discuss it with you. I may speak Alike to you and my own conscious heart, For you give out that you have half re- formed me; Therefore strong vanity will keep you silent, If fear should not; both will, I do not doubt. All men delight in sensual luxury; All men enjoy revenge, and most exult Over the tortures they can never feel, Flattering their secret peace with others' pain. go But I delight in nothing else. I love The sight of agony, and the sense of joy, When this shall be another's and that mine; And I have no remorse and little fear, Which are, I think, the checks of other men. This mood has grown upon me, until now Any design my captious fancy makes The picture of its wish and it forms none ACT I : SC. i THE CENCI 213 But such as men like you would start to know Is as my natural food and rest debarred 90 Until it be accomplished. CAMILLO Art thou not Most miserable ? Why miserable ? No. I am what your theologians call Hardened; which they must be in impu- dence, So to revile a man's peculiar taste. True, I was happier than I am, while yet Manhood remained to act the thing I thought, While lust was sweeter than revenge; and now Invention palls. Ay, we must all grow old. And but that there remains a deed to act Whose horror might make sharp an appe- tite 101 Duller than mine I 'd do, I know not what. When I was young I thought of nothing else But pleasure; and I fed on honey sweets. Men, by St. Thomas ! cannot live like bees, And I grew tired; yet, till I killed a foe, And heard his groans, and heard his chil- dren's groans, Knew I not what delight was else on earth, Which now delights me little. I the rather Look on such pangs as terror ill conceals The dry, fixed eyeball, the pale, quivering lip, in Which tell me that the spirit weeps within Tears bitterer than the bloody sweat of Christ. I rarely kill the body, which preserves, Like a strong prison, the soul within my power, Wherein I feed it with the breath of fear For hourly pain. CAMILLO Hell's most abandoned fiend Did never, in the drunkenness of guilt, Speak to his heart as now you speak to me. I thank my God that I believe you not. 120 Enter ANDREA ANDKEA My Lord, a gentleman from Salamanca Wot speak with you. CENCI In the grand saloon. Bid him attend me [Exit ANDKEA. Fare well; 'and I will pray Almighty God that thy false, impious words Tempt not his spirit to abandon thee. [Exit CAMILLO. The third of my possessions ! I must use Close husbandry, or gold, the old man's sword, Falls from my withered hand. But yester- day There came an order from the Pope to make Fourfold provision for my cursed sons, 130 Whom I had sent from Rome to Salamanca, Hoping some accident might cut them off, And meaning, if I could, to starve them there. I pray thee, God, send some quick death upon them ! Bernardo and my wife could not be worse If dead and damned. Then, as to Bea- trice [Looking around him suspiciously. I think they cannot hear me at that door. What if they should ? And yet I need not speak, Though the heart triumphs with itself in words. 139 O thou most silent air, that shalt not hear What now I think ! Thou pavement which I tread Towards her chamber, let your echoes talk Of my imperious step, scorning surprise, But not of my intent ! Andrea ! Enter ANDREA ANDKEA My Lord ? CENCI Birl Beatrice attend me in her chamber This evening: no, at midnight and alone. [Exeunt 214 THE CENCI ACT I -. SC. II SCENE II. A Garden of the Cenci Palace. Enter BEATRICE and OKSINO, as in conversa- tion. BEATRICE Pervert not truth, Orsiuo. You remember where we held That conversation; nay, we see the spot Even from this cypress; two long years are passed Since, on an April midnight, underneath The moonlight ruins of Mount Palatine, I did confess to you my secret mind. OKSINO You said you loved me then. BEATRICE You are a priest. Speak to me not of love. I may obtain The dispensation of the Pope to marry. 10 Because I am a priest do you believe Your image, as the hunter some struck deer, Follows me not whether I wake or sleep ? BEATRICE As I have said, speak to me not of love; Had you a dispensation, I have not; Nor will I leave this home of misery Whilst my poor Bernard, and that gentle lady To whom I owe life and these virtuous thoughts, Must suffer what I still have strength to share. Alas, Orsino ! All the love that once 20 T felt for you is turned to bitter pain. Ours was a youthful contract, which you first Broke by assuming vows no Pope will loose. And thus I love you still, but holily, Even as a sister or a spirit might; And so I swear a cold fidelity. And it is well perhaps we shall not marry. You have a sly, equivocating vein That suits me not. Ah, wretched that I am ! Where shall I turn ? Even now you look on me 30 As you were not my friend, and as if you Discovered that I thought so, with false smiles Making my true suspicion seem your wrong. Ah, no, forgive me; sorrow makes me seem Sterner than else my nature might have been; I have a weight of melancholy thoughts, And they forebode, but what can they forebode Worse than I now endure ? ORSINO All will be welL Is the petition yet prepared ? You know My zeal for all you wish, sweet Beatrice; 40 Doubt not but I will use my utmost skill So that the Pope attend to your complaint. BEATRICE Your zeal for all I wish. Ah me, you are cold! Your utmost skill speak but one word (Aside) Alas ! Weak and deserted creature that I am, Here I stand bickering with my only friend ! (To ORSINO) This night my father gives a sumptuous feast, Orsino; he has heard some happy news From Salamanca, from my brothers there, And with this outward show of love he mocks 50 His inward hate. 'T is bold hypocrisy, For he would gladlier celebrate their deaths, Which I have heard him pray for on his knees. Great God ! that such a father should be mine 1 But there is mighty preparation made, And all our kin, the Cenci, will be there, And all the chief nobility of Rome. And he has bidden me and my pale mother Attire ourselves in festival array. 59 Poor lady ! she expects some happy change In his dark spirit from this act; 1 none. At supper I will give you the petition; Till when farewell. Farewell. [Exit BEATRICE. I know the Pope Will ne'er absolve me from my priestly vow But by absolving me from the revenue ACT I SC. Ill THE CENCI Of many a wealthy see; and, Beatrice, I think to win thee at an easier rate. Nor shall he read her eloquent petition. He might bestow her on some poor relation Of his sixth cousin, as he did her sister, 70 And I should be debarred from all access. Then as to what she suffers from her father, In all this there is much exaggeration. Old men are testy, and will have their way. A man may stab his enemy, or his vassal, And live a free life as to wine or women, And with a peevish temper may return To a dull home, and rate his wife and chil- dren; Daughters and wives call this foul tyranny. I shall be well content if on my conscience There rest no heavier sin than what they suffer 8 1 From the devices of my love a net From which she shall escape not. Yet I fear Her subtle mind, her awe-inspiring gaze, Whose beams anatomize me, nerve by nerve, And lay me bare, and make me blush to see My hidden thoughts. Ah, no ! a friend- less girl Who clings to me, as to her only hope ! I were a fool, not less than if a panther 8g Were panic-stricken by the antelope's eye, If she escape me. {Exit. SCENE III. A magnificent Hall in the Cenci Palace. A Banquet. Enter CENCI, Lu- CBETIA, BEATRICE, ORSINO, CAMILLO, NO- BLES. CENCI Welcome, my friends and kinsmen; wel- come ye, Princes and Cardinals, pillars of the church, Whose presence honors our festivity. I have too long lived like an anchorite, And in my absence from your merry meet- ings An evil word is gone abroad of me; But I do hope that you, my noble friends, When you have shared the entertainment here, And heard the pious cause for which 't is given, And we have pledged a health or two to- gether, 10 Will think me flesh and blood as well as you; Sinful indeed, for Adam made all so, But tender-hearted, meek and pitiful. FIRST GUEST In truth, my Lord, you seem too light of heart, Too sprightly and companionable a man, To act the deeds that rumor pins on you. [To his companion* I never saw such blithe and open cheer In any eye ! SECOND GUEST Some most desired event, In which we all demand a common joy, Has brought us hither; let us hear it, Count. 20 It is indeed a most desired event. If when a parent from a parent's heart Lifts from this earth to the great Father of all A prayer, both when he lays him down to sleep, And when he rises up from dreaming it; One supplication, one desire, one hope, That he would grant a wish for his two sons, Even all that he demands in their regard, And suddenly beyond his dearest hope 29 It is accomplished, he should then rejoice, And call his friends and kinsmen to a feast, And task their love to grace his merri- ment, Then honor me thus far, for I am he. BEATRICE (to LUCRETIA) Great God ! How horrible ! some dreadful ill Must have befallen my brothers. LUCRETIA He speaks too frankly. Fear not, child, BEATRICE Ah ! My blood runs cold. I fear that wicked laughter round his eye, Which wrinkles up the skin even to the hair. 2l6 THE CENCI ACT i : sc. in CENCI Here are the letters brought from Sala- manca. 39 Beatrice, read them to your mother. God ! I thank thee ! In one night didst thou perform, By ways inscrutable, the thing I sought. My disobedient and rebellious sons Are dead ! Why, dead ! What means this change of cheer? You hear me not I tell you they are dead; And they will need no food or raiment more; The tapers that did light them the dark way Are their last cost. The Pope, I think, will not Expect I should maintain them in their coffins. Rejoice with me my heart is wondrous glad. 5 o BEATRICE (LUCRETIA sinks, half fainting ; BEATRICE supports her) It is not true ! Dear Lady, pray look tip. Had it been true there is a God in Hea- ven He would not live to boast of such a boon. Unnatural man, thou knowest that it is false. CENCI Ay, as the word of God; whom here I call To witness that I speak the sober truth ; And whose most favoring providence was shown Even in the manner of their deaths. For Rocco Was kneeling at the mass, with sixteen others, When the church fell and crushed him to a mummy; 60 The rest escaped unhurt. Cristofano Was stabbed in error by a jealous man, Whilst she he loved was sleeping with his rival, All in the self-samo hour of the same night; Which shows that Heaven has special care of me. I beg those friends who love me that they mark The day a feast upon their calendars. It was the twenty- seventh of December. Ay, read the letters if yon doubt my oath. [The assembly appears confused; several oj the guests rise. FIRST GUEST Oh, horrible ! I will depart. SECOND GUEST And I. THIRD GUEST No, stay ! I do believe it is some jest ; though, faith ! 'T is mocking us somewhat too solemnly. 71 I think his son has married the Infanta, Or found a mine of gold in El Dorado. 'Tis but to season some such news; stay, stay ! I see 't is only raillery by his smile. CENCI ( filling a bowl of wine, and lifting it up) O thou bright wine, whose purple splendor leaps And bubbles gayly in this golden bowl Under the lamp-light, as my spirits do, To hear the death of my accursed sons ! ?o Could I believe thou wert their mingled blood, Then would I taste thee like a sacrament, And pledge with thee the mighty Devil in Hell, Who, if a father's curses, as men say, Climb with swift wings after their chil- dren's souls, And drag them from the very throne of Heaven, Now triumphs in my triumph ! But then art Superfluous; I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine to-night. Here, Andrea ! Bear the bowl around. 90 A GUEST (rising) Thou wretch ! Will none among this noble company Check the abandoned villain ? CAMILLO For God's sake, Let me dismiss the guests ! You are in- sane. Some ill will come of this. SECOND GUEST Seize, silence him I ACT I : SC. Ill THE CENCI 217 I will ! FIKST GUEST THIRD GUEST And I ! CENCI (addressing those who rise with a threat- ening gesture) Who moves ? Who speaks ? [Turning to the company. 'T is nothing, Enjoy yourselves. Beware ! for my re- venge Is as the sealed commission of a king, That kills, and none dare name the mur- derer. [The Banquet is broken up; several of the Guests are departing. BEATRICE I do entreat you, go not, noble guests; 99 What although tyranny and impious hate Stand sheltered by a father's hoary hair ? What if 't is he who clothed us in thes'e limbs Who tortures them, and triumphs ? What, if we, The desolate and the dead, were his own flesh, His children and his wife, whom he is bound To love and shelter ? Shall we therefore find No refuge in this merciless wide world ? Oh, think what deep wrongs must have blotted out First love, then reverence, in a child's prone mind, Till it thus vanquish shame and fear ! Oh, think ! 1 10 I have borne much, and kissed the sacred hand Which crushed us to the earth, and thought its stroke Was perhaps some paternal chastisement ! Have excused much, doubted; and when no doubt Remained, have sought by patience, love and tears To soften him; and when tbis could not be, I have knelt down through the long sleep- less nights, And lifted up to God. the father of all, Passionate prayers; and when these were not heard, 119 I have still borne, until I meet you here, Princes and kinsmen, at this hideous feast Given at my brothers' deaths. Two yet remain; His wife remains and I, whom if ye save not, Ye may soon share such merriment again As fathers make over their children's graves. Oh ! Prince Colonna, thou art our near kinsman; Cardinal, thou art the Pope's chamberlain; Camillo, thou art chief justiciary; Take us away ! CENCI (he Ja> been conversing with CAMILLO during the first part of BEATRICE'S speech ; he hears the conclusion, and now advances) I hope my good friends here Will think of their own daughters or perhaps 130 Of their own throats before they lend an ear To this wild girl. BEATRICE (not noticing the words of CENCI) Dare no one look on me ? None answer ? Can one tyrant overbear The sense of many best and wisest men ? Or is it that I sue not in some form Of scrupulous law that ye deny my suit ? Oh, God ! that I were buried with my brothers ! And that the flowers of this departed spring Were fading on my grave ! and that my father Were celebrating now one feast for all ! 140 CAMILLO A bitter v/ish for one so young and gentle. Can we do nothing ? COLONNA Nothing that I see Count Cenci were a dangerous enemy; Yet I would second any one. A CARDINAL And I. CENCI Retire to your chamber, insolent girl ! BEATRICE Retire thou, impious man ! Ay, hide thyself Where never eye can look upon thee more I 2l8 THE CENCI ACT ii : sc. Wouldst tbou have honor and obedieuce, Who art a torturer ? Father, never dream, Though thou mayst overbear this com- pany, 150 But ill must come of ill. Frown not on me ! Haste, hide thyself, lest with avenging looks My brothers' ghosts should hunt thee from thy seat ! Cover thy face from every living eye, And start if thou but hear a human step; Seek out some dark and silent corner there Bow thy white head before offended God, And we will kneel around, and fervently Pray that he pity both ourselves and thee. My friends, I do lament this insane girl 160 Has spoiled the mirth of our festivity. Good night, farewell; I will not make you longer Spectators of our dull domestic quarrels. Another time. [Exeunt all but CENCI and BEATRICE. My brain is swimming round. Give me a bowl of wine ! (To BEATRICE) Thou painted viper ! Beast that thou art ! Fair and yet terri- ble ! I know a charm shall make thee meek and tame, Now get thee from my sight ! [Exit BEATRICE. Here, Andrea, Fill up this goblet with Greek wine. I said I would not drink this evening, but I must; 170 For, strange to say, I feel my spirits fail With thinking what I have decreed to do. (Drinking the wine) Be thou the resolution of quick youth Within my veins, and manhood's purpose stern, And age's firm, cold, subtle villainy; As if thou wert indeed my children's blood Which I did thirst to drink 1 The charm works well. !*/ must be done; it shall be done, I swear ! \Exit. ACT II SCENE I. An Apartment in the Cenci Palace Enter LUCRJ-.TIA and BERNARDO. LUCRETIA WEEP not, my gentle boy; he struck but me, Who have borne deeper wrongs. In truth, if he Had killed me, he had done a kinder deed. God Almighty, do thou look upon us, We have no other friend but only thee ! Yet weep not; though I love you as my own, 1 am not your true mother. BERNARDO Oh, more, more Than ever mother was to any child, That have you been to me ! Had he not been My father, do you think that I should weep ? jo Alas ! poor boy, what else couldst thou have done ! Enter BEATRICE BEATRICE (in a hurried voic*) Did he pass this way ? Have you seen him, brother ? Ah, no ! that is his step upon the stairs; 'Tis nearer now; his hand is on the door; Mother, if I to thee have ever been A duteous child, now save me ! Thou, great God, Whose image upon earth a father is, Dost thou indeed abandon me ? He comes; The door is opening now; I see his face; 19 He frowns on others, but he smiles on me, Even as he did after the feast last night. Enter a Servant Almighty God, how merciful thou art ! 'T is but Orsino's servant. Well, what news? SERVANT My master bids me say the Holy Father Has sent back your petition thus unopened. (Giving a paper) ACT II : SC. I THE CENCI 219 And be demands at what hour 't were secure To visit you again ? LUCRETIA At the Ave Mary. [Exit Servant. So, daughter, our last hope has failed. Ah me, How pale you look ! you tremble, and you stand Wrapped in some fixed and fearful medita- tion, 30 As if one thought were overstrong for you ; Your eyes have a chill glare; oh, dearest child ! Are you gone mad ? If not, pray speak to me. BEATRICE You see I am not mad; I speak to you. LUCRETIA You talked of something that your father did After that dreadful feast ? Could it be worse Than when he smiled, and cried, ' My sons are dead ! ' And every one looked in his neighbor's face To see if others were as white as he ? 39 At the first word he spoke I felt the blood Rush to my heart, and fell into a trance; And when it passed I sat all weak and wild; Whilst you alone stood up, and with strong words Checked his unnatural pride; and I could see The devil was rebuked that lives in him. Until this hour thus you have ever stood Between us and your father's moody wrath Like a protecting presence ; your firm mind Has been our only refuge and defence. What can have thus subdued it ? What can now 5 o Have given you that cold melancholy look, Succeeding to your unaccustomed fear ? BEATRICE What is it that you say ? I was just think- ing 'T were better not to struggle any more. Men, like my father, have been dark and bloody; Yet never oh ! before worse comes of it, 'T were wise to die; it ends in that at last. LUCRETIA Oh, talk not so, dear child ! Tell me at once What did your father do or say to you ? He stayed not after that accursed feast 60 One moment in your chamber. Speak to me. BERNARDO Oh, sister, sister, prithee, speak to us ! BEATRICE (speaking very slowly, with a forced calmness) It was one word, mother, one little word; One look, one smile. (Wildly) Oh ! he has trampled me Under his feet, and made the blood stream down My .pallid cheeks. And he has given us all Ditch-water, and the fever-stricken flesh Of buffaloes, and bade us eat or starve, And we have eaten. He has made me look On my beloved Bernardo, when the rust 70 Of heavy chains has gangrened his sweet limbs ; And I have never yet despaired but now ! What would I say? (Recovering herself) Ah, no ! 't is nothing new. The sufferings we all share have made me wild; He only struck and cursed me as he passed; He said, he looked, he did, nothing at all Beyond his wont, yet it disordered me. Alas ! I am forgetful of my duty; I should preserve my senses for your sake. LUCRETIA Nay, Beatrice; have courage, my sweet girl. go If any one despairs it should be I, Who loved him once, and now must live with him Till God in pity call for him or me. For you may, like your sister, find some husband, And smile, years hence, with children round your knees; 220 THE CENCI ACT II : SC. I Whilst I, then dead, and all this hideous coil, Shall be remembered only as a dream. Talk not to me, dear Lady, of a husband. Did you not nurse uie when my mother died? Did you not shield me and that dearest boy ? 90 And had we any other friend but you In infancy, with gentle words and looks, To win our father not to murder us ? And shall I now desert you ? May the ghost Of my dead mother plead against my soul, If I abandon her who filled the place She left, with more, even, than a mother's love ! BERNARDO And I am of my sister's mind. Indeed I would not leave you in this wretched- ness, Even though the Pope should make me free to live too In some blithe place, like others of my age, With sports, and delicate food, and the fresh air. Oh, never think that I will leave you, mo- ther ! LUCRETIA My dear, dear children ! Enter CENCI, suddenly CENCI What ! Beatrice here ! Come hither ! [She shrinks back, and covers her face. Nay, hide not your face, 't is fair; Look up ! Why, yesternight you dared to look With disobedient insolence upon me, Bending a stern and an inquiring brow On what I meant; whilst I then sought to hide That which I came to tell you but in vain. 1 10 BEATRICE (wildly staggering towards the door) Oh, that the earth would gape I Hide me, OGodf CENCI Then it was I whose inarticulate words Fell from my lips, and who with tottering steps Fled from your presence, as you now from mine. Stay, I command you ! From this day and hour Never again, I think, with fearless eye, And brow superior, and unaltered cheek, And that lip made for tenderness or scorn, Shalt thou strike dumb the meanest of mankind; Me least of all. Now get thee to thy chamber! 120 Thou too, loathed image of thy cursed mother, ( To BERNARDO) Thy milky, meek face makes me sick with hate ! [Exeunt BEATRICE and BERNARDO. (Aside) So much has passed between us as must make Me bold, her fearful. 'T is an awful thing To touch such mischief as I now conceive; So men sit shivering on the dewy bank And try the chill stream with their feet; once in How the delighted spirit pants for joy ! LOCRETIA (advancing timidly towards him) O husband ! pray forgive poor Beatrice. She meant not any ill. CENCI Nor you perhaps ? Nor that young imp, whom you have taught by rote 13 1 Parricide with his alphabet ? nor Giacomo? Nor those two most unnatural sons who stirred Enmity up against me with the Pope ? Whom in one night merciful God cut off. Innocent lambs! They thought not any ill. You were not here conspiring ? you said nothing Of how I might be dungeoned as a mad- man; Or be condemned to death for some offence, And you would be the witnesses ? This failing, 140 ACT II : SC. II THE CENCI 221 How just it were to hire assassins, or Put sudden poison in my evening drink ? Or smother me when overcome by wine ? Seeing we had no other judge but God, And he had sentenced me, and there were none But you to be the executioners Of his decree enregistered in heaven ? Oh, no ! Yon said not this ? LUCRETIA So help me God, I never thought the things you charge me with ! 149 CENCI If you dare to speak that wicked lie again, I '11 kill you. What ! it was not by your counsel That Beatrice disturbed the feast last night ? You did not hope to stir some enemies Against me, and escape, and laugh to scorn What every nerve of you now trembles at? You judged that men were bolder than they are; Few dare to stand between their grave and me. Look not so dreadfully ! By my salvation I knew not aught that Beatrice designed; Nor do I think she designed anything 160 Until she heard you talk of her dead bro- thers. CENCI Blaspheming liar ! you era damned for this ! But I will take you where you may per- suade The stones you tread on to deliver you; For men shall there be none but those who dare All things not question that which I command. On Wednesday next I shall set out; you know That savage rock, the Castle of Petrella; 'T is safely walled, and moated round about; Its dungeons under ground and its thick towers 170 Never told tales; though they have heard and seen What might make dumb things speak. Why do you linger ? Make speediest preparation for the jour- ney ! [Exit LUCRETIA, The all-beholding sun yet shines ; I hear A busy stir of men about the streets; I see the bright sky through the window panes. It is a garish, broad, and peering day; Loud, light, suspicious, full of eyes and ears; And every little corner, nook, and hole, Is penetrated with the insolent light. 180 Come, darkness ! Yet, what is the day to me? And wherefore should I wish for night, who do A deed which shall confound both night and day ? 'T is she shall grope through a bewildering mist Of horror; if there be a sun in heaven, She shall not dare to look upon its beams; Nor feel its warmth. Let her, then, wish for night; The act I think shall soon extinguish all For me; I bear a darker, deadlier gloom Than the earth's shade, or interlunar air, Or constellations quenched in murkiest cloud, 191 In which I walk secure and mibeheld Towards my purpose. Would that it were done ! [Exit. SCENE II. A Chamber in the Vatican. Enter CAMILLO and GIACOMO, in conversation. CAMILLO There is an obsolete and doubtful law By which you might obtain a bare provision Of food and clothing. GIACOMO Nothing more ? Alas ! Bare must be the provision which strict law Awards, and aged sullen avarice pays. Why did my father not apprentice me To some mechanic trade ? I should have then Been trained in no highborn necessities Which I could meet not by my daily toil. The eldest son of a rich nobleman 10 222 THE CENCI ACT II : SC. II Is heir to all bis incapacities; He has wide wants, and narrow powers. If you, Cardinal Camillo, were reduced at once From thrice-driven beds of down, and deli- cate food, An hundred servants, and six palaces, To that which nature doth indeed re- quire ? CAMILLO Nay, there is reason in your plea; 't were hard. 'T is hard for a firm man to bear ; but I Have a dear wife, a lady of high birth, Whose dowry in ill hour I lent my father, Without a bond or witness to the deed; 21 And children, who inherit her fine senses, The fairest creatures in this breathing world ; And she and they reproach me not. Cardi- nal, Do you not think the Pope will interpose And stretch authority beyond the law ? Though your peculiar case is hard, I know The Pope will not divert the course of law. After that impious feast the other night I spoke with him, and urged him then to check 30 Your father's cruel hand; he frowned and said, ' Children are disobedient, and they sting Their fathers' hearts to madness and de- spair, Requiting years of care with contumely. I pity the Count Cenci from my heart; His outraged love perhaps awakened hate, And thus he is exasperated to ill. In the great war between the old and young, I, who have white hairs and a tottering body, Will keep at least blameless neutrality.' 40 Enter ORSINO You, my good lord Orsiuo, heard those words. What words ? ORSINO OIACOMO Alas, repeat them not again ! There then is no redress for me; at least None but that which I may achieve myself, Since I am driven to the brink. But, say, My innocent sister and my only brother Are dying underneath my father's eye. The memorable torturers of this land, Galeaz Visconti, Borgia, Ezzelin, Never inflicted on their meanest slave 50 What these endure; shall they have no protection ? CAMILLO Why, if they would petition to the Pope, I see not how he could refuse it; yet He holds it of most dangerous example In aught to weaken the paternal power, Being, as 't were, the shadow of his own. I pray you now excuse me. I have busi- ness That will not bear delay. [Exit CAMILLO. GIACOMO But you, Orsino, Have the petition; wherefore not present it ? I have presented it, and backed it with 60 My earnest prayers and urgent interest; It was returned unanswered. I doubt not But that the strange and execrable deeds Alleged in it in truth thay might well baffle Any belief have turned the Pope's dis- pleasure Upon the accusers from the criminal. So I should guess from what Camillo said. GIACOMO My friend, that palace-walking devil, Gold, Has whispered silence to His Holiness; And we are left, as scorpions ringed with fire. 70 What should we do but strike ourselves to death ? For he who is our murderous persecutor Is shielded by a father's holy name, Or I would [Steps abruptly. ORSINO What ? Fear not to speak your thought. Words are but holy as the deeds they cover; A priest who has forsworn the God he serves, A judge who makes Truth weep at his de- cree, ACT II : SC. II THE CENCI 223 A friend who should weave counsel, as I now, But as the mantle of some selfish guile, A father who is all a tyrant seems, 80 Were the profaiier for his sacred name. GIACOMO Ask me not what I think; the unwilling brain Feigns often what it would not; and we trust Imagination with such fantasies As the tongue dares not fashion into words Which have no words, their horror makes them dim To the mind's eye. My heart denies itself To think what you demand. But a friend's bosom Is as the inmost cave of our own mind, Where we sit shut from the wide gaze of day 90 And from the all-communicating air. You look what I suspected GIACOMO Spare me now ! I am as one lost in a midnight wood, Who dares not ask some harmless passen- ger The path across the wilderness, lest he, As my thoughts are, should be a mur- derer. I know you are my friend, and all I dare Speak to my soul that will I trust with thee. But now my heart is heavy, and would take Lone counsel from a night of sleepless care. 100 Pardon me that I say farewell farewell ! I would that to my own suspected self I could address a word so full 9f peace. Farewell ! Be your thoughts better or more bold. [Exit GIACOMO. I had disposed the Cardinal Camillo To feed his hope with cold encouragement. It fortunately serves my close designs That 't is a trick of this same family To analyze their own and other minds. Such self-anatomy shall teach the will no Dangerous secrets; for it tempts our powers, Knowing what must be thought, and may be done, Into the depth of darkest purposes. So Cenci fell into the pit; even I, Since Beatrice unveiled me to myself, And made me shrink from what I cannot shun, Show a poor figure to my own esteem, To which I grow half reconciled. I '11 do As little mischief as I can; that thought Shall fee the accuser conscience. (After a pause) Now what harm If Cenci should be murdered? Yet, if murdered, 121 Wherefore by me ? And what if I could take The profit, yet omit the sin and peril In such an action ? Of all earthly things I fear a man whose blows outspeed his words; And such is Cenci; and, while Cenci lives, His daughter's dowry were a secret grave If a priest wins her. O fair Beatrice ! Would that I loved thee not, or, loving thee, Could but despise danger and gold and all 130 That frowns between my wish and its effect, Or smiles beyond it! There is no escape; Her bright form kneels beside me at the altar, And follows me to the resort of men, And fills my slumber with tumultuous dreams, So when I wake my blood seems liquid fire; And if I strike my damp and dizzy head, My hot palm scorches it; her very name, But spoken by a stranger, makes my heart Sicken and pant; and thus unprofitably 140 I clasp the phantom of unfelt delights Till weak imagination half possesses The self-created shadow. Yet much longer Will I not nurse this life of feverous hours. From the unravelled hopes of Giacomo I must work out my own dear purposes. I see, as from a tower, the end of all: Her father dead; her brother bound to me By a dark secret, surer than the grave ; Her mother scared and unexpostulating 150 224 THE CENCI ACT III : SC. I From the dread manner of her wish achieved ; And she ! Once more take courage, my faint heart; What dares a friendless maiden matched with thee ? I have such foresight as assures success. Some unbeheld divinity doth ever, When dread events are near, stir up men's minds To black suggestions; and he prospers best, Not who becomes the instrument of ill, But who can flatter the dark spirit that makes Its empire and its prey of other hearts 160 Till it become his slave as I will do. [Exit. ACT III SCENE I. An Apartment in the Cenci Palace. LUCRETIA ; to her enter BEATRICE. BEATRICE (she enters staggering and speaks wildly) REACH me that handkerchief ! My brain is hurt; My eyes are full of blood; just wipe them for me I see but indistinctly. LUCRETIA My sweet child, You have no wound; 't is only a cold dew That starts from your dear brow. Alas, alas ! What has befallen ? BEATRICE How comes this hair undone ? Its wandering strings must be what blind me so, And yet I tied it fast. Oh, horrible ! The pavement sinks under my feet ! The walls Spin round ! I see a woman weeping there, 10 And standing calm and motionless, whilst I Slide giddily as the world reels. My God ! The beautiful blue heaven is flecked with blood! The sunshine on the floor is black ! The air Is changed to vapors such as the dead breathe In charnel-pits ! Pah ! I am choked ! There creeps A clinging, black, contaminating mist About me 't is substantial, heavy, thick ; I cannot pluck it from me, for it glues My fingers and my limbs to one another, 20 And eats into my sinews, and dissolves My flesh to a pollution, poisoning The subtle, pure, and inmost spirit of life ! My God ! I never knew what the mad felt Before ; for I am mad beyond all doubt ! (More wildly) No, I am dead ! These putrefying limbs Shut round and sepulchre the panting soul Which would burst forth into the wander- ing air ! (A pause) What hideous thought was that I had even now ? 29 'Tis gone; and yet its burden remains here O'er these dull eyes upon this weary heart ! world ! O life ! O day! O misery ! LUCRETIA What ails thee, my poor child ? She an- swers not. Her spirit apprehends the sense of pain, But not its cause; suffering has dried away The source from which it sprung. BEATRICE (frantically) Like Parricide Misery has killed its father; yet its father Never like mine O God! what thing am I? LUCRETIA My dearest child, what has your father done ? BEATRICE (doubtfully) Who art thou, questioner ? I have no father. 40 [Aside. She is the madhouse nurse who tends on me, It is a piteous office. (To LUCRETIA, in a slow, subdued voice) Do you know, 1 thought I was that wretched Beatrice Men speak of, whom her father sometimes bales ACT III: SC. I THE CENCI 225 From hall to hall by the entangled hair; At others, pens up naked in damp cells Where scaly reptiles crawl, and starves her there Till she will eat strange flesh. This wof ul story So did I overact in my sick dreams That I imagined no, it cannot be ! 50 Horrible things have been in this wild world, Prodigious mixtures, and confusions strange Of good and ill; and worse have been con- ceived Than ever there was found a heart to do. But never fancy imaged such a deed As (Pauses, suddenly recollecting herself) Who art thou ? Swear to me, ere I die With fearful expectation, that indeed Thou art not what thou seemest Mother ! LUCKETIA My sweet child, know you Oh Yet speak it not; For then if this be truth, that other too 60 Must be a truth, a firm enduring truth, Linked with each lasting circumstance of life, Never to change, never to pass away. Why so it is. This is the Cenci Palace; Thou art Lucretia; I am Beatrice. I have talked some wild words, but will no more. Mother, come near me; from this point of time, I am (Her voice dies away faintly) LUCRETIA Alas ! what has befallen thee, child ? What has thy father done ? BEATRICE What have I done ? Am I not innocent ? Is it my crime 70 That one with white hair and imperious brow, Who tortured me from my forgotten years As parents only dare, should call himself My father, yet should be ! Oh, what am I? What name, what place, what memory shall be mine ? What retrospects, outliving even despair ? LUCRETIA He is a violent tyrant, surely, child; We know that death alone can make us free; His death or ours. But what can he have done Of deadlier outrage or worse injury ? 80 Thou art unlike thyself; thine eyes shoot forth A wandering and strange spirit. Speak to me, Unlock those pallid hands whose fingers twine With one another. 'T is the restless life Tortured within them. If I try to speak, I shall go mad. Ay, something must be done ; What, yet I know not something which shall make The thing that I have suffered but a shadow In the dread lightning which avenges it; Brief, rapid, irreversible, destroying 90 The consequence of what it cannot cure. Some such thing is to be endured or done; When I know what, I shall be still and calm, And never anything will move me more. But now ! O blood, which art my father's blood, Circling through these contaminated veins, If thou, poured forth on the polluted earth, Could wash away the crime and punish- ment By which I suffer no, that cannot be ! 99 Many might doubt there were a God above Who sees and permits evil, and so die; That faith no agony shall obscure in me. LUCRETIA It must indeed have been some bitter wrong; Yet what, I dare not guess. Oh, my lost child, Hide not in proud impenetrable grief Thy sufferings from my fear. BEATRICE I hide them not. What are the words which you would have me speak ? I, who can feign no image in my mind Of that which has transformed me; I, whose thought 226 THE CENCI ACT III : SC. I Is like a ghost shrouded and folded up no In its own formless horror of all words, That minister to mortal intercourse, Which wouldst thou hear ? for there is none to tell My misery; if another ever knew Aught like to it, she died as I will die, And left it, as I must, without a name. Death, death ! our law and our religion call thee A punishment and a reward; oh, which Have I deserved ? LUCRETIA The peace of innocence, Till in your season you be called to heaven. Whate'er you may have suffered, you have done 121 No evil. Death must be the punishment Of crime, or the reward of trampling down The thorns which God has strewed upon the path Which leads to immortality. Ay, death The punishment of crime. I pray thee, God, Let me not be bewildered while I judge. If I must live day after day, and keep These limbs, the unworthy temple of thy spirit, As a foul den from which what thou abhor- rest 130 May mock thee unavenged it shall not be! Self-murder no, that might be no escape, For thy decree yawns like a Hell between Our will and it. Oh ! in this mortal world There is no vindication and no law, Which can adjudge and execute the doom Of that through which I suffer. Enter ORSINO (She approaches him solemnly) Welcome, friend ! I have to tell you that, since last we met, I have endured a wrong so great and strange That neither life nor death can give me rest. 140 Ask me not what it is, for there are deeds Which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue. ORSINO And what is he who has thus injured you ? BEATRICE The man they call iny father; a dread ORSINO It cannot be BEATRICE What it can be, or not, Forbear to think. It is, and it has been; Advise me how it shall not be again. I thought to die; but a religious awe Restrains me, and the dread lest death itself 149 Might be no refuge from the consciousness Of what is yet unexpiated. Oh, speak ! ORSINO Accuse him of the deed, and let the law Avenge thee. BEATRICE Oh, ice-hearted counsellor ! If I could find a word that might make known The crime of my destroyer; and that done, My tongue should like a knife tear out the secret Which cankers my heart's core; ay, lay all bare, So that my unpolluted fame should be With vilest gossips a stale mouthed story ; A mock, a byword, an astonishment: 160 If this were done, which never shall be done, Think of the offender's gold, his dreaded hate, And the strange horror of the accuser's tale, Baffling belief, and overpowering speech; Scarce whispered, unimaginable, wrapped Iii hideous hints Oh, most assured re- dress t ORSINO You will endure it then ? BEATRICE Endure ! Orsino, It seems your counsel is small profit. (Turns from him, and speaks half to herself) Ay, All must be suddenly resolved and done. ACT III : SC. I THE CENCI 227 What is this undistinguishable mist 170 Of thoughts, which rise, like shadow after shadow, Darkening each other ? ORSINO Should the offender live ? Triumph iu his misdeed ? and make, by use, His crime, whate'er it is, dreadful no doubt, Thine element; until thou mayest become Utterly lost; subdued even to the hue Of that which thou permittest ? BEATRICE (to herself) Mighty death ! Thou double-visaged shadow ! only judge ! Rightfullest arbiter ! (She retires, absorbed in thought) LUCRETIA If the lightning Of God has e'er descended to avenge ORSINO Blaspheme not ! His high Providence commits i8t Its glory on this earth and their own wrongs Into the hands of men; if they neglect To punish crime LUCRETIA But if one, like this wretch, Should mock with gold opinion, law and power ? If there be no appeal to that which makes The guiltiest tremble ? if, because our wrongs, For that they are unnatural, strange and monstrous, Exceed all measure of belief ? Oh, God ! If, for the very reasons which should make Redress most swift and sure, our injurer triumphs ? Igi And we, the victims, bear worse punish- ment Than that appointed for their torturer ? ORSINO Think not But that there is redress where there is wrong, So we be bold enough to seize it. LUCRETIA How? If there were any way to make all sure, I know not but I think it might be good To Why, his late outrage to Beatrice For it is such, as I but faintly guess, 199 As makes remorse dishonor, and leaves her Only one duty, how she may avenge; You, but one refuge from ills ill endured; Me, but one counsel LUCRETIA For we cannot hope That aid, or retribution, or resource Will arise thence, where every other one Might find them with less need. [BEATRICE advances. ORSINO Then Peace, Orsino ! And, honored Lady, while I speak, I pray That you put off, as garments overworn, Forbearance and respect, remorse and fear, And all the fit restraints of daily life, 210 Which have been borne from childhood, but which now Would be a mockery to my holier plea. As I have said, I have endured a wrong, Which, though it be expressionless, is such As asks atonement, both for what is passed, And lest I be reserved, day after day, To load with crimes an overburdened soul, And be what ye can dream not. I have prayed To God, and I have talked with my own heart, And have unravelled my entangled will, 220 And have at length determined what is right. Art thou my friend, Orsino ? False or true ? Pledge thy salvation ere I speak. I swear To dedicate my cunning, and my strength, My silence, and whatever else is mine, To thy commands. 228 THE CENCI ACT III : SC. I His death ? LUCRETIA You think we should devise BEATRICE Aiid execute what is devised, And suddenly. We must be brief and bold. ORSINO And yet most cautious. LUCRETIA For the jealous laws Would punish us with death and infamy 230 For that which it became themselves to do. BEATRICE Be cautious as ye may, but prompt. Or- sino, What are the means ? ORSINO I know two dull, fierce outlaws, Who think man's spirit as a worm's, and they Would trample out, for any slight caprice, The meanest or the noblest life. This mood Is marketable here in Rome. They sell What we now want. LUCRETIA To-morrow, before dawn, Cenci will take us to that lonely rock, Petrella, in the Aptilian Apennines. 240 If he arrive there BEATRICE He must not arrive. ORSINO Will it be dark before you reach the tower ? LUCRETIA The sun will scarce be set. BEATRICE But I remember Two miles on this side of the fort the road Crosses a deep ravine; 't is rough and nar- row, And winds with short turns down the pre- cipice; And in its depth there is a mighty rock, Which has, from unimaginable years, Sustained itself with terror and with toil Over a gulf, and with the agony 250 With which it clings seems slowly coming down ; Even as a wretched soul hour after hour Clings to the mass of life; yet, clinging, leans; And, leaning, makes more dark the dread abyss In which it fears to fall; beneath this crag Huge as despair, as if in weariness, The melancholy mountain yawns; below, You hear but see not an impetuous torrent Raging among the caverns, and a bridge Crosses the chasm; and high above there grow, 260 With intersecting trunks, from crag to crag, Cedars, and yews, and pines; whose tan- gled hair Is matted in one solid roof of shade By the dark ivy's twine. At noonday here 'T is twilight, and at sunset blackest night. ORSINO Before you reach that bridge make some excuse For spurring on your mules, or loitering Until BEATRICE What sound is that ? LUCRETIA Hark ! No, it cannot be a servant's step; It must be Cenci, unexpectedly 270 Returned make some excuse for being here. BEATRICE (to ORSINO as she goes out) That step we hear approach must never pass The bridge of which we spoke. [Exeunt LUCRETIA and BEATRICE. ORSINO What shall I do ? Cenci must find me here, and I must bear The imperious inquisition of his looks As to what brought me hither; let me mask Mine own in some inane and vacant smile. ACT III : SC. I THE CENCI 229 Enter GIACOMO, in a hurried manner How ! have you ventured hither ? know you then 278 That Ceuci is from home ? GIACOMO I sought him here; And now must wait till he returns. ORSIlfO Great God ! Weigh you the danger of this rashness ? GIACOMO Ay! Does my destroyer know his danger ? We Are now no more, as once, parent and child, But man to man; the oppressor to the op- pressed, The slanderer to the slandered; foe to foe. He has cast Nature off, .which was his shield, And Nature casts him off, who is her shame; And I spurn both. Is it a father's throat Which I will shake, and say, I ask not gold; I ask not happy years ; nor memories 290 Of tranquil childhood; nor home-sheltered love; Though all these hast thou torn from rne, and more; But only my fair fame; only one hoard Of peace, which I thought hidden from thy hate Under the penury heaped on me by thee; Or I will God can understand and pardon, Why should I speak with man ? OKSINO Be calm, dear friend. GIACOMO Well, I will calmly tell you what he did. This old Francesco Cenci, as you know, Borrowed the dowry of my wife from me, And then denied the loan; and left me so In poverty, the which I sought to mend By holding a poor office in the state. 303 It had been promised to me, and already I bought new clothing for my ragged babes, And my wife smiled; and my heart knew repose ; When Cenci's intercession, as I found, Conferred this office on a wretch, whom thus He paid for vilest service. I returned With this ill news, and we sate sad to- gether 310 Solacing our despondency with tears Of such affection and unbroken faith As temper life's worst bitterness; when he, As he is wont, came to upbraid and curse, Mocking our poverty, and telling us Such was God's scourge for disobedient sous. And then, that I might strike him dumb with shame, I spoke of my wife's dowry; but he coined A brief yet specious tale, how I had wasted The sum in secret riot; and he saw 320 My wife was touched, and he went smiling forth. And when I knew the impression he had made, And felt my wife insult with silent scorn My ardent truth, and look averse and cold, I went forth too; but soon returned again; Yet not so soon but that my wife had taught My children her harsh thoughts, and they all cried, ' Give us clothes, father ! Give us better food! What you in one night squander were enough For months ! ' I looked, and saw that home was hell. 330 And to that hell will I return no more, Until mine enemy has rendered up Atonement, or, as he gave life to me, I will, reversing Nature's law Trust me, The compensation which thou seekest here Will be denied. Then Are you not my friend ? Did you not hint at the alternative, Upon the brink of which you see I stand, The other day when we conversed together ? My wrongs were then less. That word, parricide, 34 Although I am resolved, haunts me like fear. ORSINO It must be fear itself, for the bare word Is hollow mockery. Mark how wisest God 230 THE CENCI ACT in : sc. ii Draws to one poiut the threads of a just doom, So sanctifying it; what you devise Is, as it were, accomplished. GIACOMO Is he dead ? ORSINO His grave is ready. Know that since we met Cenci has done an outrage to his daughter. What outrage ? GIACOMO ORSINO That she speaks not, but you may Conceive such half conjectures as I do 350 From her fixed paleness, and the lofty grief Of her stern brow, bent on the idle air, And her severe unmodulated voice, Drowning both tenderness and dread; and last From this; thatwhilst herstep-mother and I, Bewildered in our horror, talked together With obscure hints, both self-misunder- stood, And darkly guessing, stumbling, in our talk, Over the truth and yet to its revenge, She interrupted us, and with a look 360 Which told, before she spoke it, he must die GIACOMO It is enough. My doubts are well appeased ; There is a higher reason for the act Thau mine; there is a holier judge than me, A more uublamed avenger. Beatrice, Who in the gentleness of thy sweet youth Hast never trodden on a worm, or bruised A living flower, but thou hast pitied it With needless tears ! fair sister, thou in whom Men wondered how such loveliness and wis- dom 370 Did not destroy each other ! is there made Ravage of thee ? O heart, I ask no more Justification ! Shall I wait, Orsino, Till he return, and stab him at the door ? Not so; some accident might interpose To rescue him from what is now most sure; And you are unprovided where to fly, How to excuse or to conceal. Nay, listen; All is contrived; success is so assured That Enter BEATRICE BEATRICE 'T is my brother's voice ! You know me not ? 380 GIACOMO My sister, my lost sister ! BEATRICE Lost indeed ! I see Orsino has talked with you, and That you conjecture things too horrible To speak, yet far less than the truth. Now stay not, He might return; yet kiss me; I shall know That then thou hast consented to his death. Farewell, farewell ! Let piety to God, Brotherly love, justice and clemency, And all things that make tender hardest hearts, Make thine hard, brother. Answer not farewell. 390 [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. A mean Apartment in GIACOMO'S House. GIACOMO alone. GIACOMO 'T is midnight, and Orsino comes not yet. (Thunder, and the sound of a storm) What ! can the everlasting elements Feel with a worm like man ? If so, the shaft Of mercy-winged lightning would not fall On stones and trees. My wife and children sleep; They are now living in unmeaning dreams; But I must wake, still doubting if that deed Be just which was most necessary. Oh, Thou unreplenished lamp, whose narrow fire 9 Is shaken by the wind, and on whose edge Devouring darkness hovers ! thou small flame, Which, as a dying pulse rises and falls, Still flickerest up and down, how very soon, Did I not feed thee, wouldst thou fail and be ACT III : SC. II THE CENCI 231 As thou hadst never been ! So wastes and siaks Even now, perhaps, the life that kindled mine; But that no power can fill with vital oil, That broken lamp of flesh. Ha ! 't is the blood Which fed these veins that ebbs till all is cold; It is the form that moulded mine that sinks 20 Into the white and yellow spasms of death; It is the soul by which mine was arrayed In God's immortal likeness which now stands Naked before Heaven's judgment-seat ! (A bell strikes) One ! Two ! The hours crawl on; and, when my hairs are white, My son will then perhaps be waiting thus, Tortured between just hate and vain re- morse; Chiding the tardy messenger of news Like those which I expect. I almost wish He be not dead, although my wrongs are great; 3 o Yet 't is Orsino's step. Enter OKSINO Speak ! OBSINO I am come To say he has escaped. GIACOMO Escaped ! OKSINO And safe Within Petrella. He passed by the spot Appointed for the deed an hour too soon. GIACOMO Are we the fools of such contingencies ? And do we waste in blind misgivings thus The hours when we should act? Then wind and thunder, Which seemed to howl his knell, is the loud laughter With which Heaven mocks our weakness ! I henceforth Will ne'er repent of aught designed or done, 40 But my repentance. OBSINO See, the lamp is out. GIACOMO If no remorse is ours when the dim air Has drunk this innocent flame, why should we quail When Ceuci's life, that light by which ill spirits See the worst deeds they prompt, shall sink forever ? No, I am hardened. ORSINO Why, what need of this ? Who feared the pale intrusion of remorse In a just deed ? Although our first plan failed, Doubt not but he will soon be laid to rest. But light the lamp; let us not talk i' the dark. 50 GIACOMO (lighting the lamp) And yet, once quenched, I cannot thus re- lume My father's life; do you not think his ghost Might plead that argument with God ? OKSINO Once gone, You cannot now recall your sister's peace; Your own extinguished years of youth and hope; Nor your wife's bitter words; nor all the taunts Which, from the prosperous, weak misfor- tune takes; Nor your dead mother; nor GIACOMO Oh, speak no more ! I am resolved, although this very hand Must quench the life that animated it. 60 OKSINO There is no need of that. Listen; you know Olimpio, the castellan of Petrella In old Colonna's time; him whom your father Degraded from his post ? And Marzio, That desperate wretch, whom he deprived last year Of a reward of blood, well earned and due ? 232 THE CENCI ACT IV : SC. I GIACOMO I knew Olimpio; aud they say he hated Old Cenci so, that in his silent rage His lips grew white only to see him pass. Of Marzio I know nothing. ORSINO Marzio's hate Matches Olitnpio's. I have sent these men, But in your name, and as at your request, To talk with Beatrice and Lucretia. 73 Only to talk ? ORSINO The moments which even now Pass onward to to-morrow's midnight hour May memorize their flight with death; ere then They must have talked, and may perhaps have done, And made an end. GIACOMO Listen ! What sound is that ? ORSINO The house-dog moans, and the beams crack ; nought else. GIACOMO It is my wife complaining in her sleep; 80 I doubt not she is saying bitter things Of me; and all my children round her dreaming That I deny them sustenance. OBSINO Whilst he Who truly took it from them, aud who fills Their hungry rest with bitterness, now sleeps Lapped in bad pleasures, and triumphantly Mocks thee in visions of successful hate Too like the truth of day. GIACOMO If e'er he wakes Again, I will not trust to hireling hands ORSINO Why, that were well. I must be gone; good night ! 9 o When next we meet, may all be done ! GIACOMO And all Forgotten ! Oh, that I had never been ! [Exeunt. ACT IV SCENE I. An Apartment in the Castle of Pe- trella. Enter CENCI. CENCI SHE comes not; yet I left her even now Vanquished and faint. She knows the penalty Of her delay; yet what if threats are vain? Am I not now within Petrella's moat ? Or fear I still the eyes and ears of Rome ? Might I not drag her by the golden hair ? Stamp on her ? keep her sleepless till her brain Be overworn ? tame her with chains and famine ? Less would suffice. Yet so to leave un- done What I most seek ! No, 't is her stubborn will, 10 Which, by its own consent, shall stoop as low As that which drags it down. Enter LUCRETIA Thou loathed wretch ! Hide thee from my abhorrence; fly, be- gone ! Yet stay ! Bid Beatrice come hither. Oh, Husband ! I pray, for thine own wretched sake, Heed what thou dost. A man who walks like thee Through crimes, and through the danger of his crimes, Each hour may stumble o'er a sudden grave. And thou art old; thy hairs are hoary gray; As thou wouldst save thyself from death and hell, 20 Pity thy daughter; give her to some friend In marriage; so that she may tempt thee not To hatred, or worse thoughts, if worse there be. ACT IV : SC. I THE CENCI 2 33 CENCI What ! like her sister, who has found a home To mock my hate from with prosperity ? Strange ruin shall destroy both her and thee, And all that yet remain. My death may be Rapid, her destiny outspeeds it. Go, Bid her come hither, and before my mood Be changed, lest I should drag her by the hair. 30 LUCRETIA She sent me to thee, husband. At thy pre- sence She fell, as thou dost know, into a trance; And in that trance she heard a voice which said, ' Cenci must die ! Let him confess him- self ! Even now the accusing Angel waits to hear If God, to punish his enormous crimes, Harden his dying heart ! ' CENCI Why such things are. No doubt divine revealings may be made. 'T is plain I have been favored from above, For when I cursed my sons, they died. Ay so. 40 As to the right or wrong, that 's talk. Re- pentance ? Repentance is an easy moment's work, And more depends on God than me. Well well I must give up the greater point, which was To poison and corrupt her soul. (A pause; LUCRETIA approaches anxiously, and then shrinks back as he speaks) One, two; Ay Rocco and Cristofano my curse Strangled; and Giacomo, I think, will find Life a worse Hell than that beyond the grave; Beatrice shall, if there be skill in hate, 49 Die in despair, blaspheming; to Bernardo, He is so innocent, I will bequeathe The memory of these deeds, and make his youth The sepulchre of hope, where evil thoughts Shall grow like weeds on a neglected tomb. When all is done, out in the wide Cam- pagna I will pile up my silver and my gold; My costly robes, paintings, and tapestries; My parchments, and all records of my wealth; And make a bonfire in my joy, and leave Of my possessions nothing but my name; 60 Which shall be an inheritance to strip Its wearer bare as infamy. That done, My soul, which is a scourge, will I resign Into the hands of Him who wielded it; Be it for its own punishment or theirs, He will not ask it of me till the lash Be broken in its last and deepest wound; Until its hate be all inflicted. Yet, Lest death outspeed my purpose, let me make 69 Short work and sure. [Going. LUCRETIA (stops him) Oh, stay ! it was a feint; She had no vision, and she heard no voice. I said it but to awe thee. CENCI That is well. Vile palterer with the sacred truth of God, Be thy soul choked with that blaspheming lie ! For Beatrice worse terrors are in store To bend her to my will. LUCRETIA Oh, to what will ? What cruel sufferings more than she has known Canst thou inflict ? CENCI Andrea ! go, call my daughter And if she comes not, tell her that I come. ( To LUCRETIA) What sufferings ? I will drag her, step by step, 8c Through infamies unheard of among men; She shall stand shelterless in the broad noon Of public scorn, for acts blazoned abroad, One among which shall be what ? canst thou guess ? She shall become (for what she most abhors Shall have a fascination to entrap Her loathing will) to her own conscious self All she appears to others; and when dead, As she shall die unsh rived and unforgiven, 234 THE CENCI ACT IV : SC. I A rebel to her father and her God, 90 Her corpse shall be abandoned to the hounds; Her name shall be the terror of the earth; Her spirit shall approach the throne of God Plague-spotted with my curses. I will make Body and soul a monstrous lump of ruin. Enter ANDREA ANDREA The Lady Beatrice CENCI Speak, pale slave ! what Said she ? ANDREA My Lord, 't was what she looked ; she said, ' Go tell my father that I see the gulf Of Hell between us two, which he may pass; 99 I will not.' [Exit ANDREA. CENCI Go thou quick, Lucretia, Tell her to come; yet let her understand Her coming is consent; and say, moreover, That if she come not I will curse her. [Exit LUCRETIA. Ha! With what but with a father's curse doth God Panic-strike armed victory, and make pale Cities in their prosperity ? The world's Father Must grant a parent's prayer against his child, Be he who asks even what men call me. Will not the deaths of her rebellious brothers Awe her before I speak ? for I on them no Did imprecate quick ruin, and it came. Enter LUCRETIA Well; what ? Speak, wretch ! LUCRETIA She said, 'I cannot come; Go tell my father that I see a torrent Of his own blood raging between us.' CENCI (kneeling) God, Hear me ! If this most specious mass oi flesh, Which thou hast made my daughter; this my blood, This particle of my divided being; Or rather, this my bane and my disease, Whose sight infects and poisons me; this: devil, Which sprung from me as from a hell, was meant 120 To aught good use; if her bright loveliness Was kindled to illumine this dark world; If, nursed by thy selectest dew of love, Such virtues blossom in her as should make The peace of life, I pray thee for my sake, As thou the common God and Father art Of her, and me, and all ; reverse that doom ! Earth, in the name of God, let her food be Poison, until she be encrusted round With leprous stains ! Heaven, rain upon her head 130 The blistering drops of the Maremma's dew Till she be speckled like a toad; parch up Those love-enkindled lips, warp those fine limbs To loathed lameness ! All-beholding sun, Strike in thine envy those life-darting eyes With thine own blinding beams ! LUCRETIA Peace, peace ! For thine own sake unsay those dreadful words. When high God grants, he punishes such prayers. 138 CENCI (leaping up, and throwing his right hand towards Heaven) He does his will, I mine ! This in addition, That if she have a child LUCRETIA Horrible thought 1 That if she ever have a child and thon, Quick Nature ! I adjure thee by thy God, That thou be fruitful in her, and increase And multiply, fulfilling his command, And my deep imprecation ! may it be A hideous likeness of herself; that as From a distorting mirror she may see ACT IV: SC. II THE CENCI 235 Her image mixed with what she most ab- hors, Smiling upon her from her nursing breast ! And that the child may from its infancy Grow, day by day, more wicked and de- formed, 151 Turning her mother's love to misery ! And that both she and it may live until It shall repay her care and pain with hate, Or what may else be more unnatural; So he may hunt her through the clamorous scoffs Of the loud world to a dishonored grave ! Shall I revoke this curse ? Go, bid her come, Before my words are chronicled in heaven. [Exit LUCKETIA. I do not feel as if I were a man, 160 But like a fiend appointed to chastise The offences of some unremembered world. My blood is miming up and down my veins; A fearful pleasure makes it prick and tin- gle; I feel a giddy sickness of strange awe ; My heart is beating with an expectation Of horrid joy. Enter LUCKETIA What ? Speak ! LUCRETIA She bids thee curse; And if thy curses, as they cannot do, Could kill her soul She would not come. 'T is well, I can do both; first take what I demand, And then extort concession. To thy chamber ! 171 Fly ere I spurn thee; and beware this night That thoti cross not my footsteps. It were safer To come between the tiger and his prey. [Exit LUCRETIA. It must be late; mine eyes grow weary dim With unaccustomed heaviness of sleep. Conscience ! O thou most insolent of lies ! They say that sleep, that healing dew of heaven, Steeps not in balm the foldings of the brain Which thinks thee an impostor. I will go, First to belie thee with an hour of rest, 18 1 Which will be deep and calm, I feel; and then O multitudinous Hell, the fiends will shake Thine arches with the laughter of their joy ! There shall be lamentation heard in Hea- ven As o'er an angel fallen ; and upon Earth All good shall droop and sicken, and ill things Shall, with a spirit of unnatural life, Stir and be quickened even as I am now. [Exit. SCENE II. Before the Castle of Petrella. Enter BEATRICE and LCCRETIA above on the ramparts. BEATRICE They come not yet. LUCRETIA 'T is scarce midnight. BEATRICE How slow Behind the course of thought, even sick with speed, Lags leaden-footed Time ! LUCRETIA The minutes pass. If he should wake before the deed is done ? O mother ! he must never wake again. What thou hast said persuades me that our act Will but dislodge a spirit of deep hell Out of a human form. LUCRETIA 'T is true he spoke Of death and judgment with strange con- fidence For one so wicked; as a man believing 10 In God, yet recking not of good or ill. And yet to die without confession ! BEATRICE Oh! Believe that Heaven is merciful and just, And will not add our dread necessity To the amount of his offences. Enter OLIMPIO and MARZIO below LUCRETIA They come. See, 236 THE CENCI ACT IV : SC. Ill All mortal things must hasten thus To their dark end. Let us go down. [Exeunt LCCRETIA and BEATRICE from above. OLIMPIO How feel you to this work ? MARZIO As one who thinks A thousand crowns excellent market price For an old murderer's life. Your cheeks are pale. 20 OLIMPIO It is the white reflection of your own, Which you call pale. MARZIO Is that their natural hue ? Or 't is my hate, and the deferred desire To wreak it, which extinguishes their blood. MARZIO You are inclined then to this business ? OLIMPIO Ay, If one should bribe me with a thousand crowns To kill a serpent which had stung my child, I could not be more willing. Enter BEATRICE and LUCRETIA Mow Noble ladies ! Are ye resolved ? OLIMPIO Is he asleep ? MARZIO Is all Quiet? LtTCRETIA I mixed an opiate with his drink; He sleeps so soundly BEATRICE That his death will be But as a change of sin-chastising dreams, 32 A dark continuance of the hell within him, Which God extinguish ! But ye are re- solved ? Ye know it is a high and holy deed ? OLIMPIO We are resolved. MARZIO As to the how this act Be warranted, it rests with you. BEATRICE Well, follow ! OLIMPIO Hush ! Hark ! what noise is that ? MARZIO Ha ! some one comes ! BEATRICE Ye conscience-stricken cravens, rock to rest Your baby hearts. It is the iron gate, 40 Which ye left open, swinging to the wind, That enters whistling as in scorn. Come, follow ! And be your steps like mine, light, quick and bold. [Exeunt. SCENE III. An Apartment in the Castle. Enter BEATRICE and LUCRETIA. LUCRETIA They are about it now. BEATRICE Nay, it is done. LUCRETIA I have not heard him groan. BEATRICE He will not groan. LUCRETIA What sound is that ? BEATRICE List ! 't is the tread of feet About his bed. LUCRETIA My God ! If he be norv a cold, stiff corpse ACT IV : SC. Ill THE CENCI 237 BEATRICE Oh, fear not What may be done, but what is left un- done; The act seals all. Enter OLIMPIO and MARZIO Is it accomplished ? MAKZIO What? OLIMPIO Did you not call ? BEATRICE When ? OLIMPIO Now. BEATRICE I ask if all is over ? OLIMPIO We dare not kill an old and sleeping man; His thin gray hair, his stern and reverent brow, 10 His veined hands crossed on his heaving breast, And the calm innocent sleep in which he lay, Quelled me. Indeed, indeed, I cannot do it. MARZIO But I was bolder; for I chid Olimpio, And bade him bear his wrongs to his own grave, And leave me the reward. And now my knife Touched the loose wrinkled throat, when the old man Stirred in his sleep, and said, ' God ! hear, oh, hear A father's curse ! What, art thou not our father ? ' And then he laughed. I knew it was the ghost 20 Of my dead father speaking through his lips, And could not kill him. BEATRICE Miserable slaves ! Where, if ye dare not kill a sleeping man, Found ye the boldness to return to me With such a deed undone ? Base palter- ers ! Cowards and traitors ! Why, the very conscience Which ye would sell for gold and for re- venge Is an equivocation; it sleeps over A thousand daily acts disgracing men; And when a deed, where mercy insults hea- ven 30 Why do I talk ? (Snatchiny a dagger from one of them, and raising it) Hadst thou a tongue to say, She murdered her own father, I must do it! But never dream ye shall outlive him long I OLIMPIO Stop, for God's sake ! MARZIO I will go back and kill him. OLIMPIO Give me the weapon, we must do thy will. BEATRICE Take it ! Depart ! Return ! [Exeunt OLIMPIO and MARZIO. How pale thou art ! We do but that which 't were a deadly crime To leave undone. LUCRETIA Would it were done ! BEATRICE Even whilst That doubt is passing through your mind, the world Is conscious of a change. Darkness and hell 4 o Have swallowed up the vapor they sent forth To blacken the sweet light of life. My breath Comes, methinks, lighter, and the jellied blood Runs freely through my veins. Hark ! Enter OLIMPIO and MAKZIO OLEUPIO He is Dead ! THE CENCI ACT IV: SC. IV MARZIO We strangled him, that there might be no blood; And then we threw his heavy corpse i' the garden Under the balcony; 'twill seem it fell. BEATRICE (giving them a bag of coin) Here take this gold and hasten to your homes. And, Marzio, because thou wast only awed By that which made me tremble, wear thou this ! 50 (Clothes him in a rich mantle) It was the mantle which my grandfather Wore in his high prosperity, and men Envied his state; so may they envy thine. Thou wert a weapon in the hand of God To a just use. Live long and thrive ! And, mark, If thou hast crimes, repent; this deed is none. (A horn is sounded) LUCRETIA Hark, 't is the castle horn : my God ! it sounds Like the last trump. BEATRICE Some tedious guest is coming. LUCRETIA The drawbridge is let down; there is a tramp Of horses in the court; fly, hide your- selves ! 60 [Exeunt OLIMPIO and MARZIO. BEATRICE Let us retire to counterfeit deep rest; I scarcely need to counterfeit it now; The spirit which doth reign within these limbs Seems strangely undisturbed. I could even sleep Fearless and calm; all ill is surely past. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Another Apartment in the Castle. Enter on one side the legate SAVELLA, intro- duced by a Servant, and on the other LUCRE- TIA and BERNARDO. Lady, my duty to his Holiness Be my excuse that thus unseasonably I break upon your rest. I must speak with Count Cenci; doth he sleep ? LUCRETIA (in a hurried and confused manner) I think he sleeps; Yet, wake him not, I pray, spare me awhile. He is a wicked and a wrathful man ; Should he be roused out of his sleep to- night, Which is, I know, a hell of angry dreams, It were not well; indeed it were not well. Wait till day break. (Aside) Oh, I am deadly sick ! SAVELLA I grieve thus to distress you, but the Count i i Must answer charges of the gravest im- port, And suddenly; such my commission is. LUCRETIA (with increased agitation) I dare not rouse him, I know none who dare; 'Twere perilous; you might as safely waken A serpent, or a corpse in which some fiend Were laid to sleep. SAVELLA Lady, my moments here Are counted. I must rouse him from his sleep, is Since none else dare. LUCRETIA (aside) Oh, terror ! oh, despair ! (To BERNARDO) Bernardo, conduct you the Lord Legate to Your father's chamber. [Exeunt SAVELLA and BERNARDO. Enter BEATRICE BEATRICE 'T is a messenger Come to arrest the culprit who now stands Before the throne of unappealable God. Both Earth and Heaven, consenting arbi- ters, Acquit our deed. ACT IV : SC. IV THE CENCI 239 LUCRETIA Oh, agony of fear ! Would that he yet might live ! Eveu now I heard The Legate's followers whisper as they passed They had a warrant for his instant death. All was prepared by unforbidden means, Which we must pay so dearly, having done. Even now they search the tower, and find the body; 31 Now they suspect the truth; now they consult Before they come to tax us with the fact. Oh, horrible, 't is all discovered ! BEATRICE Mother, What is done wisely is done well. Be bold As thou art just. 'T is like a truant child, To fear that others know what thou hast done, Even from thine own strong consciousness, and thus Write on unsteady eyes and altered cheeks All thou wouldst hide. Be faithful to thy- self, 40 And fear no other witness but thy fear. For if, as cannot be, some circumstance Should rise in accusation, we can blind Suspicion with such cheap astonishment, Or overbear it with such guiltless pride, As murderers cannot feign. The deed is done, And what may follow now regards not me. I am as universal as the light; Free as the earth-surrounding air; as firm As the world's centre. Consequence, to me, 5 o Is as the wind which strikes the solid rock, But shakes it not. (A cry within and tumult) VOICES Murder ! Murder ! Murder ! Enter BERNARDO and SAVELLA SAVELLA (to his followers) Go, search the castle round; sound the alarm ; Look to the gates, that none escape ! What now ? BERNARDO I know not what to say my father 's dead. BEATRICE How, dead ! he only sleeps; you mistake, brother. His sleep is very calm, very like death; 'T is wonderful how well a tyrant sleeps. He is not dead ? BERNARDO Dead ; murdered f LUCRETIA (with extreme agitation) Oh, no, no ! He is not murdered, though he may be dead; 60 I have alone the keys of those apartments. Ha ! is it so ? BEATRICE My Lord, I pray excuse us; We will retire; my mother is not well; She seems quite overcome with this strange horror. [Exeunt LUCRETIA and BEATRICE. SAVELLA Can you suspect who may have murdered him? BERNARDO I know not what to think. SAVELLA Can you name any Who had an interest in his death ? BERNARDO Alas! I can name none who had not, and those most Who most lament that such a deed is done; My mother, and my sister, and myself. 70 SAVELLA 'T is strange ! There were clear marks of violence. I found the old man's body in the moon- light, Hanging beneath the window of his cham- ber Among the branches of a pine; he could not 240 THE CENCI ACT IV : SC. IV Have fallen there, for all his limbs lay heaped And effortless; 't is true there was no blood. Favor me, sir it much imports your house That all should be made clear to tell the ladies That I request their presence. [Exit BERNARDO. Enter Guards, bringing in MARZIO GUARD We have one. OFFICER My Lord, we found this ruffian and another Lurking among the rocks; there is no doubt 8 1 But that they are the murderers of Count Cenci; Each had a bag of coin; this fellow wore A gold-inwoven robe, which, shining bright Under the dark rocks to the glimmering moon, Betrayed them to our notice; the other fell Desperately fighting. OFFICER He keeps firm silence ; but these lines found on him 88 May speak. SAVELLA Their language is at least sincere. (Eeads) " To THE LADY BEATRICE. That the atonement of what my nature sickens to conjecture may soon arrive, I send thee, at thy brother's desire, those who will speak and do more than I dare write. Thy devoted servant, ORSINO." Enter LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, and BERNARDO Knowest thou this writing, lady ? BEATRICE SAVELLA No. Nor thou ? LUCRETIA (her conduct throughout the scene is marked by extreme agitation) Where was it found ? What is it ? It should be Orsino's hand ! It speaks of that strange horror Which never yet found utterance, but which made Between that hapless child and her dead father A gulf of obscure hatred. SAVELLA Is it SO, ioo Is it true, Lady, that thy father did Such outrages as to awaken in thee Uufilial hate ? BEATRICE Not hate, 't was more than hate ; This is most true, vet wherefore question me? SAVELLA There is a deed demanding question done; Thou hast a secret which will answer not. BEATRICE What sayest ? My Lord, your words are bold and rash. I do arrest all present in the name Of the Pope's Holiness. You must to Rome. 109 LUCRETIA Oh, not to Rome ! indeed we are not guilty. BEATRICE Guilty ! who dares talk of guilt ? My Lord, I am more innocent of parricide Thau is a child born fatherless. Dear mother, Your gentleness and patience are no shield For this keen-judging world, this two- edged lie, Which seems, but is not. What ! will hu- man laws, Rather will ye who are their ministers, Bar all access to retribution first, And then, when Heaven doth interpose to do What ye neglect, arming familiar things 120 To the redress of an unwonted crime, Make ye the victims who demanded it ACT IV: SC. IV THE CENCI 241 Culprits ? 'T is ye are culprits ! That poor wretch Who stands so pale, and trembling, and amazed, If it be true he murdered Cenci, was A sword iu the right hand of justest God. Wherefore should 1 have wielded it ? un- less The crimes which mortal tongue dare never name 128 God therefore scruples to avenge. That you desired his death ? You own BEATRICE It would have been A crime no less than his, if for one moment That fierce desire had faded in my heart. 'Tis true I did believe, and hope, and pray, Ay, I even knew for God is wise and just That some strange sudden death hung over him. 'T is true that this did happen, and most true There was no other rest for me on earth, No other hope in Heaven. Now what of this? SAVELLA Strange thoughts beget strange deeds; and here are both; 139 I judge thee not. And yet, if you arrest me, You are the judge and executioner Of that which is the life of life ; the breath Of accusation kills an innocent name, And leaves for lame acquittal the poor life Which is a mask without it. 'T is most false That I am guilty of foul parricide; Although I must rejoice, for justest cause, That other hands have sent my father's soul To ask the mercy he denied to me. 149 Now leave us free; stain not a noble house With vague surmises of rejected crime; Add to our sufferings and your own neglect No heavier sum ; let them have been enough ; Leave us the wreck we have. I dare not, Lady. I pray that you prepare yourselves for Rome. There the Pope's further pleasure will be known. LUCKETIA Oh, not to Rome ! Oh, take us not to Rome ! BEATRICE Why not to Rome, dear mother ? There as here Our innocence is as an armed heel 159 To trample accusation. God is there, As here, and with his shadow ever clothes The innocent, the injured, and the weak; And such are we. Cheer up, dear Lady ! lean On me; collect your wandering thoughts. My Lord, As soon as you have taken some refresh- ment, And had all such examinations made Upon the spot as may be necessary To the full understanding of this matter, We shall be ready. Mother, will you come ? LUCRETIA Ha ! they will bind us to the rack, and wrest 170 Self-accusation from our agony ! Will Giacomo be there ? Orsino ? Marzio ? All present; all confronted; all demanding Each from the other's countenance the thing Which is in every heart ! Oh, misery ! (She faints, and is borne out) SAVELLA She faints; an ill appearance this. BEATRICE My Lord, She knows not yet the uses of the world. She fears that power is as a beast which grasps And loosens not ; a snake whose look trans- mutes 179 All things to guilt which is its nutriment. She cannot know how well the supine slaves Of blind authority read the truth of things When written on a brow of guilelessness; She sees not yet triumphant Innocence Stand at the judgment-seat of mortal man, 242 THE CENCI ACT V : SC. I A judge and an accuser of the wrong Which drags it there. Prepare yourself, my Lord. Our suite will join yours in the court below. [Exeunt. ACT V SCENE I. An Apartment in ORSINO'S Palace. Enttr OKSINO and GIAOOMO. Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end ? Oh, that the vain remorse which must chas- tise Crimes done had but as loud a voice to warn As its keen sting is mortal to avenge ! Oh, that the hour when present had cast off The mantle of its mystery, and shown The ghastly form with which it now returns When its scared game is roused, cheering the hounds Of conscience to their prey ! Alas, alas ! It was a wicked thought, a piteous deed, 10 To kill an old and hoary-headed father. oauxso It has turned out unluckily, in truth. G1ACOMO To violate the sacred doors of sleep; To cheat kind nature of the placid death Which she prepares for overwearied age; To drag from Heaven an unrepentant soul, Which might have quenched in reconciling prayers A life of burning crimes ORSINO You cannot say A urged you to the deed. G1ACOMO Oh, had I never Found in thy smooth and ready counte- nance 20 The mirror of my darkest thoughts; hadst thou Never with hints and questions made me look Upon the monster of my thought, until It grew familiar to desire ORSINO 'T is thus Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts Upon the abettors of their own resolve; Or anything but their weak, guilty selves. And yet, confess the truth, it is the peril In which you stand that gives you this pale sickness Of penitence; confess 't is fear disguised 30 From its own shame that takes the mantle now Of thin remorse. What if we yet were safe? GIACOMO How can that be ? Already Beatrice, Lucretia and the murderer are in prison. I doubt not officers are, whilst we speak, Sent to arrest us. ORSDfO I have all prepared For instant flight. We can escape even iiow, So we take fleet occasion by the hair. GIACOMO Rather expire in tortures, as I may. What ! will you cast by self-accusing flight 40 Assured conviction upon Beatrice ? She who alone, in this unnatural work Stands like God's angel ministered upon By fiends ; avenging such a nameless wrong As turns black parricide to piety; Whilst we for basest ends I fear, Or- sino, While I consider all your words and looks, Comparing them with your proposal now, That you must be a villain. For what end Could you engage in such a perilous crime, 50 Training me on with hints, and signs, and smiles, Even to this gulf ? Thou art no liar ? No, Thou art a lie ! Traitor and murderer ! Coward and slave ! But no defend thy- self; (Drawing) Let the sword speak what the indignant tongue Disdaius to brand thee with. Put up your weapon. Is it the desperation of your fear ACT V : SC. II THE CENCI 243 Makes you thus rash and sudden with a friend, Now ruined for your sake ? If honest anger Have moved you, know, that what I just proposed 60 Was but to try you. As for me, I think Thankless affection led me to this point, From which, if my firm temper could re- pent, I cannot now recede. Even whilst we speak, The ministers of justice wait below; They grant me these brief moments. Now, if you Have any word of melancholy comfort To speak to your pale wife, 't were best to pass Out at the postern, and avoid them so. GIACOMO generous friend ! how canst thou pardon me ? 70 Would that my life could purchase thine ! ORSINO That wish Now comes a day too late. Haste; fare thee well ! Hear'st thou not steps along the corridor ? [Exit GIACOMO. 1 'm sorry for it ; but the guards are wait- ing At his own gate, and such was my contriv- ance That I might rid me both of him and them. I thought to act a solemn comedy Upon the painted scene of this new world, And to attain my own peculiar ends By some such plot of mingled good and ill 80 As others weave ; bnt there arose a Power Which grasped and snapped the threads of my device, And turned it to a net of ruin Ha ! (A shout is heard) Is that my name I hear proclaimed abroad ? But I will pass, wrapped in a vile disguise, Rags on my back and a false innocence Upon my face, through the misdeeming crowd, Which judges by what seems. 'T is easy then, For a new name and for a country new, And a new life fashioned on old desires, 90 To change the honors of abandoned Rome. And these must be the masks of that within, Which must remain unaltered. Oh, I fear That what is past will never let me rest ! Why, when none else is conscious, but myself, Of my misdeeds, should my own heart's contempt Trouble me ? Have I not the power to fly - My own reproaches? Shall I be the slave Of what ? A word ? which those of this false world Employ against each other, not them- selves, JOO As men wear daggers not for self-offence. But if I am mistaken, where shall I Find the disguise to hide me from myself, As now I skulk from every other eye ? [Exit. SCENE II. A Hall of Justice, CAMILLO, JUDGES, etc., are discovered seated ; MABZIO is led in. FIRST JUDGE Accused, do you persist in your denial ? I ask you, are you innocent, or guilty? I demand who were the participators In your offence. Speak truth, and the whole truth. MARZIO My God ! I did not kill him; I know no- thing; Olimpio sold the robe to me from which You would infer my guilt. SECOND JUDGE Away with him ! FIRST JUDGE Dare you, with lips yet white from the rack's kiss, Speak false ? Is it so soft a questioner 9 That you would bandy lover's talk with it, Till it wind out your life and soul ? Away ! MARZIO Spare me ! Oh, spare ! I will confess. FIRST JUDGE Then speak 244 THE CENCI ACT V : SC. II MABZIO I strangled him in his sleep. FIRST JUDGE Who urged you to it ? MARZIO His own sou Giacoino and the young pre- late Orsino sent me to Petrella; there The ladies Beatrice and Lucretia Tempted me with a thousand crowns, and I And my companion forthwith murdered him. 18 Now let me die. FIRST JUDGE This sounds as bad as truth. Guards, there, lead forth the prisoners. Enter LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, and GIACOMO, guarded Look upon this man; When did you see him last ? BEATRICE We never saw him. MARZIO You know me too well, Lady Beatrice. BEATRICE I know thee ! how ? where ? when ? MARZIO You know 't was I Whom you did urge with menaces and bribes To kill your father. When the thing was done, You clothed me in a robe of woven gold, And bade me thrive; how I have thriven, you see. You, my Lord Giacomo, Lady Lucretia, You know that what I speak is true. [BEATRICE advances towards him ; he covers his face, and shrinks back. Oh, dart The terrible resentment of those eyes 30 On the dead earth ! Turn them away from me ! They wound; 'twas torture forced the truth. My Lords, Having said this, let me be led to death. BEATRICE Poor wretch, I pity thee; yet stay awhile. CAMILLO Guards, lead him not away. BEATRICE Cardinal Camillo, You have a good repute for gentleness And wisdom; can it be that you sit here To countenance a wicked farce like this ? When some obscure and trembling slave is dragged From sufferings which might shake the sternest heart 40 And bade to answer, not as he believes, But as those may suspect or do desire Whose questions thence suggest their own reply; And that in peril of such hideous tor meets As merciful God spares even the damned. Speak now The thing you surely know, which is, that you, If your fine frame were stretched upon that wheel, And you were told, ' Confess that you did poison Your little nephew; that fair blue-eyed child Who was the lodestar of your life; ' and though 5 o All see, since his most swift and piteous death, That day and night, and heaven and earth, and time, And all the things hoped for or done therein, Are changed to you, through your exceed- ing grief, Yet you would say, ' I confess anything,' And beg from your tormentors, like that slave, The refuge of dishonorable death. I pray thee, Cardinal, that thou assert My innocence. CAMILLO (much moved) What shall we think, my Lords ? Shame on these tears ! I thought the heart was frozen 60 Which is their fountain. I would pledge my soul That she is guiltless. ACT v : sc. ii THE CENCI 245 JUDGE Yet she must be tortured. CAMILLO I would as soon have tortured mine own nephew (If he now lived, he would be just her age; His hair, too, was her color, and his eyes Like hers in shape, but blue and not so deep) As that most perfect image of God's love That ever came sorrowing upon the earth. She is as pure as speechless infancy ! JUDGE Well, be her purity on your head, my Lord, 7 o If you forbid the rack. His Holiness Enjoined us to pursue this monstrous crime By the severest forms of law; nay, even To stretch a point against the criminals. The prisoners stand accused of parricide Upon such evidence as justifies Torture. BEATRICE What evidence ? This man's ? JUDGE Even so. BEATRICE (tO MARZIO) Come near. And who art thou, thus chosen forth Out of the multitude of living men, To kill the innocent ? MARZIO I am Marzio, 80 Thy father's vassal. BEATRICE Fix thine eyes on mine; Answer to what I ask. (Turning to the Judges) I prithee mark His countenance; unlike bold calumny, Which sometimes dares not speak the thing it looks, He dares not look the thing he speaks, but bends His gaze on the blind earth. (To MARZIO) What ! wilt thou say That I did murder my own father ? Oh! Spare me ! My brain swims round I cannot speak It was that horrid torture forced the truth* Take me away 1 Let her not look on me ! I am a guilty miserable wretch ! 91 I have said all I know, now, let me die ! My Lords, if by my nature I had been So stern as to have planned the crime alleged, Which your suspicions dictate to this slave And the rack makes him utter, do you think I should have left this two-edged instru- ment Of my misdeed; this man, this bloody knife, With my own name engraven on the heft, Lying unsheathed amid a world of foes, For my own death ? that with such horri- ble need 101 For deepest silence I should have neglected So trivial a precaution as the making His tomb the keeper of a secret written On a thief's memory ? What is his poor life? What are a thousand lives ? A parricide Had trampled them like dust; and see, he lives ! (Turning to MARZIO) And thou MARZIO Oh, spare me ! Speak to me no more ! That stern yet piteous look, those solemn tones, 109 Wound worse than torture,, (To the Judges) I have told it all; For pity's sake lead me away to death. CAMILLO Guards, lead him nearer the Lady Bea- trice; He shrinks from her regard like autumn's leaf From the keen breath of the serenes"; north. BEATRICE O thou who tremblest on the giddy verge Of life and death, pause ere thou answerest me: 246 THE CENCI ACT V : SC. II So mayst thou answer God with less dis- may. What evil have we done thee ? I, alas ! Have lived but on this earth a few sad years, 1 19 And so iny lot was ordered that a father First turned the moments of awakening life To drops, each poisoning youth's sweet hope; and then Stabbed with one blow my everlasting soul, And iny untainted fame; and even that peace Which sleeps within the core of the heart's heart. But the wound was not mortal; so my hate Became the only worship I could lift To our great Father, who in pity and love Armed thee, as thou dost say, to cut hiir. off;- 129 And thus his wrong becomes my accusa- tion. And art thou t.he accuser ? If thou hopest Mercy in heaven show justice upon earth; Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart If thou hast done murders, made thy life's path Over the trampled laws of God and man, Rush not before thy Judge, and say: ' My Maker, I have done this and more; for there was one W T ho was most pure and innocent on earth; And because she endured what never any, Guilty or innocent, endured before, 140 Because her wrongs could not be told, nor thought. Because thy hand at length did rescue her, I with my words killed her and all her kin.' Think, I adjure you, what it is to slay The reverence living in the minds of men Towards our ancient house and stainless fame ! Think what it is to strangle infant pity, Cradled in the belief of guileless looks, Till it become a crime to suffer. Think What 't is to blot witli infamy and blood All that which shows like innocence, and is 151 Hear me, great God ! I swear, most in- nocent; So that the world lose all discrimination Between the sly, fierce, wild regard of guilt, And that which now compels thee to reply To what I ask: Am I, or am I not A parricide ? MAItZIO Thou art not ! JUDGE What is this ? MARZIO I here declare those whom I did accuse Are innocent. 'T is I alone am guilty. 159 JUDGE Drag him away to torments; let them be Subtle and long drawn out, to tear the folds Of the heart's inmost cell. Unbind him not Till he confess, MARZIO Torture me as ye will; A keener pang has wrung a higher truth From my last breath. She is most inno- cent ! Bloodhounds, not men, glut yourselves well with me ! I will not give you that fine piece of nature To rend and ruin. [Exit MARZIO, guarded. CAMILLO What say ye now, my Lords ? JUDGE Let tortures strain the truth till it be white 169 As snow thrice-sifted by the frozen wind. CAMILLO Yet stained with blood. JUDGE (to BEATRICE) Know you this paper, Lady ? BEATRICE Entrap me not with questions, Who stands here As my accuser? Ha ! wilt thou be he, VVho art my judge ? Accuser, witness, judge, What, all in one ? Here is Orsino's name; Where is Orsino ? Let his eye meet mine. What means this scrawl ? Alas ! ye know not what. ACT V : SC. Ill THE CENCI 247 And therefore on the chance that it may be Some evil, will ye kill us ? Enter an Officer OFFICER Marzio 's dead. JUDGE What did he say ? OFFICER Nothing. As soon as we Had bound him on the wheel, he smiled on us, 181 As one who baffles a deep adversary; And holding his breath died. JUDGE There remains nothing But to apply the question to those prisoners Who yet remain stubborn. CAMILLO I overrule Further proceedings, and in the behalf Of these most innocent and noble persons Will use aiy interest with the Holy Father. JUDGE Let the Pope's pleasure then be done. Meanwhile Conduct these culprits each to separate cells; 190 And be the engines ready; for this night, If the Pope's resolution be as grave, Pious, and just as ouce, I '11 wring the truth Out of those nerves and sinews, groan by groan. {Exeunt. SCENE III. The Cell of a Prison. BEATRICE is discovered asleep on a couch. Enter BERNARDO BERNARDO How gently slumber rests upon her face, Like the last thoughts of some day sweetly spent, Closing in night and dreams, and so pro- longed. After such torments as she bore last night, How light and soft her breathing comes. Ay me ! Methinks that I shall never sleep again. But I must shake the heavenly dew of rest From this sweet folded flower, thus wake, awake ! What, sister, canst thou sleep ? BEATRICE (awaking) I was just dreaming That we were all in Paradise. Thou knowest 10 This cell seems like a kind of Paradise After our father's presence. BERNARDO Dear, dear sister, Would that thy dream were not a dream ! Oh, God, How shall I tell ? BEATRICE What wouldst thou tell, sweet brother ? BERNARDO Look not so calm and happy, or even whilst I stand considering what I have to say, My heart will break. BEATRICE See now, thou mak'st me weep; How very friendless thou wouldst be, dear child, If I were dead. Say what thou hast to say. BERNARDO They have confessed ; they could endure no more 2 o The tortures BEATRICE Ha ! what was there to confess ? They must have told some weak and wicked lie To flatter their tormentors. Have they said That they were guilty ? O white innocence, That thou shouldst wear the mask of guilt to hide Thine awful and serenest countenance From those who know thee not ! Enter JUDGE, with LUCRETIA and GIACOMO, guarded Ignoble hearts ! For some brief spasms of pain, which are at least 248 THE CENCI ACT V : SC. Ill As mortal as the limbs through which they pass, Are centuries of high splendor laid in dust ? 30 And that eternal honor, which should live Sunlike, above the reek of mortal fame, Changed to a mockery and a byword ? What! Will you give up these bodies to be dragged At horses' heels, so that our hair should sweep The footsteps of the vain and senseless crowd, Who, that they may make our calamity Their worship and their spectacle, will leave The churches and the theatres as void As their own hearts ? Shall the light multitude 40 Fling, at their choice, curses or faded pity, Sad funeral flowers to deck a living corpse, Upon us as we pass to pass away, And leave what memory of our having been ? Infamy, blood, terror, despair ? O thou Who wert a mother to the parentless, Kill not thy child ! let not her wrongs kill thee! Brother, lie down with me upon the rack, And let us each be silent as a corpse; It soon will be as soft as any grave. 50 'T is but the falsehood it can wring from fear Makes the rack cruel. GIACOMO They will tear the truth Even from thee at last, those cruel pains; For pity's sake say thou art guilty now. LCCRETIA Oh, speak the truth ! Let us all quickly die; And after death, God is our judge, not they; He will have mere}- on us. BERXARDO If indeed It can be true, say so, dear sister mine; 58 And then the Pope will surely pardon yon, And all be well. Confess, or I will warp Your limbs with such keen tortures BEATB1CB Tortures ! Turn The rack henceforth into a spinning-wheel ! Torture your dog, that he may tell when last He lapped the blood his master shed not me ! My pangs are of the mind, and of the heart, And of the soul; ay, of the inmost soul, Which weeps within tears as of burning gall To see, in this ill world where none are true, My kindred false to their deserted selves; And with considering all the wretched life Which I have lived, and its now wretched end; 7 i And the small justice shown by Heaven and Earth To me or mine; and what a tyrant thou art, And what slaves these; and what a world we make, The oppressor and the oppressed such pangs compel My answer. What is it thou wouldst with me? JUDGE Art thou not guilty of thy father's death ? Or wilt thou rather tax high-judging God That he permitted such an act as that Which I have suffered, and which he be- held; 80 Made it unutterable, and took from it All refuge, all revenge, all consequence, But that which thou hast called my father's death ? Which is or is not what men call a crime, Which either I have done, or have not done; Say what ye will. I shall deny no more. If ye desire it thus, thus let it be, And so an end of all. Now do your will; No other pains shall force another word. She is convicted, but has not confessed. 90 Be it enough. Until their final sentence ACT V : SC. IV THE CENCI 249 Let none have converse with them. You, young Lord, Linger not here ! BEATRICE Oh, tear him not away ! JUDGE Guards 1 do your duty. BERNARDO (embracing BEATRICE) Oh ! would ye divide Body from soul ? OFFICER That is the headsman's business. [Exeunt all but LrcRETiA, BEATRICE, and GIACOMO. OlACOMO Have I confessed ? Is it all over now ? No hope ! no refuge ! O weak, wicked tongue, Which hast destroyed me, would that thou hadst been Cut out and thrown to dogs first ! To have killed My father first, and then betrayed my sister 100 Ay, thee ! the one tiling innocent and pure In this black, guilty world to that which I So well deserve ! My wife ! my little ones ! Destitute, helpless; and I Father ! God ! Canst thou forgive even the unforgiving, When their full hearts break thus, thus ? (Covers his face and weeps) LUCRETIA O my child ! To what a dreadful end are we all come ! . Why did I yield ? Why did I not sustain Those torments ? Oh, that I were all dis- solved Into these fast and unavailing tears, no Which flow and feel not ! BEATRICE What 't was weak to do, 'T is weaker to lament, once being done; Take cheer ! The God who knew my wrong, and made Our speedy act the angel of his wrath, Seems, and but seems, to have abandoned us. Let us not think that we shall die for this. Brother, sit near me; give me your firm hand, You had a manly heart. Bear up ! bear up ! O dearest Lady, put your gentle head Upon my lap, and try to sleep awhile; 120 Your eyes look pale, hollow, and overworn, With heaviness of watching and slow grief. Come, I will sing you some low, sleepy tune, Not cheerful, nor yet sad; some dull old thing, Some outworn and unused monotony, Such as our country gossips sing and spin, Till they almost forget they live. Lie down So, that will do. Have I forgot the words ? Faith ! they are sadder than I thought they were. SONG False friend, wilt thou smile or weep 130 When my life is laid asleep ? Little cares for a smile or a tear, The clay-cold corpse upon the bier ! Farewell ! Heigh-ho ! What is this whispers low ? There is a snake in thy smile, my dear; And bitter poison within thy tear. Sweet sleep ! were death like to thee, Or if thou couldst mortal be, I would close these eyes of pain ; 140 When to wake ? Never again. O World ! farewell ! Listen to the passing bell ! It says, thou and I must part, With a light and a heavy heart. (The scene closes) SCENE IV. A Hall of the Prison. Enter CAMILLO and BERNARDO. i CAMILLO The Pope is stern; not to be moved of bent. He looked as calm and keen as is the en- gine Which tortures and which kills, exempt it- self From aught that it inflicts; a marble form, A rite, a law, a custom; not a man. He frowned, as if to frown had been the trick 250 THE CENCI ACT V : SC. IV Of his machinery, on the advocates Presenting the defences, which he tore And threw behind, muttering with hoarse, harsh voice ' Which among ye defended their old fa- ther 10 Killed in his sleep ? ' then to another 'Thou Dost this in virtue of thy place; 't is well.' He turned to me then, looking depreca- tion, And said these three words, coldly ' They must die.' BERNARDO And yet you left him not ? CAMILLO I urged him still; Pleading, as I could guess, the devilish wrong Which prompted your unnatural parent's death. And he replied ' Paolo Santa Croce Murdered his mother yester evening, And he is fled. Parricide grows so rife, 20 That soon, for some just cause no doubt, the young Will strangle us all, dozing in our chairs. Authority, and power, and hoary hair Are grown crimes capital. You are my nephew, You come to ask their pardon; stay a mo- ment; Here is their sentence; never see me more Till, to the letter, it be all fulfilled.' BERNARDO Oh, God, not so ! I did believe indeed That all you said was but sad prepara- tion For happy news. Oh, there are words and looks 30 To bend the sternest purpose ! Once I knew them, Now I forget them at my dearest need. What think you if I seek him out, and bathe His feet and robe with hot and bitter tears? Importune him with prayers, vexing his brain With my perpetual cries, until in rage He strike me with his pastoral cross, and trample Upon my prostrate head, so that my blood May stain the senseless dust on which he treads, 39 And remorse waken mercy ? I will do it ! Oh, wait till I return ! [Bushes out. CAMILLO Alas, poor boy ! A wreck-devoted seaman thus might pray To the deaf sea. Enter LUCRETIA, BEATRICE, and GIACOMO, guarded BEATRICE I hardly dare to fear That thou bring'st other ne'ws than a just pardon. CAMILLO May God in heaven be less inexorable To the Pope's prayers than he has been to mine. Here is the sentence and the warrant. BEATRICE (wildly) Oh, My God ! Can it be possible I have To die so suddenly ? so young to go Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground! 5 o To be nailed down into a narrow place; To see no more sweet sunshine; hear no more Blithe voice of living thing; muse not again Upon familiar thoughts, sad, yet thus lost! How fearful! to be nothing ! Or to be What ? Oli, where am I ? Let me not go mad ! Sweet Heaven, forgive weak thoughts ! If there should be , No God, no Heaven, no Earth in the void world The wide, gray, lampless, deep, unpeopled world ! If all things then should be my father's spirit, 60 His eye, his voice, his touch surrounding me; The atmosphere and breath of my dead life! If sometimes, as a shape more like him- self, Even the form which tortured me on earth, ACT V : SC. IV THE CENCI 251 Masked in gray hairs and wrinkles, he should come, And wind me in his hellish arms, and fix His eyes on mine, and drag me down, down, down ! For was he not alone omnipotent On Earth, and ever present ? even though dead, 69 Does not his spirit live in all that breathe, And work for me and mine still the same ruin, Scorn, pain, despair ? Who ever yet re- turned To teach the laws of death's untrodden realm ? Unjust perhaps as those which drive us now, Oh, whither, whither ? LUCRE T1A Trust in God's sweet love, The tender promises of Christ; ere night, Think we shall be in Paradise. BEATRICE 'T is past ! Whatever comes, my heart shall siuk no more. And yet, I know not why, your words strike chill; How tedious, false, and cold seem all things ! I 80 Have met with much injustice in this world ; No difference has been made by God or man, . Or any power moulding my wretched lot, 'Twixt good or evil, as regarded me. I am cut off from the only world I know, From light, and life, and love, in youth's sweet prime. You do well telling me to trust in God ; I hope I do trust in him. In whom else Can any trust ? And yet mv heart is cold. (During the latter speeches GIACOMO has re- tired conversing icith CAMILLO, who now goes out ; GIACOMO advances) Know you not, mother sister, know you not ? "90 Bernardo even now is gone to implore The Pope to grant our pardon. Child, perhaps It will be granted. We may all then live To make these woes a tale for distant years. Oh, what a thought ! It gushes to my heart Like the warm blood. BEATRICE Yet both will soon be cold. Oh, trample out that thought ! Worse than despair, Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope ; It is the only ill which can find place 99 Upon the giddy, sharp, and narrow hour Tottering beneath us. Plead with the swift frost That it should spare the eldest flower of spring; Plead with awakening earthquake, o'er whose couch Even now a city stands, strong, fair, and free; Now stench and blackness yawn, like death. Oh, plead With famine, or wind-walking pestilence, Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man Cruel, cold, formal man; righteous in words, In deeds a Cain. No, mother, we must die; Since such is the reward of innocent lives, Such the alleviation of worst wrongs. m And whilst our murderers live, and hard, cold men, Smiling and slow, walk through a world of tears To death as to life's sleep ; 't were just the grave Were some strange joy for us. Come, ob- scure Death, And wind me in thine all-embracing arms ! Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom, And rock me to the sleep from which none wake. Live ye, who live, subject to one another As we were once, who now BERNARDO rushes in BERNARDO Oh, horrible ! That tears, that looks, that hope poured forth in prayer, 121 Even till the heart is vacant and despairs, 252 THE MASK OF ANARCHY Should all be vain ! The ministers of death Are waiting round the doors. I thought I saw Blood on the face of one what if 't were fancy ? Soon the heart's blood of all I love on earth Will sprinkle him, and he will wipe it off As if 't were only rain. O life ! O world ! Cover me ! let me be no more ! To see That perfect mirror of pure innocence 130 Wherein I gazed, and grew happy and good, Shivered to dust ! To see thee, Beatrice, Who made all lovely thou didst look upon Thee, light of life dead, dark ! while I say, sister, To hear I have no sister; and thou, mother, Whose love was as a bond to all our loves Dead ! the sweet bond broken ! Enter CAMILLO and Guards They come ! Let me Kiss those warm lips before their crimson leaves Are blighted white cold. Say fare- well, before Death chokes that gentle voice ! Oh, let me hear 140 You speak ! BEATRICE Farewell, my tender brother. Think Of our sad fate with gentleness, as now; And let mild, pitying thoughts lighten for thee Thy sorrow's load. Err not in harsh de- spair, But tears and patience. One thing more, my child; For thine own sake be constant to the love Thou bearest us; and to the faith that I, Though wrapped in a strange cloud of crime and shame, Lived ever holy and unstained. And though 111 tongues shall wound me, and our com- mon name 150 Be as a mark stamped on thine innocent brow For men to point at as they pass, do thou Forbear, and never think a thought unkind Of those who perhaps love thee in their graves. So mayest thou die as I do; fear and pain Being subdued. Farewell ! Farewell ! Farewell f BERNARDO I cannot say farewell ! CAMILLO O Lady Beatrice ! BKATRICB Give yourself no unnecessary pain, My dear Lord Cardinal. Here, mother, tie My girdle for me, and bind up this hair 160 In any simple knot; ay, that does well. And yours I see is coming down. How often Have we done this for one another; now We shall not do it any more. My Lord, We are quite ready. Well 't is very well. THE MASK OF ANARCHY WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE MASSACRE AT MANCHESTER The Mask of Anarchy was composed in the fall of 1819, soon after the Manchester riot of that summer. The Manchester or ' Peterloo Massacre,' as it was called, was occasioned by an attempt to hold a mass meeting' on August 9, 1819, at St. Peter's Field, Man- Chester, in behalf of parliamentary reform. It was declared illegal and forbidden by the magistrates, and was in consequence post- poned. It was held August Ifi, and attended by several thousands. The chief constable was ordered to arrest the ringleaders, and in particular the chairman, Henry Hunt, an agi- tator unconnected with Leigh Hunt He asked military aid, and went accompanied by forty cavalrymen ; on the failure of the officer and his escort to penetrate the crowd which sur- rounded them, orders were given three hun- dred hussars to disperse the people ; in the charge six persons were killed, twenty or thirty received sabre wounds, and fifty or more were injured in other ways. Eldon was Lord High Chancellor, Sidmouth, Home Secretary, and Castlereagh, Foreign Secretary ; the gov- ernment supported the authorities and publicly approved their conduct. News of these events reached Shelley while still residing at the Villa Valsovano, near Leghorn, and employed in THE MASK OF ANARCHY 253 revising The Cenci, and ' roused in him,' says Mrs. Shelley, ' violent emotions of indignation and compassion.' The nature of these emo- tions is shown in the letter he wrote to Oilier, from whom he heard of the affair : ' The same Jay that your letter came, came the news of the Manchester work, and the torrent of my indignation has not yet done boiling in my veins. I wait anxiously to hear how the coun- try will express its sense of this bloody, mur- derous oppression of its destroyers. '' Some- thing must be done. What, yet I know not."' In a similar vein he addressed Peacock, who had forwarded newspaper accounts : ' Many thanks for your attention in sending the papers which contain the terrible and important news of Manchester. These are, as it were, the dis- tant thunders of the terrible storm which is approaching. The tyrants here, as in the French Revolution, have first shed blood. May their execrable lessons not be learned with equal docility! I still think there will be no coming to close quarters until financial affairs bring the oppressors and the oppressed together. Pray let me have the earliest politi- cal news which you consider of importance at this crisis.' Shelley sent the poem to Leigh Hunt to be published in The Examiner, but it did not ap- pear. He wrote to Hunt on the subject in November. ' You do not tell me whether you have re- ceived my lines on the Manchester affair. They are of the exoteric species, and are meant, not for the Indicator, but the Examiner. . . . Uhe great thing to do is to hold the balance be- tween popular impatience and tyrannical ob- stinacy ; to inculcate with fervor both the right of resistance and the duty of forbearance. You know my principles incite me to take all the good I can get in politics, forever aspiring to something more. I am one of those whom nothing will fully satisfy, but who are ready to be partially satisfied by all that is practi- cable. We shall see.' The poem was at last issued, under Hunt's editorship, in 1832. He assigns, in his preface, as the reason for his failure to publish it when it was written, his own belief that ' the public at large had not become sufficiently discern- ing to do justice to the sincerity and kind- heartedness of his spirit, that walked in the flaming robe of verse.' As I lay asleep in Italy, There came a voice from over the sen, And with great power it forth led me To walk iu the visions of Poesy. I met Murder on the way He had a mask like Castlereagh; Very smooth he looked, yet grim; Seven bloodhounds followed him. All were fat; and well they might Be in admirable plight, For one by one, and two by two, He tossed them human hearts to chew, Which from his wide cloak he drew- IV Next came Fraud, and he had on, Like Eldon, an ermined gown; His big tears, for he wept well, Turned to mill-stones as they fell; And the little children, who Round his feet played to and fro, Thinking every tear a gem, Had their brains knocked out by them. VI Clothed with the Bible as -with light, And the shadows of the night, Like Sid mouth, next Hypocrisy On a crocodile rode by. VII And many more Destructions played In this ghastly masquerade, All disguised, even to the eyes, Like bishops, lawyers, peers or spies. VIII Last came Anarchy; he rode On a white horse splashed with blood: He was pale even to the lips, Like Death in the Apocalypse. IX And he wore a kingly crown ; In his grasp a sceptre shone; On his brow this mark I saw ' I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW ! ' With a pace stately and fast, Over English land he passed, Trampling to a mire of blood The adoring multitude. 254 THE MASK OF ANARCHY XI And a mighty troop around With their trampling shook the ground, Waving each a bloody sword For the service of their Lord. XII And, with glorious triumph, they Rode through England, proud and gay, Drunk as with intoxication Of the wine of desolation. XIII O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea, Passed that Pageant swift and free, Tearing up, and trampling down, Till they came to London town. XIV And each dweller, panic-stricken, Felt his heart with terror sicken, Hearing the tempestuous cry Of the triumph of Anarchy. XV For with pomp to meet him came, Clothed in arms like blood and flame, The hired murderers who did sing, 'Thou art God, and Law, and King. XVI ' We have waited, weak and lone, For thy coming, Mighty One ! Our purses are empty, our swords are cold, Give us glory, and blood, and gold.' XVII Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd, To the earth their pale brows bowed; Like a bad prayer not over loud, Whispering ' Thou art Law and God ! ' XVIII Then all cried with one accord, ' Thou art King, and God, and Lord; Anarchy, to thee we bow, Be thy name made holy now ! ' XIX And Anarchy, the Skeleton, Bowed and grinned to every one, As well as if his education Had cost ten millions to the nation. For he knew the palaces Of our kings were rightly his; His the sceptre, crown, and globe, And the gold-inwoven robe. XXI So he sent his slaves before To seize upon the Bank and Tower, And was proceeding with intent To meet his pensioned parliament, XXII When one fled past, a maniac maid : And her name was Hope, she said; But she looked more like Despair, And she cried out in the air: XXIII ' My father Time is weak and gray With waiting for a better day; See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling with his palsied hands .' XXIV ' He has had child after child, And the dust of death is piled Over every one but me. Misery ! oh, misery ! ' XXV Then she lay down in the street, Riglit before the horses' feet, Expecting with a patient eye Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy; XXVI When between her and her foes A mist, a light, an image rose, Small at first, and weak, and frail, Like the vapor of a vale; XXVII Till as clouds grow on the blast, Like tower-crowned giants striding fast. And glare with lightnings as they fly, And speak in thunder to the sky, XXVIII It grew a Shape arrayed in mail Brighter than the viper's scale, And upborne on wings whose grain Was as the light of sunny rain. THE MASK OF ANARCHY 255 XXIX On its helm, seen far away, A planet, like the Morning's, lay; And those plumes its light rained through, Like a shower of criinsoii dew. XXX With step as soft as wind it passed O'er the heads of men so fast That they knew the presence there, And looked but all was empty air. XXXI As flowers beneath May's footstep waken, As stars from Night's loose hair are shaken, As waves arise when loud winds call, Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall. XXXII And the prostrate multitude Looked and ankle-deep in blood, Hope, that maiden most serene, Was walking with a quiet mien; XXXIII And Anarchy, the ghastly birth, Lay dead earth upon the earth ; The Horse of Death, tameless as wind Fled, and with his hoofs did grind To dust the murderers thronged behind. xxxiv A rushing light of clouds and splendor, A sense, awakening and yet tender, Was heard and felt and at its close These words of joy and fear arose, As if their own indignant earth, Which gave the sons of England birth, Had felt their blood upon her brow, And shuddering with a mother's throe XXXVI Had turned every drop of blood, By which her face had been bedewed ? To an accent unwithstood, As if her heart cried out aloud: XXXVII 1 Men of England, heirs of glory, Heroes of unwritten story, Nurslings of one mighty Mother, Hopes of her, and one another: XXXVIII ' Rise like lions after slumber, In uuvanquishable number; Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many, they are few. XXXIX ' What is Freedom ? Ye can tell That which Slavery is too well, For its very name has grown To an echo of your owu. XL ' 'T is to work, and have such pay As just keeps life from day to day In your limbs, as in a cell, For the tyrants' use to dwell, XLI ' So that ye for them are made Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade- With or without your own will bent To their defence and nourishment. XLII ' 'T is to see your children weak With their mothers pine and peak, When the winter winds are bleak They are dying whilst I speak. XLIII ' 'T is to hunger for such diet, As the rich man in his riot Casts to the fat dogs that lie Surfeiting beneath his eye. XLIV < 'T is to let the Ghost of Gold Take from toil a thousand-fold More than e'er its substance could In the tyrannies of old ; XLV ' Paper coin that forgery Of the title deeds which ye Hold to something of the worth Of the inheritance of Earth. XLVI ' 'T is to be a slave in soul, And to hold no strong control Over your own will, but be All that others make of ye. 256 THE MASK OF ANARCHY XLVII ' And at length when ye complain With a murmur weak and vain, 'T is to see the Tyrant's crew Ride over your wives and you Blood is on the grass like dew ! XLVIII ' Then it is to feel revenge, Fiercely thirsting to exchange Blood for hlood and wrong for wrong ; Do not thus when ye are strong ! XLIX ' Birds find rest in narrow nest, When weary of their winged quest, Beasts find fare in woody lair, When storm and snow are in the air. ' Horses, oxen, have a home, When from daily toil they come ; Household dogs, when the wind roars, Find a home within warm doors. LI ' Assea, swine, have litter spread, And with fitting food are fed ; All things have a home but one Thou, O Englishman, hast none ! LIT 'This is Slavery; savage men, Or wild beasts within a den, Would endure not as ye do But such ills they never knew. Lin What art thou, Freedom? Oh, could slaves Answer from their living graves This demand, tyrants would flee Like a dream's dim imagery. LIV 4 Thou art not, as impostors say, A shadow soon to pass away A superstition and a name Echoing from the cave of Fame. LV ' For the laborer thou art bread And a comely table spread, From his daily labor come In a neat and happy home. LVI ' Thou art clothes, and fire, and food. For the trampled multitude; No in countries that are free Such starvation cannot be As in England now we see. LVII ' To the rich thou art a check; When his foot is on the neck Of his victim, thou dost make That he treads upon a snake. LVIII ' Thou art Justice ne'er for gold May thy righteous laws be sold, As laws are in England; thou Shield'st alike both high and low. LIX ' Thou art Wisdom freemen never Dream that God will damn forever All who think those things untrue Of which priests make such ado. LX ' Thou art Peace never by thee Would blood and treasure wiisted be, As tyrants wasted them, when all Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul. LXI ' What if English toil and blood Was poured forth, even as a flood ? It availed, O Liberty ! To dim, but not extinguish thee. LXII ' Thou art Love the rich have kissed Thy feet, and, like him following Christ, Give their substance to the free And through the rough world follow thee; LXIII ' Or turn their wealth to arms, and ma^e War for thy beloved sake On wealth and war and fraud, whence they Drew the power which is their prey. LXIV ' Science, Poetry and Thought Are thy lamps; they make the lot Of the dwellers in a cot Such they curse their maker not. THE MASK OF ANARCHY 257 LXV ' Spirit, Patience, Gentleness, All that can adorn and bless, Art thou let deeds, not words, express Thine exceeding loveliness. LXVI ' Let a great Assembly be Of the fearless and the free On some spot of English ground, Where the plains stretch wide around. LXVII * Let the blue sky overhead, The green earth on which ye tread, All that must eternal be, Witness the solemnity. LXVIII ' From the corners uttermost Of the bounds of English coast; From every hut, village and town, Where those, who live and suffer, moan For others' misery or their own; LXIX ' From the workhouse and the prison, Where pale as corpses newly risen, Women, children, young and old, Groan for pain, and weep for cold; LXX ' From the haunts of daily life, Where is waged the daily strife With common wants and common cares, Which sows the human heart with tares; LXXI ' Lastly, from the palaces Where the murmur of distress Echoes, like the distant sound Of a wind alive, around LXXII ' Those prison-halls of wealth and fashion, Where some few feel such compassion For those who groan, and toil, and wail, As must make their brethren pale; LXXIII ' Ye who suffer woes untold, Or to feel or to behold Your lost country bought and sold With a price of blood and gold: LXXIV ' Let a vast assembly be, And with great solemnity Declare with measured words that ye Are, as God has made ye, free ! ' Be your strong and simple words Keen to wound as sharpened swords; And wide as targes let them be, With their shade to cover ye. LXXVI ' Let the tyrants pour around With a quick and startling sound, Like the loosening of a sea, Troops of armed emblazonry. LXXVII 1 Let the charged artillery drive Till the dead air seems alive With the clash of clanging wheels And the tramp of horses' heels. Lxxvm ' Let the fixed bayonet Gleam with sharp desire to wet Its bright point in English blood, Looking keen as one for food. LXXIX ' Let the horsemen's scimitars Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars Thirsting to eclipse their burning In a sea of death and mourning. LXXX ' Stand ye calm and resolute, Like a forest close and mute, With folded arms, and looks which are Weapons of imvanquished war. LXXXI ' And let Panic, who outspeeds The career of armed steeds, Pass, a disregarded shade, Through your phalanx undismayed. LXXXII ' Let the laws of your own land, Good or ill, between ye stand, Hand to hand, and foot to foot, Arbiters of the dispute: '53 PETER BELL THE THIRD LXXXIII ' The old laws of England they Whose reverend heads with age are gray, Children of a wiser day; And whose solemn voice must be Thine own echo Liberty ! LXXXIV 1 On those who first should violate Such sacred heralds in their state Rest the blood that must ensue; And it will not rest on you. LXXXV ' And if then the tyrants dare, Let them ride among you there, Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew; What they like, that let them do. LXXXVI 1 With folded arms and steady eyes, And little fear, and less surprise, Look upon them as they slay, Till their rage has died away. LXXXVII * Then they will return with shame To the place from which they came; And the blood thus shed will speak In hot blushes on their cheek. LXXXVIII ' Every woman in the land Will point at them as they stand; They will hardly dare to greet Their acquaintance in the street. LXXXIX ' And the bold true warriors, Who have hugged Danger in wars, Will turn to those who would be free, Ashamed of such base company. xc ' And that slaughter to the Nation Shall steam up like inspiration, Eloquent, oracular; A volcano heard afar. XCI ' And these words shall then become Like oppression's thundered doom, Ringing through each heart and brain. Heard again again again I XCII ' Rise like lions after slumber In uuvanquishable number ! Shake your chains to earth, like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many, they are few J ' PETER BELL THE THIRD BY MICHING MALLECHO, ESQ. Is it a party in a parlor, Crammed just as they on earth were crammed, Some sipping punch some sipping tea ; But, as you by their faces see, All silent, and all damned ! Peter Bell, by W. WORDSWORTH. Ophelia. What means this, my lord? Hamlet. Marry, this is Miching Mallecho; it means mischief. SHAKESPEARE. Peter Bell the Third was suggested by some reviews, in The Examiner, of Wordsworth's Peter Hell and of John Hamilton Reynolds's satire on Wordsworth of the same title. They amused Shelley, and he wrote the present poem in that vein of fun which seldom appeared in his verse, though it was a characteristic trait of his private life. ' I think Peter not bad in his way,' wrote Shelley to Oilier. ' but perhaps no one will believe in anything in the shape of a joke from me.' Shelley's satire is meant pleasantly enough, as his admiration for Wordsworth's poetic powers is evident in many ways, and he was careful to change the name Emma to Hetty, having inadvertently used the former, ' Emma, I recollect, is the real name of the sister of a great poet who might he mis- taken for Peter.' Mrs. Shelley in her note states the case frankly and fairly : ' A critique on Wordsworth's Peter Bell reached us at Leghorn, which amused Shelley exceedingly and suggested this poeiri. I need PETER BELL THE THIRD 259 scarcely observe that nothing 1 personal to the Author of Peter Bell is intended in this poem. No man ever admired Wordsworth's poetry more ; he read it perpetually, and taught others to appreciate its beauties. This poem is, like all others written by Shelley, ideal. He conceived the idealism of a poet a man of lofty and creative genius quitting the glorious calling of discovering and announcing the beautiful and good, to support and propa- gate ignorant prejudices and pernicious errors ; imparting to the unenlightened, not that ardor for truth and spirit of toleration which Shelley looked on as the sources of the moral improve- ment and happiness of mankind ; but false and injurious opinions, that evil was good, and that ignorance and force were the best allies of purity and virtue. His idea was that a man gifted even as transcendently as the Author of Peter Bel/, with the highest qualities of genius, must, if he fostered such errors, be in- fected with dulness. This poem was written, as a warning not as a narration of the real- ity. He was unacquainted personally with Wordsworth or with Coleridge (to whom he alludes in the fifth part of the poem), and therefore, I repeat, his poem is purely ideal ; it contains something of criticism on the compositions of these great poets, but nothing injurious to the men themselves. ' No poem contains more of Shelley's peculiar views, with regard to the errors into which many of the wisest have fallen, and of the per- nicious effects of certain opinions on society. Much of it is beautifully written and though, like the burlesque drama of Swellfoot, it must be looked on as a plaything, it has so much merit and poetry so much of himself in it, that it cannot fail to interest greatly, and by right belongs to the world for whose instruc- tion and benefit it was written.' Shelley's own account of the burlesque is given in a letter to Hunt : ' Now, I only send you a very heroic poem, which I wish you to give to Oilier, and desire him to print and publish immediately, you being kind enough to take upon yourself the correction of the press not. however, with my name ; and you must tell Oilier that the author is to be kept a secret, and that I confide in him for this object as I would confide in a physician or lawyer, or any other man whose professional situation renders the betraying of what is en- trusted a dishonor. My motive in this is solely not to prejudge myself in the present moment, as I have only expended a few days in this party sqnib, and, of course, taken little pains. The verses and language I have let come as they would, and I am about to publish more serious things this winter ; afterwards, that is next year, if the thing should be remembered so long-, I have no objection to the author being known, hut not now. L should like well enough that it should both go to press and be printed very quickly ; as more serious things are on the eve of engaging both the public attention and mine.' The poem was written at Florence, in the latter part of October, 1819, and sent forward to Hunt at once for publication. It did not appear, however, until twenty years after, when it was included in Mrs. Shelley's second edition of the collected poems, 1839. DEDICATION TO THOMAS BROWN, ESQ., THE Y9UNGER, H. F. DEAR TOM, Allow me to request you to introduce Mr. Peter Bell to the respectable family of the Fudges. Although he may fall short of those very considerable personages in the more active properties which characterize the Rat and the Apostate, I suspect that even you, their historian, will confess that he sur- passes them in the more peculiarly legitimate qualification of intolerable dulness. You know Mr. Examiner Hunt ; well it was he who presented me to two of the Mr. Bells. My intimacy with the younger Mr. Bell naturally sprung from this introduction to his brothers. And in presenting him to you I have the satisfaction of being able to assure you that he is considerably the dullest of the three. There is this particular advantage in an ac- quaintance with any one of the Peter Bells that, if you know one Peter Bell, you know three Peter Bells ; they are not one, but three ; not three, but one. An awful mystery, which, after having caused torrents of blood and hav- ing been hymned by groans enough to deafen the music of the spheres, is at length illustrated to the satisfaction of all parties in the theo- logical world by the nature of Mr. Peter Bell. Peter is a polyhedric Peter, or a Peter with many sides. He changes colors like a chame- leon and his coat like a snake. He is a Pro- teus of a Peter. He was at first sublime, pathetic, impressive, profound ; then dull ; then prosy and dull ; and now dull oh, so very dull ! it is an ultra-legitimate dulness. You will perceive that it is not necessary to consider Hell and the Devil as supernatural machinery. The whole scene of my epic is in ' this world which is ' so Peter informed us before his conversion to White Obi The world of all of us, and where We find our happiness, or not at all. Let me observe that I have spent six or seven days in composing this sublime piece; 260 PETER BELL THE THIRD the orb of my moon-like genius has made the fourth part of its revolution round the dull earth which you inhabit, driving 1 you mad, while it has retained its calmness and its splendor, and I have been fitting this its last phase ' to occupy a permanent station in the literature of my country.' Your works, indeed, dear Tom, sell better ; but mine are far superior. The public is no judge ; posterity sets all to rights. Allow me to observe that so much has been written of Peter Bell that the present history can be considered only, like the Iliad, as a continuation of that series of cyclic poems which have already been candidates for be- stowing immortality upon, at the same time that they receive it from, his character and adventures. In this point of view I have vio- lated no rule of syntax in beginning my com- position with a conjunction ; the full stop, which closes the poem continued by me, being, like the full stops at the end of the Iliad and Odyssey, a full stop of a very qualified import. PROLOGUE PETER BELLS, one, two and three, O'er the wide world wandering be. First, the antenatal Peter, Wrapped in weeds of the same metre, The so long predestined raiment, Clothed in which to walk his way meant The second Peter ; whose ambition Is to link the proposition, As the mean of two extremes, (This was learned from Aldrich's themes), Shielding from the guilt of schism The orthodoxal syllogism ; The First Peter he who was Like the shadow in the glass Of the second, yet unripe, His substantial antitype. Then came Peter Bell the Second, Who henceforward must be reckoned The body of a double soul, And that portion of the whole Without which the rest would seem Ends of a disjointed dream. And the Third is he who has O'er the grave been forced to pass To the other side, which is Go and try else just like this. Peter Bell the First was Peter Smugger, milder, softer, neater, Like the soul before it is Born from that world into this. The next Peter Bell was he, Hoping that the immortality which you have given to the Fudges, you will receive from them ; and in the firm expectation that when London shall be an habitation of bitterns, when St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey shall stand, shapeless and nameless ruins, in the midst of an unpeopled marsh ; when the piers of Water- loo Bridge shall become the nuclei of islets of reeds and osiers, and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream, some transatlantic commentator will be weigh- ing in the scales of some new and now unim- agined system of criticism the respective merits of the Bells and the Fudges and their historians, I remain, dear Tom, Yours sincerely, December 1, 1819. MICHING MALLECHO. P. S. Pray excuse the date of place ; so soon as the profits of the publication come in, I mean to hire lodgings in a more respectable street. Predevote, like you and me, To good or evil, as may come; His was the severer doom, For be was an evil Cotter, And a polygamic Potter. And the last is Peter Bell, Damned since our first parents fell, Damned eternally to Hell Surely he deserves it well ! PART THE FIRST DEATH I AND Peter Bell, when he had been With fresh-imported Hell-fire warmed, Grew serious from his dress and mien 'T was very plainly to be seen Peter was quite reformed. His eyes turned up, his mouth turned down; His accent caught a nasal twang; He oiled his hair; there might be heard The grace of God in every word Which Peter said or sang. Ill But Peter now grew old, and had An ill no doctor could unravel; PETER BELL THE THIRD 261 His torments almost drove him mad; Some said it was a fever bad; Some swore it was the gravel. IV His holy friends then came about, And with long preaching and persuasion Convinced the patient that without The smallest shadow of a doubt He was predestined to damnation. They said ' Thy name is Peter Bell; Thy skin is of a brimstone hue; Alive or dead ay, sick or well The one God made to rhyme with hell; The other, I think, rhymes with you.' VI Then Peter set up such a yell ! The nurse, who with some water gruel Was climbing up the stairs, as well As her old legs could climb them fell, And broke them both the fall was cruel. VII The Parson from the casement leapt Into the lake of Windermere; And many an eel though no adept In God's right reason for it kept Gnawing his kidneys half a year. VIII And all the rest rushed through the door, And tumbled over one another, And broke their skulls. Upon the floor Meanwhile sat Peter Bell, and swore, And cursed his father and his mother; And raved of God, and sin, and death, Blaspheming like an infidel; And said that with his clenched teeth He 'd seize the earth from underneath And drag it with him down to hell. As he was speaking came a spasm And wrenched his gnashing teeth asun- der; Like one who sees a strange phantasm He lay, there was a silent chasm Betwixt his upper jaw and under. XI And yellow death lay on his face; And a fixed smile that was not human Told, as I understand the case, That he was gone to the wrong place. I heard all this from the old woman. XII Then there came down from Langdale Pike A cloud, with lightning, wind and hail; It swept over the mountains like An ocean, and I heard it strike The woods and crags of Grasmere vale. XIII And I saw the black storm come Nearer, minute after minute; Its thunder made the cataracts dumb; With hiss, and clash, and hollow hum, It neared as if the Devil was in it. XIV The Devil was in it; he had bought Peter for half-a-crown ; and when The storm which bore him vanished, nought That in the house that storm had caught Was ever seen again. xv The gaping neighbors came next day; They found all vanished from the shore; The Bible, whence he used to pray, Half scorched under a hen-coop lay; Smashed glass and nothing more ! PART THE SECOND THE DEVIL I THE Devil, I safely can aver, Has neither hoof, nor tail, nor sting; Nor is he, as some sages swear, A spirit, neither here nor there, In nothing yet in everything. He is what we are ; for sometimes The Devil is a gentleman ; At others a bard bartering rhymes For sack; a statesman spinning crimes; A swindler, living as he can; 262 PETER BELL THE THIRD in A thief, who cotneth in the night, With whole boots and net pantaloons, Like some one whom it were not right To mention, or the luckless wight, From whom he steals nine silver spoons. IV But in this case he did appear Like a slop-merchant from Wappiug, And with smug face and eye severe On every side did perk and peer Till he saw Peter dead or napping. He had on an upper Benjamin (For he was of the driving schism) In the which he wrapped his skin From the storm he travelled in, For fear of rheumatism. VI He called the ghost out of the corse, It was exceedingly like Peter, Only its voice was hollow and hoarse; It had a qtieerish look, of course; Its dress too was a little neater. VII The Devil knew not his name and lot; Peter knew not that he was Bell ; Each had an upper stream of thought, Which made all seem as it was not, Fitting itself to all things well. VIII Peter thought he had parents dear, Brothers, sisters, cousins, cronies, In the fens of Lincolnshire; He perhaps had found them there Had he gone and boldly shown his IX Solemn phiz in his own village, Where he thought oft when a boy He 'd clomb the orchard walls to pillage The produce of his neighbor's tillage, With marvellous pride and joy. And the Devil thought he had, "Mid the misery and confusion Of an unjust war, just made A fortune by the gainful trade Of giving soldiers rations bad The world is full of strange delusion; XI That he had a mansion planned In a square like Grosvenor-square, That he was aping fashion, and That he now came to Westmoreland To see what was romantic there. XII And all this, though quite ideal, Ready at a breath to vanish, Was a state not more unreal Than the peace he could not feel, Or the care he could not banish. XIII After a little conversation, The Devil told Peter, if he chose, He 'd bring him to the world of fashion By giving him a situation In his own service and new clothes. And Peter bowed, quite pleased and proud, And after waiting some few days For a new livery dirty yellow Turned up with black the wretched fellow Was bowled to Hell in the Devil's chaise. PART THE THIRD HELL HELL is a city much like London A populous and a smoky city; There are all sorts of people undone, And there is little or no fun done; , Small justice shown, and still less pity. II There is a Castles, and a Canning, A Cobbett, and a Castlereagh; All sorts of caitiff corpses planning All sorts of cozening for trepanning Corpses less corrupt than they. Ill There is a , who has lost His wits, or sold them, none knows which; PETER BELL THE THIRD 263 He walks about a double ghost, And, though as thiu as Fraud almost, Ever grows more griiu and rich. IV There is a Chancery Court; a King; A manufacturing mob; a set Of thieves who by themselves are sent Similar thieves to represent; Au army; and a public debt. Which last is a scheme of paper money, And means being interpreted * Bees, keep your wax give us the honey, And we will plant, while skies are sunny, Flowers, which in winter serve instead.' VI There is great talk of revolution And a great chance of despotism German soldiers camps confusion Tumults lotteries rage delusion Gin suicide and methodism ; VII Taxes too, on wine and bread, And meat, and beer, and tea, and cheese, From which those patriots pure are fed, Who gorge before they reel to bed, The tenfold essence of all these. VIII There are mincing women, mewing (Like cats, who amant miser e) Of their own virtue, and pursuing Their gentler sisters to that ruin Without which what were chastity ? IX Lawyers judges old hobnobbers Are there bailiffs chancellors Bishops great and little robbers Rhymesters pamphleteers stock-job- bers Men of glory in the wars; Things whose trade is, over ladies To lean, and flirt, and stare, and sim- per, Till all that is divine in woman Grows cruel, courteous, smooth, inhuman, Crucified 'twixt a smile and whimper; XI Thrusting, toiling, wailing, moiling, Frowning, preaching such a riot ! Each with never-ceasing labor, Whilst he thinks he cheats his neighbor, Cheating his own heart of quiet. XII And all these meet at levees; Dinners convivial and political; Suppers of epic poets; teas, Where small talk dies in agonies; Breakfasts professional and critical; XIII Lunches and snacks so aldermanic That one would furnish forth ten din- ners, Where reigns a Cretan-tongued panic, Lest news Russ, Dutch, or Alemaunic Should make some losers, and some winners ; XIV At conversazioni balls Conventicles and drawing-rooms Courts of law committees calls Of a morning clubs book-stalls Churches masquerades and tombs, XV And this is Hell and in this smother Are all damnable and damned; Each one, damning, damns the other; They are damned by one another, By none other are they damned. XVI 'T is a lie to say, ' God damns ! ' Where was Heaven's Attorney-General When they first gave out such flams ? Let there be an end of shams; They are mines of poisonous mineral. XVII Statesmen damn themselves to be Cursed; and lawyers damn their souls To the auction of a fee; Churchmen damn themselves to see God's sweet love in burning coals. XVIII The rich are damned, beyond alt cure, To taunt, and starve, and trample on 264 PETER BELL THE THIRD The weak and wretched; and the poor Damn their broken hearts to endure Stripe on stripe, with groan on groan. XIX Sometimes the poor are damned indeed To take, not means for being blessed, But Cobbett's snuff, *revenge; that weed From which the worms that it doth feed Squeeze less than they before pos- sessed. XX And some few, like we know who, Damned but God alone knows why To believe their minds are given To make this ugly Hell a Heaven; In which faith they live and die. XXI Thus, as in a town, plague-stricken, Each man, be he sound or no, Must indifferently sicken ; As when day begins to thicken, None knows a pigeon from a crow; xxn So good and bad, sane and mad, The oppressor and the oppressed; Those who weep to see what others Smile to inflict upon their brothers; Lovers, haters, worst and best; XXIII All are damned they breathe an air, Thick, infected, joy-dispelling; Each pursues what seems most fair, Mining, like moles, through mind, and there Scoop palace-caverns vast, where Care In throned state is ever dwelling. PART THE FOURTH SIN Lo, Peter in Hell's Grosvenor-square, A footman in the Devil's service ! And the misjudging world would swear That every man in service there To virtue would prefer vice. But Peter, though now damned, was not What Peter was before damnation. Men oftentimes prepare a lot Which, ere it finds them, is not what Suits with their genuine station. Ill All things that Peter saw and felt Had a peculiar aspect to him ; And when they came within the belt Of his own nature, seemed to melt, Like cloud to cloud, into him. IV And so the outward world uniting To that within him, he became Considerably uninviting To those, who meditation slighting, Were moulded iu a different frame. And he scorned them, and they scorned him; And he scorned all they did ; and they Did all that men of their own trim Are wont to do to please their whim Drinking, lying, swearing, play. VI Such were his fellow-servants; thus His virtue, like our own, was built Too much on that indignant fuss Hypocrite Pride stirs up in us To bully one another's guilt. VII He had a mind which was somehow At once circumference and centre Of all he might or feel or know; Nothing went ever out, although Something did ever enter. VIII He had as much imagination As a pint-pot; he never could Fancy another situation, From which to dart his contemplation, Thau that wherein he stood. IX Yet his was individual mind, And new-created all he saw In a new manner, and refined PETER BELL THE THIRD 265 Those new creations, and combined Them, by a master-spirit's law Thus though unimaginative An apprehension clear, intense, Of his mind's work, had made alive The things it wrought on; I believe Wakening a sort of thought in sense. XI But from the first 't was Peter's drift To be a kind of moral eunuch; He touched the hem of Nature's shift, Felt faint and never dared uplift The closest, all-concealing tunic. XII She laughed the while, with an arch smile, And kissed him with a sister's kiss, And said ' My best Diogenes, 1 love you well but, if you please, Tempt uot again my deepest bliss. XIII ' 'T is you are cold for I, not coy, Yield love for love, frank, warm and true ; And Burns, a Scottish peasant boy His errors prove it knew my joy More, learned friend, than you. XIV ' Bocca bacciata nonperde ventura A nzi rinnuova come fa la lima : So thought Boccaccio, whose sweet words might cure a Male prude, like you, from what you now endure, a Low-tide in soul, like a stagnant laguna.' XV Then Peter rubbed his eyes severe, And smoothed his spacious forehead down, With his broad palm; 'twixt love and fear, He looked, as he no doubt felt, queer, And in his dream sate down. XVI The Devil was no uncommon creature; A leaden-witted thief just huddled Out of the dross and scum of nature; A toad-like lump of limb and feature, With mind, and heart, and fancy mud- dled. XVII He was that heavy, dull, cold thing, The spirit of evil well may be; A drone too base to have a sting; Who gluts, and grimes his lazy wing, And calls lust luxury. XVIII Now he was quite the kind of wight Round whom collect, at a fixed era, Venison, turtle, hock, and claret, Good cheer and those who come to share it And best East Indian madeira ! XIX It was his fancy to invite Men of science, wit, and learning, Who came to lend each other light; He proudly thought that his gold's might Had set those spirits burning. XX And men of learning, science, wit, Considered him as you and I Think of some rotten tree, and sit Lounging and dining under it, Exposed to the wide sky. XXI And all the while, with loose fat smile, The willing wretch sat winking there, Believing 't was his power that made That jovial scene and that all paid Homage to his unnoticed chair; XXII Though to be sure this place was Hell; He was the Devil and all they What though the claret circled well, And wit, like ocean, rose and fell ? Were damned eternally. PART THE FIFTH GRACE AMONG the guests who often stayed Till the Devil's petits-soupers, 2 66 PETER BELL THE THIRD A man there came, fair as a maid, And Peter noted what he said, Standing behind his master's chair. He was a mighty poet and A subtle-sonled psychologist; All things he seemed to understand, Of old or new of sea or land But his own mind which was a mist. Ill This was* a man who might have turned Hell into Heaven and so in gladness A Heaven unto himself have earned; But he in shadows undiscerned Trusted, and damned himself to mad- IV He spoke of poetry, and how ' Divine it was a light a love A spirit which like wind doth blow As it listeth, to and fro; A dew rained down from God above; ' A power which comes and goes like dream, And which none can ever trace Heaven's light on earth Truth's brightest beam.' And when he ceased there lay the gleam Of those words upon his face. VI Now Peter, when he heard such talk, Would, heedless of a broken pate, Stand like a man asleep, or balk Some wishing guest of knife or fork, Or drop and break his master's plate. VII At night he oft would start and wake Like a lover, and began In a wild measure songs to make On moor, and glen, and rocky lake, And on the heart of man, VIII And on the universal sky, And the wide earth's bosom green, And the sweet, strange mystery Of what beyond these things may lie, And yet remain unseen. IX For in his thought he visited The spots in which, ere dead and damned, He his wayward life had led; Yet knew not whence the thoughts were fed, Which thus his fancy crammed. And these obscure remembrances Stirred such harmony in Peter, That whensoever he should please, He could speak of rocks and trees lu poetic metre. XI For though it was without a sense Of memory, yet he remembered well Many a ditch and quick-set fence; Of lakes he had intelligence; He knew something of heath and fell. He had also dim recollections Of pedlers tramping on their rounds; Milk-pans and pails; and odd collections Of saws and proverbs; and reflections Old parsons make in burying-grounds. XIII But Peter's verse was clear, and came Announcing from the frozen hearth Of a cold age, that none might tame The soul of that diviner flame It augured to the Earth; XIV Like gentle rains, on the dry plains, Making that green which late was gray, Or like the sudden moon, that stains Some gloomy chamber's window panes With a broad light like day. XV For language was in Peter's hand Like clay while he was yet a potter; And he made songs for all the land, Sweet, both to feel and understand, As pipkins late to mountain cotter. XVI And Mr. , the bookseller, Gave twenty pounds for some; then scorning PETER BELL THE THIRD 267 A footman's yellow coat to wear, Peter, too proud of heart, I fear. Instantly gave the Devil warning. XVII Whereat the Devil took offence, And swore in his soul a great oath then, ' That for his damned impertinence, He 'd hring him to a proper sense Of what was due to gentlemen ! ' PART THE SIXTH DAMNATION ' O THAT mine enemy had written A hook ! ' cried Job ; a fearful curse, If to the Arab, as the Briton, 'T was galling to be critic-bitten; The Devil to Peter wished no worse. When Peter's next new book found vent, The Devil to all the first Reviews A copy of it slyly sent, With five-pound note as compliment, And this short notice ' Pray abuse.' Then seriatim, month and quarter, Appeared such mad tirades. One said, ' Peter seduced Mrs. Foy's daughter, Then drowned the mother in Ullswater The last thing as he went to bed.' IV Another ' Let him shave his head ! Where 's Dr. Willis ? Or is he jok- ing? What does the rascal mean or hope, No longer imitating Pope, In that barbarian Shakespeare poking ? ' One more, ' Is incest not enough, And must there be adultery too ? Grace after meat ? Miscreant and Liar ! Thief ! Blackguard ! Scoundrel ! Fool Hell-fire Is twenty times too good for you. VI ' By that last book of yours WE think You 've double damned yourself to scorn; We warned you whilst yet on the brink You stood. From your black name will shrink The babe that is unborn.' VII All these Reviews the Devil made Up in a parcel, which he had Safely to Peter's house conveyed. For carriage, tenpence Peter paid Untied them read them went half- mad. VIII ' What ! ' cried he, ' this is my reward For nights of thought, and days of toil? Do poets, but to be abhorred By men of whom they never heard, Consume their spirits' oil ? IX ' What have I done to them ? and who Is Mrs. Foy ? 'T is very cruel To speak of me and Betty so ! Adultery ! God defend me ! Oh ! I 've half a mind to fight a duel. ' Or,' cried he, a grave look collecting, ' Is it my genius, like the moon, Sets those who stand her face inspecting, That face within their brain reflecting, Like a crazed bell-chime, out of tune ?' xi For Peter did not know the town, But thought, as country readers do, For half a guinea or a crown He bought oblivion or renown From God's own voice in a Review. xn All Peter did on this occasion Was writing some sad stuff in prose. It is a dangerous invasion When poets criticise; their station Is to delight, not pose. 2 68 PETER BELL THE THIRD XIII The Devil then sent to Leipsic fair, For Born's translation of Kant's book; A world of words, tail foremost, where Right, wrong, false, true, and foul, and fair As in a lottery-wheel are shook ; XIV Five thousand crammed octavo pages Of German psychologies, he Who his furor verborum assuages Thereon deserves just seven months' wages More than will e'er be due to me. XV I looked on them nine several days, And then I saw that they were bad; A friend, too, spoke in their dispraise, He never read them; with amaze I found Sir William Drummond had. XVI When the book came, the Devil sent It to P. Verbovale, Esquire, With a brief note of compliment, By that night's Carlisle mail. It went, And set his soul on fire XVII Fire, which ex luce prcebens fumum, Made him beyond the bottom see Of truth's clear well when I and you, Ma'am, Go, as we shall do, subter humum, We may know more than he. XVIII Now Peter ran to seed in soul Into .1 walking paradox; For he was neither part nor whole, Nor good, nor bad, nor knave nor fool, Among the woods and rocks. XIX Furious he rode, where late he ran, Lashing and spurring his tame hobby; Turned to a formal puritan, A solemn and unsexual man, He half believed White Obi. XX This steed in vision he would ride, High trotting over nine-inch bridges, With Flibbertigibbet, imp of pride, Mocking and mowing by his side A mad-brained goblin for a guide Over cornfields, gates and hedges. XXI After these ghastly rides, he came Home to his heart, and found from thence Much stolen of its accustomed flame; His thoughts grew weak, drowsy, and lame Of their intelligence. XXII To Peter's view, all seemed one hue; He was no whig, he was no tory; No Deist and no Christian he; He got so subtle that to be Nothing was all his glory. XXIII One single point in his belief From his organization sprung, The heart-enrooted faith, the chief Ear in his doctrines' blighted sheaf, That ' happiness is wrong.' XXIV So thought Calvin and Dominic; So think their fierce successors, who Even now would neither stint nor stick Our flesh from off our bones to pick, If they might ' do their do.' XXV His morals thus were undermined ; The old Peter the hard, old Potter W r as born anew within his mind; He grew dull, harsh, sly, unrefined, As when he tramped beside the Otter. XXVI In the death hues of agony Lambently flashing from a fish, Now Peter felt amused to see Shades like a rainbow's rise and flee, Mixed with a certain hungry wish. XXVII So in his Country's dying face He looked and lovely as she lay, Seeking in vain his last embrace, Wailing her own abandoned case, With hardened sneer he turned away; PETER BELL THE THIRD 269 XXVIII And coolly to his own soul said, ' Do you not think that we might make A poem on her when she 's dead; Or, no a thought is in my head Her shroud for a new sheet I '11 take; XXIX ' My wife wants one. Let who will bury This mangled corpse ! And I and you, My dearest Soul, will then make merry, As the Prince Regent did with Sherry, Ay and at last desert me too.' xxx And so his soul would not be gay, But moaned within him ; like a fawn Moaning within a cave, it lay Wounded and wasting, day by day, Till all its life of life was gone. XXXI As troubled skies stain waters clear, The storm in Peter's heart and mind Now made his verses dark and queer; They were the ghosts of what they were, Shaking dim grave clothes in the wind. XXXII For he now raved enormous folly, Of Baptisms, Sunday-schools, and Graves; 'T would make George Colman melancholy To have heard him, like a male Molly, Chanting those stupid staves. XXXIII Yet the Reviews, who heaped abuse On Peter while he wrote for freedom, So soon as in his song they spy The folly which soothes tyranny, Praise him, for those who feed 'em. XXXIV ' He was a man, too great to scan; A planet lost in truth's keen rays; His virtue, awful and prodigious; He was the most sublime, religious, Pure-minded Poet of these days.' xxxv As soon as he read that, cried Peter, 1 Eureka ! I have found the way Tc make a better thing of metre Than e'er was made by living creature Up to this blessed day.' xxxvi Then Peter wrote odes to the Devil, In one of which he meekly said: ' May Carnage and Slaughter, Thy niece and thy daughter, May Rapine and Famine, Thy gorge ever cramming, Glut thee with living and dead ! XXXVII ' May death and damnation, And consternation, Flit up from hell with pure intent ! Slash them at Manchester, Glasgow, Leeds and Chester; Drench all with blood from Avon to Trent XXXVIII ' Let thy body-guard yeomen Hew down babes and women And laugh with bold triumph till Heaven be rent ! When Moloch in Jewry Munched children witli fury, It was thou, Devil, dining with pure in- tent.' PART THE SEVENTH DOUBLE DAMNATION THE Devil now knew his proper cue. Soon as he read the ode, he drove To his friend Lord MacMurderchouse's, A man of interest in both houses, And said: ' For money or for love, ' Pray find some cure or sinecure; To feed from the superfluous taxes, A friend of ours a poet; fewer Have fluttered tamer to the lure Than he.' His lordship stands and racks his III Stupid brains, while one might count As many beads as he had boroughs, 270 PETER BELL THE THIRD At length replies, from his mean front, Like one who rubs out an account, Smoothing away the unmeaning fur- rows : IV ' It happens fortunately, dear Sir, I can. I hope I need require No pledge from you that he will stir In our affairs; like Oliver, That he '11 be worthy of his hire.' These words exchanged, the news sent off To Peter, home the Devil hied, Took to his bed; he had no cough, No doctor, meat and drink enough, Yet that same night he died. VI The Devil's corpse was leaded down; His decent heirs enjoyed his pelf ; Mourning-coaches, many a one, Followed his hearse along the town; Where was the Devil himself ? VII When Peter heard of his promotion, His eyes grew like two stars for bliss; There was a bow of sleek devotion, Engendering in his back; each motion Seemed a Lord's shoe to kiss. VIII He hired a house, bought plate, and made A genteel drive up to his door, With sifted gravel neatly laid, As if defying all who said, Peter was ever poor. IX But a disease soon struck into The very life and soul of Peter; He walked about slept had the hue Of health upon his cheeks and few Dug better none a heartier eater. And yet a strange and horrid cnrse Clung upon Peter, night and day; Month after month the thing grew worse, And deadlier than in this my verse I can find strength to say. XI Peter was dull he was at first Dull oh, so dull so very dull ! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed Still with this dulness was he cursed Dull beyond all conception dull. XII No one could read his books no mortal, But a few natural friends, would hear him; The parson came not near his portal; His state was like that of the immortal Described by Swift no man could bear him. XIII His sister, wife, and children yawned, With a long, slow, and drear ennui, All human patience far beyond; Their hopes of Heaven each would have pawned Anywhere else to be. XIV But in his verse, and in his prose, The essence of his dulness was Concentred and compressed so close, 'T would have made Guatimozin doze On his red gridiron of brass. A printer's boy, folding those pages, Fell slumbrously upon one side, Like those famed seven who slept three ages; To wakeful frenzy's vigil rages, As opiates, were the same applied. XVI Even the Reviewers who were hired To do the work of his reviewing, With adamantine nerves, grew tired; Gaping and torpid they retired To dream of what they should be do- ing. XVII And worse and worse the drowsy curse Yawned in him, till it grew a pest A wide contagious atmosphere Creeping like cold through all things near, A power to infect and to infest THE WITCH OF ATLAS 27! XVIII flis servant-maids and dogs grew dull; His kitten, late a sportive elf ; The woods and lakes, so beautiful, Of dim stupidity were full; All grew dull as Peter's self. XIX The earth under his feet the springs Which lived within it a quick life, The air, the winds of many wings That fan it with new murmurings, Were dead to their harmonious strife. XX The birds and beasts within the wood, The insects, and each creeping thing, Were now a silent multitude; Love's work was left unwrought no brood Near Peter's house took wing. XXI And every neighboring cottager Stupidly yawned upon the other; No jackass brayed; no little cur Cocked up his ears; no man would stir To save a dying mother. XXII Yet all from that charmed district went But some half-idiot and half-knave, Who rather than pay any rent Would live with marvellous content Over his father's grave. XXIII No bailiff dared within that space, For fear of the dull charm, to enter; A man would bear upon his face, For fifteen months in any case, The yawn of such a venture. XXIV Seven miles above below around This pest of dulness holds its sway; A ghastly life without a sound ; To Peter's soul the spell is bound How should it ever pass away ? THE WITCH OF ATLAS The Witch of Atlas was conceived during a solitary w.alk from the Baths of San Giuliano, near Pisa, to the top of Monte San Pellegrino, August 12, 1820, and was written August 14, 15, and 16. It was sent to Oilier to be pub- lished with Shelley's name, but was first issued in Mrs. Shelley's edition of the Posthumous Poems, 1824. Her own note gives all our in- formation concerning it, except Shelley's char- acteristic sigh ' if its merit be measured by the labor which it cost, [it] is worth nothing.' Mrs. Shelley writes : ' We spent the summer at the Baths of San Giuliano, four miles from Pisa. These baths were of great use to Shelley in soothing his nervous irritability. We made several excur- sions in the neighborhood. The country around is fertile, and diversified and rendered pictur- esque by rang'es of near hills and more distant mountains. The peasantry are a handsome, intelligent race, and there was a gladsome sunny heaven spread over us, that rendered home and every scene we visited cheerful and bright. During some of the hottest days of August, Shelley made a solitary journey on foot to the summit of Monte San Pelegrino a mountain of some height, on the top of which there is a chapel, the object, during certain days in the year, of many pilgrimages. The excursion delighted him while it lasted, though he exerted himself too much, and the effect was considerable lassitude and weakness on his re- turn. During the expedition he conceived the idea and wrote, in the three days immediately succeeding to his return, The Witch of Atlas. This poem is peculiarly characteristic of his tastes wildly fanciful, full of brilliant ima- gery, and discarding human interest and pas- sion, to revel in the fantastic ideas that his imagination suggested. ' The surpassing excellence of The Cenci had made me greatly desire that Shelley should in- crease his popularity, by adopting subjects that would more suit the popular taste than a poem conceived in the abstract and dreamy spirit of The Witch of Atlas. It was not only that I wished him to acquire popularity as redound- ing to his fame ; but, I believed that he would obtain a greater mastery over his own powers, and greater happiness in his mind, if public applause crowned his endeavors. The few stanzas that precede the poem were addressed to me on my representing these ideas to him. Even now I believe that I was in the right 272 THE WITCH OF ATLAS Shelley did not expect sympathy and approba- tion from the public ; but the want of it took away a portion of the ardor that ought to have sustained him while writing. He was thrown on his own resources and on the inspiration of his own soul, and wrote because his mind over- flowed, without the hope of being appreciated. I had not the most distant wish that he should truckle in opinion, or submit his lofty aspira- tions for the human race to the low ambition and pride of the many, but I felt sure that if his poems were more addressed to the common feelings of men, his proper rank among the writers of the day would be acknowledged ; and that popularity as a poet would enable his countrymen to do justice to his character and virtues ; which, in those days, it was the mode to attack with the most flagitious calum- nies and insulting abuse. That he felt these things deeply cannot be doubted, though he armed himself with the consciousness of acting from a lofty and heroic sense of right. The truth burst from his heart sometimes in solitude, and he would write a few unfinished verses that showed that he felt the sting. . . . TO MARY ON HER OBJECTING TO THE FOLLOWING POEM UPON THE SCORE OF ITS CON- TAINING NO HUMAN INTEREST How, my dear Mary, are yon critic-bitten (For vipers kill, though dead) by some review, That you condemn these verses I have written, Because they tell no story, false or true ! What, though no mice are caught by a young kitten, May it not leap and play as grown cats do, Till its claws come ? Prithee, for this one time, Content thee with a visionary rhyme. What hand would crush the silken-winged fly, The youngest of inconstant April's min- ions, Because it cannot climb the purest sky, Where the swan sings, amid the sun's dominions ? Not thine. Thou k no west 'tis its doom to die, ' I believed that all this morbid feeling would vanish, if the chord of sympathy be- tween him and his countrymen were touched. But my persuasions were vain ; the mind could not be bent from its natural inclination. Shelley shrunk instinctively from portraying human passion, with its mixture of good and evil, of disappointment and disquiet. Such opened again the wounds of his own heart, and he loved to shelter himself rather in the airiest flights of fancy, forgetting love and hate and regret and lost hope, in such imaginations as borrowed their hues from sunrise or sunset, from the yellow moonshine or paly twilight, from the aspect of the far ocean or the shadows of the woods ; which celebrated the singing of the winds among the pines, the flow of a mur- muring stream, and the thousand harmonious sounds which nature creates in her solitudes. These are the materials which form The Witch of Atlas; it is a brilliant congregation of ideas, such as his senses gathered, and his fancy colored, during his rambles in the sunny land he so much loved.' When day shall hide within her twilight pinions The lucent eyes, and the eternal smile, Serene as thine, which lent it life awhile. HI To thy fair feet a winged Vision came, Whose date should have been longer than a day, And o'er thy head did beat its wings for fame, And in thy sight its fading plumes dis- play; The watery bow burned in the evening flame, But the shower fell, the swift sun went his way And that is dead. Oh, let me not believe That anything of mine is fit to live ! IV Wordsworth informs us he was nineteen years Considering and retouching Peter Bell; Watering his laurels with the killing tears Of slow, dull care, so that their roots to hell Might pierce, and their wide branches blot the spheres Of heaven, with dewy leaves and flowers; this well THE WITCH OF ATLAS 273 May be, for Heaven and Earth conspire to foil The over-busy gardener's blundering toil. My Witch indeed is not so sweet a creature As Ruth or Lucy, whom his graceful praise Clothes for our grandsons but she matches Peter, Though he took nineteen years, and she three days, In dressing. Light the vest of flowing metre She wears; he, proud as dandy with his stays, Has bung upon his wiry limbs a dress Like King Lear's ' looped and windowed raggedness.' VI If you strip Peter, you will see a fellow Scorched by Hell's hyperequatorial cli- mate Into a kind of a sulphureous yellow: A lean mark, hardly fit to fling a rhyme at; In shape a Scaramouch, in hue Othello. If you unveil my Witch, no priest nor primate Can shrive you of that sin, if sin there be In love, when it becomes idolatry. BEFORE those cruel Twins, whom at one birth Incestuous Change bore to her father Time, Error and Truth, had hunted from the earth All those bright natures which adorned its prime, And left us nothing to believe in, worth The pains of putting into learned rhyme, A Lady-Witch there lived on Atlas' moun- tain Within a cavern by a secret fountain. Her mother was one of the Atlantides ; The all-beholding Sun had ne'er beholden In his wide voyage o'er continents and seas So fair a creature, as she lay enfolden In the warm shadow of her loveliness; He kissed her with his beams, and made all golden The chamber of gray rock in which she lay; She, in that dream of joy,jdissolved away. Ill 'T is said, she first was changed into a va- por, And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit, Like splendor-winged moths about a taper, Round the red west when the sun dies in it; And then into a meteor, such as caper On hill-tops when the moon is in a fit; Then, into one of those mysterious stars Which hide themselves between the Earth and Mars. IV Ten times the Mother of the Months had bent Her bow beside the folding-star, and bidden With that bright sign the billows to in- dent The sea-deserted sand like children chidden, At her command they ever came and went Since in that cave a dewy splendor hid- den Took shape and motion; with the living form Of this embodied Power the cave grew warm. A lovely lady garmented in light From her own beauty; deep her eyes as are Two openings of unfathomable night Seen through a temple's cloven roof; her hair Dark; the dim brain whirls dizzy with de- light, Picturing her form; her soft smiles shone afar, And her low voice was heard like love, and drew All living things towards this wonder new. VI And first the spotted camelopard came, And then the wise and fearless elephant; Then the sly serpent, in the golden flame 274 THE WITCH OF ATLAS Of bis own volumes iutervolved. All gauut And sanguine beasts her gentle looks made tame ; They drank "before her at her sacred fount; And every beast of beating beart grew bold, Such gentleness and power even to behold. VII The briuded lioness led forth her young, That she might teach them how they should forego Their inborn thirst of death; the pard un- strung His sinews at her feet, and sought to know, With looks whose motions spoke without a tongue, How he might be as gentle as the doe. The magic circle of her voice and eyes All savage natures did imparadise. VIII And old Silenus, shaking a green stick Of lilies, and the wood-gods in a crew Came, blithe, as in the olive copses thick Cicadfe are, drunk with the noonday dew; And Dryope and Faunus followed quick, Teasing the god to sing them something new; Till in this cave they found the Lady lone, Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone. IX And universal Pan, 'tis said, was there; And though none saw him through the adamant Of the deep mountains, through the track- less air And through those living spirits, like a want, He passed out of his everlasting lair Where the quick heart of the great world doth pant, And felt that wondrous Lady all alone, And she felt him upon her emerald throne. And every nymph of stream and spreading tree, And every shepherdess of Ocean's flocks, Who drives her white waves over the green sea, And Ocean, with the brine on his gray locks, And quaint Priapus with his company, All came, much wondering how the en- wonibed rocks Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth; Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth. XI The herdsman and the mountain maidens came, And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant ; Their spirits shook within them, as a flame Stirred by the air under a cavern gaunt ; Pygmies, and Polyphemes,by manya name, Centaurs and Satyrs, and such shapes as haunt Wet clefts, and lumps neither alive nor dead, Dog-headed, bosom-eyed, and bird-footed. XII For she was beautiful; her beauty made The bright world dim, and everything beside Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade; No thought of living spirit could abide, Which to her looks had ever been betrayed, On any object in the world so wide, On any hope within the circling skies, But on her form, aud in her inmost eyes. XIII Which when the Lady knew, she took her spindle And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and three Long lines of light, such as the dawn may kindle The clouds and waves and mountains with; and she As many star-beams, ere their lamps could dwindle In the belated moon, wound skilfully; And with these threads a subtle veil she wove A shadow for the splendor of her love. XIV The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling Were stored with magic treasures sounds of air THE WITCH OF ATLAS 275 Which had the power all spirits of com- pelling, Folded in cells of crystal silence there; Such as we hear in youth, aud think the feeling Will never die yet ere we are aware, The feeling and the sound are fled and gone, And the regret they leave remains alone. XV And there lay Visions swift, and sweet, and quaint, Each in its thin sheath like a chrysalis; Some eager to burst forth, some weak and faint With the soft burden of intensest bliss It is its work to bear to many a saint Whose heart adores the shrine which holiest is, Even Love's; and others white, green, gray, and black, Aud of all shapes and each was at her beck. XVI And odors in a kind of aviary Of ever-blooming Eden-trees she kept, Clipped in a floating net a love-sick Fairy Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet slept; As bats at the wired window of a dairy, They beat their vans; and each was an adept, When loosed and missioned, making wings of winds, To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined minds. XVII And liquors clear and sweet, whose health- ful might Could medicine the sick soul to happy sleep, And change eternal death into a night Of glorious dreams or, if eyes needs must weep, Could make their tears all wonder and de- light She in her crystal vials did closely keep; If men could drink of those clear vials, 't is said, The living were not envied of the dead. XVIII Her cave was stored with scrolls of strange device, The works of some Saturuiau Archi- mage, Which taught the expiations at whose price Men from the gods might win that happy age Too lightly lost, redeeming native vice; And which might quench the earth-con- suming rage Of gold and blood, till men should live and move Harmonious as the sacred stars above; XIX And how all things that seem untamable, Not to be checked and not to be confined, Obey the spells of wisdom's wizard skill; Time, earth aud fire, the ocean and the wind, And all their shapes, and man's imperial will; And other scrolls whose writings did un- bind The inmost lore of Love let the profane Tremble to ask what secrets they contain. XX And wondrous works of substances un- known, To which the enchantment of her father's power Had changed those ragged blocks of savage stone, Were heaped in the recesses of her bower; Carved lamps and chalices, and vials which shone In their own golden beams each like a flower Out of whose depth a fire-fly shakes his light Under a cypress in a starless night. XXI At first she lived alone in this wild home, And her own thoughts were each a min- ister, Clothing themselves or with the ocean-foam, Or with the wind, or with the speed of fire, To work whatever purposes might come Into her mind; such power her mighty Sire 276 THE WITCH OF ATLAS Had girt them with, whether to fly or run, Through all the regions which he shines upon. XXII The Ocean-nyinphs and Hamadryades, Oreads and Naiads with long weedy locks, Offered to do her bidding through the seas, Under the earth, and in the hollow rocks, And far beneath the matted roots of trees, And in the gnarled heart of stubborn oaks, So they might live forever in the light Of her sweet presence each a satellite. XXIII 'This may not be,' the Wizard Maid re- plied; 4 The fountains where the Naiades bedew Their shining hair, at length are drained and dried; The solid oaks forget their strength, and strew Their latest leaf upon the mountains wide ; The boundless ocean, like a drop of dew, Will be consumed the stubborn centre must Be scattered, like a cloud of summer dust; XXIV ' And ye with them will perish one by one. If I must sigh to think that this shall be, If I must weep when the surviving Sun Shall smile on your decay, oh, ask not me To love you till your little race is run; I cannot die as ye must over me Your leaves shall glance the streams in which ye dwell Shall be my paths henceforth, and. so farewell ! ' XXV She spoke and wept; the dark and azure well Sparkled beneath the shower of her bright tears, And every little circlet where they fell Flung to the cavern-roof inconstant spheres And intertangled lines of light; a knell Of sobbing voices came upon her ears From those departing Forms, o'er the se- rene Of the white streams and of the forest green. XXVI All day the Wizard Lady sate aloof, Spelling out scrolls of dread antiquity, Under the cavern's fountain-lighted roof; Or broidering the pictured poesy Of some high tale upon her growing woof, Which the sweet splendor of her smiles could dye In hues outshining Heaven and ever she Added some grace to the wrought poesy. XXVII While on her hearth lay blazing many a piece Of sandal-wood, rare gums and cinnamon ; Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is; Each flame of it is as a precious stone Dissolved in ever-moving light, and this Belongs to each and all who gaze upon ; The Witch beheld it not, for in her hand She held a woof that dimmed the burning brand. XXVIII This Lady never slept, but lay in trance All night within the fountain, as ii) sleep. Its emerald crags glowed in her beauty's glance; Through the green splendor of the water deep She saw the constellations reel and dance Like fire-flies, and withal did ever keep The tenor of her contemplations calm, With open eyes, closed feet, and folded palm. XXIX And when the whirlwinds and the clouds descended From the white pinnacles of that cold hill, She passed at dewfall to a space extended, Where, in a lawn of flowering asphodel Amid a wood of pines and cedars blended, There yawned an inextinguishable well Of crimson fire, full even to the brim, And overflowing all the margin trim; XXX Within the which she lay when the fierce war Of wintry winds shook that innocuous liquor In many a mimic moon and bearded star, THE WITCH OF ATLAS 277 O'er woods and lawns; the serpent heard it flicker In sleep, and, dreaming still, hs crept afar; And when the windless snow descended thicker Than autumn leaves, she watched it as it came Melt on the surface of the level flame. XXXI She had a boat which some say Vulcan wrought For Venus, as the chariot of her star; But it was found too feeble to be fraught With all the ardors in that sphere which are, And so she sold it, and Apollo bought And gave it to this daughter; from a car Changed to the fairest and the lightest boat Which ever upon mortal stream did float. XXXII And others say, that, when but three hours old, The first-born Love out of his cradle leapt, And clove dun Chaos with his wings of gold, And like a horticultural adept, Stole a strange seed, and wrapped it up in mould, And sowed it in his mother's star, and kept Watering it all the summer with sweet dew, And with his wings fanning it as it grew. XXXIII The plant grew strong and green; the snowy flower Fell, and the long and gourd-like fruit began To turn the light and dew by inward power To its own substance; woven tracery ran Of light firm texture, ribbed and branch- ing, o'er The solid rind, like a leaf's veined fan, Of which Love scooped this boat, and with soft motion Piloted it round the circumfluous ocean. xxxiv This boat she moored upon her fount, and lit A living spirit within all its frame, Breathing the soul of swiftness into it. Couched on the fountain, like a panther tame One of the twain at Evan's feet that sit Or as on Vesta's sceptre a swift flame, Or on blind Homer's heart a winged thought, In joyous expectation lay the boat. xxxv Then by strange art she kneaded fire and snow Together, tempering the repugnant mass With liquid love all things together grow Through which the harmony of love can pass: And a fair Shape out of her hands did flow, A living Image, which did far surpass In beauty that bright shape of vital stone Which drew the heart out of Pygmalion. XXXVI A sexless thing it was, and in its growth It seemed to have developed no defect Of either sex, yet all the grace of both; In gentleness and strength its limbs were decked; The bosom lightly swelled with its full youth, The countenance was such as might select Some artist that his skill should never die, Imaging forth such perfect purity. XXXVII From its smooth shoulders hung two rapid wings, Fit to have borne it to the seventh sphere, Tipped with the speed of liquid lightnings, Dyed in the ardors of the atmosphere. She led her creature to the boiling springs Where the light boat was moored, and said, ' Sit here ! ' And pointed to the prow and took her seat Beside the rudder with opposing feet. XXXVIII And down the streams which clove those mountains vast, Around their inland islets, and amid The panther-peopled forests, whose shade cast Darkness and odors, and a pleasure hid In melancholy gloom, the pinnace passed; By many a star-surrounded pyramid Of icy crag cleaving the purple sky, And caverns yawning round unfathomably. 278 THE WITCH OF ATLAS XXXIX The silver noon into that winding dell, With slanted gleam athwart the forest tops, Tempered like golden evening, feebly fell; A green and glowing light, like that which drops From folded lilies in which glow-worms dwell, When earth over her face night's mantle wraps ; Between the severed mountains lay on high, Over the stream, a narrow rift of sky. XL And ever as she went, the Image lay With folded wings and unawakened eyes; And o'er its gentle countenance did play The busy dreams, as thick as summer flies. Chasing the rapid smiles that would not stay, And drinking the warm tears, and the sweet sighs Inhaling, which, with busy murmur vain, They had aroused from that full heart and brain. XLI And ever down the prone vale, like a cloud Upon a stream of wind, the pinnace went; Now lingering on the pools, in which abode The calm and darkness of the deep con- tent In which they paused ; now o'er the shallow road Of white and dancing waters, nil besprent With sand and polished pebbles: mortal boat In such a shallow rapid could not float. XLII And down the earthquaking cataracts, which shiver Their snow-like waters into golden air, Or under chasms unfathomable ever Sepulchre them, till in their rage they tear A subterranean portal for the river, It fled the circling sunbows did upbear Its fall down the hoar precipice of spray, Lighting it far upon its lampless way. XLIII And when the Wizard Lady would ascend The labyrinths of some many-winding vale, Which to the inmost mountain upward tend, She called ' Hermaphroditus ! ' and the pale And heavy hue which slumber could extend Over its lips and eyes, as on the gale A rapid shadow from a slope of grass, Into the darkness of the stream did pass. XLIV And it unfurled its heaven-colored pinions, With stars of fire spotting the stream below, And from above into the Sun's dominions Flinging a glory, like the golden glow In which Spring clothes her emerald-winged minions, All interwoven with fine feathery snow And moonlight splendor of intensest rime With which frost paints the pines in winter time; XLV And then it winnowed the Elysian air, Which ever hung about that lady bright, With its ethereal vans; and speeding there, Like a star up the torrent of the night, Or a swift eagle in the morning glare Breasting the whirlwind with impetuous flight, The pinnace, oared by those enchanted wings, Clove the fierce streams towards their up- per springs. XLVI The water flashed, like sunlight by the prow Of a noon-wandering meteor flung to Heaven; The still air seemed as if its waves did flow In tempest down the mountains; loosely driven The lady's radiant hair streamed to and fro; Beneath, the billows, having vainly striven Indignant and impetuous, roared to feel The swift and steady motion of the keeL THE WITCH OF ATLAS 279 XLVII Or, when the weary moon was in the wane, Or in the noon of interlunar night, The Lady-Witch in visions could not chain Her spirit; but sailed forth under the light Of shooting stars, and bade extend amain Its storm-outspeeding wings the Herma- phrodite; She to the Austral waters took her way, Beyond the fabulous Thamaudocana, XLVIII Where, like a meadow which no scythe has shaven, Which rain could never bend, or whirl- blast shake, With the Antarctic constellations paven, Canopus and his crew, lay the Austral lake; There she would build herself a windless haven Out of the clouds whose moving turrets make The bastions of the storm, when through the sky The spirits of the tempest thundered by; XLIX A haven, beneath whose translucent floor The tremulous stars sparkled unfathom- ably, And around which the solid vapors hoar, Based on the level waters, to the sky Lifted their dreadful crags, and, like a shore Of wintry mountains, inaccessibly Hemmed in, with rifts and precipices gray And hanging crags, many a cove and bay. And whilst the outer lake beneath the lash Of the wind's scourge foamed like a wounded thing, And the incessant hail with stony clash Ploughed up the waters, and the flagging wing Of the roused cormorant in the lightning flash Looked like the wreck of some wind- wandering Fragment of inky thunder-smoke this haven Was as a gem to copy Heaven engraven; LI On which that Lady played her many pranks, Circling the image of a shooting star, Even as a tiger on Hydaspes' bunks Outspeeds the antelopes which speediest are, In her light boat; and many quips and cranks She played upon the water; till the car Of the late moon, like a sick matron wan, To journey from the misty east began. LII And then she called out of the hollow tur- rets Of those high clouds, white, golden and vermilion, The armies of her ministering spirits; In mighty legions, million after million, They came, each troop emblazoning its merits On meteor flags; and many a proud pa- vilion Of the intertexture of the atmosphere They pitched upon the plain of the calm mere. LIII They framed the imperial tent of their great Queen Of woven exhalations, underlaid With lambent lightning-fire, as may be seen A dome of thin and open ivory inlaid With crimson silk; cressets from the serene Hung there, and on the water for her tread A tapestry of fleece-like mist was strewn, Dyed in the beams of the ascending moon. And on a throne o'erltid with starlight, caught Upon those wandering isles of aery dew Which highest shoals of mountain ship- wreck not, She sate, and heard all that had hap- pened new Between the earth and moon since they had brought The last intelligence; and now she grew Pale as that moon lost in the watery night, And mSw she wept, and now she laughed outright. 280 THE WITCH OF ATLAS These were tame pleasures. She would often climb The steepest ladder of the crudded rack Up to some beaked cape of cloud sublime, And like Arion ou the dolphin's back Ride singing through the shoreless air; oft-time Following the serpent lightning's winding track, She ran upon the platforms of the wind, And laughed to hear the tire-balls roar be- hind. LVI Aiid sometimes to those streams of upper air, Which whirl the earth in its diurnal round, She would ascend, and win the spirits there To let her join their chorus. Mortals found That ou those days the sky was calm and fair, And mystic snatches of harmonious sound Wandered upon the earth where'er she passed, And happy thoughts of hope, too sweet to last. LVII But her choice sport was, in the hours of sleep, To glide adown old Nilus, where he threads Egypt and ^Ethiopia, from the steep Of utmost Axume, until he spreads, Like a calm flock of silver-fleeced sheep, His waters on the plain, and crested heads Of cities and proud temples gleam amid, And many a vapor-belted pyramid; LVIII By Mceris and the Mareotid lakes, Strewn with faint blooms, like bridal- chamber floors, Where naked boys bridling tame water- snakes, Or charioteering ghastly alligators, Had left ou the sweet waters mighty wakes Of those huge forms within the brazen doors Of the great Labyrinth slept both boy and beast Tired with the pomp of their Osirian feast; LIX And where within the surface of the river The shadows of the massy temples lie, And never are erased but tremble ever Like things which every cloud can doom to die ; Through lotus-paven canals, and whereso- ever The works of man pierced that serenest sky With tombs, and towers, and fanes, 't was her delight To wander in the shadow of the night. LX With motion like the spirit of that wind Whose soft step deepens slumber, her light feet Passed through the peopled haunts of hu- mankind, Scattering sweet visions from her pre- sence sweet; Through fane and palace-court and laby- rinth mined With many a dark and subterranean street Under the Nile, through chambers high and deep She passed, observing mortals in their sleep. LXI A pleasure sweet doubtless it was to see Mortals subdued in all the shapes of sleep. Here lay two sister-twins in infancy; There a lone youth who in his dreams did weep; Within, two lovers linked innocently In their loose locks which over both did creep Like ivy from one stem; and there lay calm Old age with snow-bright hair and folded palm. LXII But other troubled forms of sleep she saw, Not to be mirrored in a holy song; Distortions foul of supernatural awe, And pale imaginings of visioned wrong, And all the code of custom's lawless law THE WITCH OF ATLAS 281 Written upon the brows of old and young; 'This,' said the Wizard Maiden, 'is the strife Which stirs the liquid surface of man's life.' LXIII And little did the sight disturb her soul. We, the weak mariners of that wide lake, Where'er its shores extend or billows roll, Our course unpiloted and starless make O'er its wild surface to an unknown goal; But she in the calm depths her way could take Where in bright bowers immortal forms abide, Beneath the weltering of the restless tide. LXIV And she saw princes couched tinder the glow Of sun-like gems; and round each tem- ple-court In dormitories ranged, row after row, She saw the priests asleep, all of one sort, For all were educated to be so. The peasants in their huts, and in the port The sailors she saw cradled on the waves, And the dead lulled within their dreamless graves. And all the forms in which those spirits lay Were to her sight like the diaphanous Veils in which those sweet ladies oft array Their delicate limbs, who would conceal from us Only their scorn of all concealment; they Move in the light of their owu beauty thus. But these and all now lay with sleep upon them, And little thought a Witch was looking on them. LXVI She all those human figures breathing there Beheld as living spirits ; to her eyes The naked beauty of the soul lay bare; And often through a rude and worn dis- . guise She saw the inner form most bright and fair; And then she had a charm of strange device, Which, murmured on mute lips with tender tone, Could make that spirit mingle with her own. LXVII Alas, Aurora ! what wouldst thou have given For such a charm, when Tithon became gray? Or how much, Venus, of thy silver Heaven Wouldst thou have yielded, ere Proser- pina Had half (oh ! why not all ?) the debt for- given Which dear Adonis had been doomed to P a y> To any witch who would have taught you it? The Heliad doth not know its value yet. LXVIII 'T is said in after times her spirit free Knew what love was, and felt itself alone; But holy Dian could not chaster be Before she stooped to kiss Endymion, Than now this lady like a sexless bee Tasting all blossoms and confined to none; Among those mortal forms the Wizard- Maiden Passed with an eye serene and heart un- laden. LXIX To those she saw most beautiful, she gave Strange panacea in a crystal bowl; They drank in their deep sleep of that sweet wave, And lived thenceforward as if some con- trol, Mightier than life, were in them; and the grave Of such, when death oppressed the wearj- soul, Was as a green and over-arching bower Lit by the gems of many a starry flower. LXX For on the night when they were buried, she Restored the embalmers' ruining and shook The light out of the funeral lamps, to be A mimic day within that deathy nook; 282 THE WITCH OF ATLAS And she unwound the woven imagery Of second childhood's swaddliug bands, and took The coffin, its last cradle, from its niche, And threw it with contempt into a ditch, LXXI And there the body lay, age after age, Mute, breathing, beating, warm, and undecaying, Like one asleep in a green hermitage, With gentle smiles about its eyelids playing, And living in its dreams beyond the rage Of death or life, while they were still arraying In liveries ever new the rapid, blind, And fleeting generations of mankind. LXXII And she would write strange dreams upon the brain Of those who were less beautiful, and make All harsh and crooked purposes more vain Than in the desert is the serpent's wake Which the sand covers; all his evil gain The miser in such dreams would rise and shake Into a beggar's lap; the lying scribe Would his own lies betray without a bribe. LXXIII The priests would write an explanation full, Translating hieroglyphics into Greek, How the god Apis really was a bull, And nothing more; and bid the herald stick The same against the temple doors, and pull The old cant down ; they licensed all to speak Whate'er they thought of hawks, and cats, and jreese, By pastoral letters to each diocese. LXXIV The king would dress an ape up in his crown And robes, and seat him on his glorious seat, A.nd on the right hand of the sun-like throne Would place a gaudy uiock-bird to re- peat The chatterings of the monkey. Every one Of the prone courtiers crawled to kiss the feet Of their great emperor when the morning came, And kissed alas, how many kiss the same ! LXXV The soldiers dreamed that they were black- smiths, and Walked out of quarters in somnambu- lism; Round the red anvils you might see them stand, Like Cyclopses in Vulcan's sooty abysm, Beating their swords to ploughshares; in a band The gaolers sent those of the liberal schism Free through the streets of Memphis, much, I wis, To the annoyance of king Amasis. LXXVI And timid lovers who had been so coy They hardly knew whether they loved or not, Would rise out of their rest, and take sweet jy. To the fulfilment of their inmost thought; And when next day the maiden and the boy Met one another, both, like sinners caaght, Blushed at the thing which each believed was done Only in fancy till the tenth moon shone; LXXVII And then the Witch would let them take no ill; Of many thousand schemes which lovers find The Witch found one, and so they took their fill Of happiness in marriage warm and kind. Friends who, by practice of some envious skill, Were torn apart a wide wound, mind from mind She did unite again with visions clear Of deep affection and of truth sincere. CEDIPUS TYRANNUS OR SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT 283 LXXVIII These were the pranks she played among the cities Of mortal men, and what she did to sprites And Gods, entangling them in her sweet ditties To do her will, and show their subtle slights, I will declare another time ; for it is A tale more fit for the weird winter nights Than for these garish summer days, when we Scarcely believe much more than we can see. CEDIPUS TYRANNUS OR SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT A TRAGEDY IN TWO ACTS TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL DORIC Choose Reform or Civil War, When through thy streets, instead of hare with dogs, A CONSORT-QUEEN shall hunt a KING with hogs, Riding on the IONIAN. MINOTAUR. CEdipus Tyrannus, a piece of drollery like Peter Bell, was begun, under the circumstances described in Mrs. Shelley's Note, August 24, 1819, at the Baths of San Giuliano, near Pisa. It was sent to Horace Smith, who had it pub- lished as a pamphlet without Shelley's name. It was threatened with prosecution by citizens of the ward, and some steps thereto seem to have been takun ; but at the suggestion of A Iderman Roth well the publisher gave up the whole edition, except seven copies, which had been sold, and also told the name of his em- ployer. The secret of the authorship was kept by Horace Smith, who said only that the work had been sent to him from Pisa. The drama was suggested by the affair of Queen Caroline. Of the characters Purganax stands for Lord Castlereagh, Dakry for Lord Eldon, and Laoc- touos for the Duke of Wellington. Mrs. Shel- ley's Note completes the history of the poem : ' In the brief journal I kept in those days, I find recorded in August [24], 1820, " Shelley begins Swellfoot the Tyrant, suggested by the pigs at the fair of San Giuliano." This was the period of Queen Caroline's landing in Eng- land, and the struggles made by George IV. to get rid of her claims ; which failing, Lord Castlereagh placed the " Green Bag" on the table of the House of Commons, demanding, in the King's name, that an inquiry should be instituted into his wife's conduct. These cir- cumstances were the theme of all conversation among the English. We were then at the Baths of San Giuliano ; a friend [Mrs. Mason] came to visit us on the day when a fair was held in the square, beneath our windows. Shelley read to us his Ode to Liberty ; and was riotously accompanied by the grunting of a Siantity of pigs brought for sale to the fair, e compared it to the " chorus of frogs " in the satiric drama of Aristophanes ; and it being an hour of merriment, and one ludicrous asso- ciation suggesting another, he imagined a polit- ical satirical drama on the circumstances of the day, to which the pigs would serve as chorus and Stoellfoot was begun. When finished, ;.t was transmitted to England, printed and published anonymously ; but stifled at the very dawn of its existence by the " Society for the Suppression of Vice," who threatened to pro- secute it, if not immediately withdrawn. The friend who had taken the trouble of bringing it out, of course did not think it worth the annoyance and expense of a contest, and it was laid aside. ' Hesitation of whether it would do honor to Shelley prevented my publishing it at first ; but I cannot bring myself to keep back any- thing he ever wrote, for each word is fraught with the peculiar views and sentiments which he believed to be beneficial to the human race, and the bright light of poetry irradiates every thought. The world has a right to the entire compositions of such a roan ; for it does not live and thrive by the outworn lesson of the dullard or the hypocrite, but by the original free thoughts of men of genius, who aspire to pluck bright truth 284 OEDIPUS TYRANNUS ACT I : SC. I. ' " from the pale-faced moon; Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-liue could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned " truth. Even those who may dissent from hia opinions will consider that he was a man of genius, and that the world will take more interest in his slightest word, than from the waters of Lethe, which are so eagerly pre- scribed as medicinal for all its wrongs and woes. This drama, however, must not be judged for more than was meant. It is a mere plaything of the imagination, which even may not excite smiles among many, who will not see wit in those combinations of thought which were full of the ridiculous to the author. But, like everything he wrote, it breathes that deep sympathy for the sorrows of humanity, and indignation against its oppressors, which make it worthy of bis name.' ADVERTISEMENT THIS Tragedy is one of a triad or system of three Plays (an arrangement according to which the Greeks were accustomed to connect their dramatic representations) elucidating the won- derful and appalling fortunes of the Swellfoot dynasty. It was evidently written by some learned Theban; and, from its characteristic dulness, apparently before the duties on the importation of Attic salt had been repealed by the Bceotarchs. The tenderness with which he treats the Pigs proves him to have been a sus Bceotice ; possibly Epicuri de grege porcus ; for, as the poet observes, ' A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.' No liberty has been taken with the trans- lation of this remarkable piece of antiquity except the suppressing a seditious and blas- phemous Chorus of the Pigs and Bulls at the last act. The word Hoydipouse (or more properly CEdipus), has been rendered literally Bwellfoot without its having been conceived necessary to determine whether a swelling of the hind or the fore feet of the Swinish mon- arch is particularly indicated. Should the remaining portions of this Tra- gedy be found, entitled Swellfoot in Angaria and Charit^, the Translator might be tempted to give them to the reading Public. CEDIPUS TYRANNUS DRAMATIS PERSONJE TYBANT SWBLLFOOT, King The GADFLY. of Thebes. The LEKCH. IONA TAURINA, his The RAT. Queen. The MINOTATTB. MAMMON, Arch-Priest of MOSES, the Sow-gelder. Famine. SOI/OMON, the Porkinau. _ ( Wizards, ZKPHANIAH, Pig-butcher. PUROAI.AX ! Mini8ter8 IJAKBT \- . LAOCTOHOS I I"""* 1 Chorus of the Swinish Multitude. GUARDS, ATTENDANTS, PRIESTS, etc., etc. SCENE. Thebes. ACT I SCENE A magnificent Temple, built of thigh- bones and death's-heads, and tiled with scalps. Over the Altar the statue of Famine, veiled ; a number of boars, sows and sucking-pigs, crowned with thistle, shamrock and oak, sitting on the steps and clinging round the Altar of the Temple. Enter SWELLFOOT, in his royal robes, without perceiving the Pigs. BWELLFOOT THOU supreme goddess ! by whose power divine These graceful limbs are clothed in proud array [He contemplates himself with satisfaction. Of gold and purple, and this kingly paunch Swells like a sail before a favoring breeze, And these most sacred nether promontories Lie satisfied with layers of fat; and these Bffiotian cheeks, like Egypt's pyramid, (Nor with less toil were their foundations laid) Sustain the cone of my untroubled brain, That point, the emblem of a pointless nothing ! 10 Thou to whom Kings and laurelled Em- perors, Radical-butchers, Paper-money-millers, Bishops and deacons, and the entire army Of those fat martyrs to the persecution Of stifling turtle-soup and brandy-devils, Offer their secret vows ! thou plenteous Ceres Of their Eleusis, hail ! SWINE Eigh ! eigh ! eigh ! eigh ! BWELLFOOT Ha ! what are ye, Who, crowned with leaves devoted to tbe Furies, Cling round this sacred shrine ? ACT I OR, SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT 285 Aigh ! aigh ! aigh ! SWELLFOOT What ! ye that are The very beasts that, offered at her altar 20 With blood and groans, salt-cake, and fat, and inwards, Ever propitiate her reluctant will W T hen taxes are withheld ? Ugh 1 ugh ! ugh ! SWELLFOOT What ! ye who grub With filthy snouts my red potatoes up In Allan's rushy bog ? who eat the oats Up, from my cavalry in the Hebrides ? Who swill the hog-wash soup my cooks digest From bones, and rags, and scraps of shoe- leather, Which should be given to cleaner Pigs than you ? SEMICHORUS I OF SWINE The same, alas ! the same; Though only now the name Of Pig remains to me. 30 SEMICHORUS n OF SWINE If 't were your kingly will Us wretched Swine to kill, What should we yield to thee ? SWELLFOOT Why, skin and bones, and some few Lairs for mortar. CHORUS OF SWINE I have heard your Laureate sing That pity was a royal thing; Under your mighty ancestors we Pigs Were blessed as nightingales on myrtle sprigs 4 o Or grasshoppers that live on noonday dew, And sung, old annals tell, as sweetly too; But now our sties are fallen in, we catch The murrain and the mange, the scab and itch; Sometimes your royal dogs tear down our thatch, And then we seek the shelter of a ditch ; Hog-wash or grains, or rutabaga, none Has yet been ours since your reign begun. FIRST sow My Pigs, 't is in vain to tug. SECOND SOW I could almost eat my litter. 50 FIRST PIG I suck, but no milk will come from the dug. SECOND PIG Our skin and our bones would be bit- ter. BOARS We fight for this rag of greasy rug, Though a trough of wash would be fit- ter. SEMICHORUS Happier Swine were they than we, Drowned in the Gadarean sea ! I wish that pity would drive out the devils Which in your royal bosom hold their revels, And sink us in the waves of thy compas- sion ! Alas, the Pigs are an unhappy nation ! 60 Now if your Majesty would have our bris- tles To bind your mortar with, or fill our colons With rich blood, or make brawn out of our gristles, In policy ask else your royal Solons You ought to give us hog-wash and clean straw, And sties well thatched; besides, it is the law ! SWELLFOOT This is sedition, and rank blasphemy ! Ho ! there, my guards ! Enter a GUARD GUARD Your sacred Majesty. SWELLFOOT Call in the Jews, Solomon the court Pork- man, 286 CEDIPUS TYRANNUS ACT I Moses the Sow-gelder, and Zephaniah 70 The Hog-butcher. GUARD They are in waiting, Sire. Enter SOLOMON, MOSES, and ZEPHANIAH SWELLFOOT Out with your knife, old Moses, and spay those Sows [The Pigs run about in consternation. That load the earth with Pigs; cut close and deep. Moral restraint I see has no effect, Nor prostitution, nor our own example, Starvation, typhus- fever, war, nor prison. This was the art which the arch-priest of Famine Hinted at in his charge to the Theban clergy. Cut close and deep, good Moses. Let your Majesty Keep the Boars quiet, else BWELLFOOT Zephaniah, cut 80 That fat Hog's throat, the brute seems overfed ; Seditious hunks ! to whine for want of grains 1 ZEPHANIAH Your sacred Majesty, he has the dropsy. We shall find pints of hydatids in 's liver; He has not half an inch of wholesome fat Upon his carious ribs SWELLFOOT 'T is all the same. He '11 serve instead of riot-money, when Our murmuring troops bivouac in Thebes' streets ; And January winds, after a day Of butchering, will make them relish car- rion. 90 Now, Solomon, I '11 sell you in a lump The whole kit of them. SOLOMON Why, your Majesty, 1 could not give SWELLFOOT Kill them out of the way That shall be price enough; and let me hear Their everlasting grunts and whines no more ! [Exeunt, driving in the Swine. Enter MAMMON, the Arch-Priest; and PUB- OANAX, Chief of the Council of Wizards PURGANAX The future looks as black as death; a cloud, Dark as the frown of Hell, hangs over it. The troops grow mutinous, the revenue fails, There 's something rotten in us; for the level 99 Of the state slopes, its very bases topple; The boldest turn their backs upon them- selves ! MAMMON Why, what 's the matter, my dear fellow, now? Do the troops mutiny ? decimate some regiments. Does money fail ? come to my mint coin paper, Till gold be at a discount, and, ashamed To show his bilious face, go purge himself, In emulation of her vestal whiteness. PTTRGANAX Oh, would that this were all ! The ora- cle ! ! MAMMON Why it was I who spoke that oracle, 109 And whether I was dead-drunk or inspired I cannot well remember; nor, in truth, The oracle itself ! PUROANAX The words went thus: ' Bffiotia, choose reform or civil war, When through thy streets, instead of hare with dogs, A Consort-Queen shall hunt a King with hogs, Riding on the Ionian Minotaur.' MAMMON Now if the oracle had ne'er foretold This sad alternative, it must arrive, ACT I OR, SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT 287 Or not, and so it must now that it has; And whether I was urged by grace divine Or Lesbian liquor to declare these words, Which must, as all words must, be false or true, 122 It matters not; for the same power made all, Oracle, wine, and me and you or none 'T is the same thing. If you knew as much Of oracles as I do PUKGANAX You arch-priests Believe in nothing; if you were to dream Of a particular number in the lottery, You would not buy the ticket ! MAMMON Yet our tickets Are seldom blanks. But what steps have you taken ? 130 For prophecies, when once they get abroad, Like liars who tell the truth to serve their ends, Or hypocrites, who, from assuming virtue, Do the same actions that the virtuous do, Contrive their own fulfilment. This lona Well you know what the chaste Pasiphae did, Wife to that most religious King of Crete, And still how popular the tale is here; And these dull Swine of Thebes boast their descent From the free Minotaur. You know they still 140 Call themselves Bulls, though thus degen- erate ; And everything relating to a Bull Is popular and respectable in Thebes; Their arms are seven Bulls in a field gules; They think their strength consists in eatisg beef; Now there were danger in the precedent If Queen lona PUKGANAX I have taken good care That shall not be. I struck the crust o' the earth With this enchanted rod, and Hell lay bare ! And from a cavern full of ugly shapes, 150 I chose a Leech, a Gadfly, and a Rat. The gadfly was the same which Juno sent To agitate I<>, and which Ezekiel mentions That the Lord whistled for out of the mountains Of utmost ./Ethiopia to torment Mesopotamia!! Babylon. The beast Has a loud trumpet like the Scarabee; His crooked tail is barbed with many stings, Each able to make a thousand wounds, and each Immedicable ; from his convex eyes i6c He sees fair things in many hideous shapes, And trumpets all his falsehood to the world. Like other beetles he is fed on dung; He has eleven feet with which he crawls, Trailing a blistering slime; and this foul beast Has tracked lona from the Theban limits, From isle to isle, from city unto city, Urging her flight from the far Chersonese To fabulous Solyma and the ^Etnean Isle, Ortygia, Melite, and Calypso's Rock, 170 And the swart tribes of Garamant and Fe^ JEolia and Elysium, and thy shore?, Parthenope, which now, alas ! are free ! And through the fortunate Saturniau land Into the darkness of the West. MAMMON But if This Gadfly should drive lona hither ? FUKGANAX Gods ! what an if! but there is my gray Rat, So thin with want he can crawl in and out Of any narrow chink and filthy hole, 179 And he shall creep into her dressing-room, And My dear friend, where are your wits ? as if She does not always toast a piece of cheese, And bait the trap ? and rats, when lean enough To crawl through such chinks PUKGANAX But my Leech a leech Fit to suck blood, with lubricous round rings, Capaciously expatiative, which make His little body like a red balloon, As full of blood as that of hydrogen, 2 88 CEDIPUS TYRANNUS ACT I Sucked from men's hearts; insatiably lie sucks And clings and pulls a horse-leech whose deep maw 190 The plethoric King Swellfoot could not fill, And who, till full, will cling forever. MAMMON This For Queen lona might suffice, and less; But 't is the Swinish multitude I fear, And in that fear I have PUKGANAX Done what ? MAMMON Disinherited My eldest son Chrysaor, because he Attended public meetings, and would al- ways Stand prating there of commerce, public faith, Economy, and unadulterate coin, And other topics, ultra-radical; 200 And have entailed my estate, called the Fool's Paradise, And funds in fairy-money, bonds, and bills, Upon my accomplished daughter Bankno- tina, And married her to the Gallows. PTTBGANAX A good match ! MAMMON A high connection, Purganax. The bride- groom Is of a very ancient family, Of Hounslow Heath, Tyburn, and the New Drop, And has great influence in both Houses. Oh, He makes the fondest husband; nay, too fond New married people should not kiss in public; 210 But the poor souls love one another so ! And then my little grandchildren, the Gibbets, Promising children as you ever saw, The young playing at hanging, the elder learning How to hold radicals. They are well taught too, For every Gibbet says its catechism, And reads a select chapter in the Bible Before it goes to play. (A most tremendous humming is heard) PtJBGANAX Ha ! what do I hear ? Enter the GADFLY MAMMON Your Gadfly, as it seems, is tired of gad- ding. GADFLY Hum, hum, hum ! 220 From the lakes of the Alps and the cold gray scalps Of the mountains, I come ! Hum, hum, hum ! From Morocco and Fez, and the high palaces Of golden Byzantium ; From the temples divine of old Palestine, From Athens and Rome, With a ha ! and a bum ! I come, I come ! 230 All inn-doors and windows Were open to me; I saw all that sin does, Which lamps hardly see That burn in the night by the curtained bed The impudent lamps ! for they blushed not red. Dinging and singing, From slumber I rung her, Loud as the clank of an ironmon- ger; Hum, hum, hum ! Far, far, far, 240 With the trump of my lips and the sting at my hips, I drove her afar ! Far, far, far, From city to city, abandoned of pity, A ship without needle or star; Homeless she passed, like a cloud on the blast, Seeking peace, finding war; She is here in her car, ACT I OR, SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT 289 From afar, and afar. Hum, hum ! 250 I have stung her and wrung her ! The venom is working; And if you had hung her With canting and quirking, She could not be deader than she will be soon; I have driven her close to you, under the moon, Night and day, hum, hum, ha ! I have hummed her and drummed her From place to place, till at last I have dumbed her, Hum, hum, hum ! 260 Enter the LEECH and the RAT LEECH I will suck Blood or muck ! The disease of the state is a plethory, Who so fit to reduce it as I ? I '11 slyly seize and Let blood from her weasand, Creeping through crevice, and chiuk, and cranny, With my snaky tail, and my sides so scrauuy. PURGANAX Aroint ye, thou unprofitable worm \ ( To the LEECH) And thou, dull beetle, get thee back to hell, 270 ( To the GADFLY) To sting the ghosts of Babylonian kings, And the ox-headed lo. SWINE (within) Ugh, ugh, ugh ! Hail, lona the divine ! We will be no longer Swine, But Bulls with horns and dewlaps. For, You know, my lord, the Minotaur PURGANAX (fiercely) Be silent ! get to hell ! or I will call The cat out of the kitchen. Well, Lord Mammon, This is a pretty business ! [Exit the RAT. MAMMON I will go And spell some scheme to make it ugly then. 280 [Exit. Enter SWELLFOOT SWELLFOOT She is returned ! Taurina is in Thebes When Swellfoot wishes that she were in hell ! Hymen ! clothed in yellow jealousy And waving o'er the couch of wedded kings The torch of Discord with its fiery hair This is thy work, thou patron saint of queens Swellfoot is wived ! though parted by the sea, The very name of wife had conjugal rights; Her cursed image ate, drank, slept with me, And in the arms of Adiposa oft 290 Her memory has received a husband's (A loud tumult, and cries of IONA FOREVER ! No SWELLFOOT ! ') SWELLFOOT Hark! How the Swine cry lona Taurina ! I suffer the real presence. Purganax, Off with her head ! PURGANAX But I must first impanel A jury of the Pigs. SWELLFOOT Pack them then. PURGANAX Or fattening some few in two separate sties, And giving them clean straw, tying some bits Of ribbon round their legs giving their Sows Some tawdry lace and bits of lustre glass, And their young Boars white and red rags, and tails 300 290 CEDIPUS TYRANNUS ACT I Of cows, and jay feathers, and sticking cauliflowers Between the ears of the old ones; and when They are persuaded that, by the inherent virtue Of these things, they are all imperial Pigs, Good Lord ! they 'd rip each other's bellies up, Not to say help us in destroying her. SWELLFOOT This plan might be tried too. Where 's General Laoctouos ? Enter LAOCTONOS It is my royal pleasure That you, Lord General, bring the head and body, If separate it would please me better, hither 310 Of Queen loua. LAOCTONOS That pleasure I well knew, And made a charge with those battalions bold, Called, from their dress and grin, the Royal Apes, Upon the Swine, who in a hollow square Enclosed her, and received the first attack Like so many rhinoceroses, and then Retreating in good order, with bare tusks And wrinkled snouts presented to the foe, Bore her in triumph to the public sty. What is still worse, some Sows upon the ground 320 Have given the Ape-guards apples, nuts and gin, And they all whisk their tails aloft, and cry, ' Long live lona ! down with Swellf oot ! ' TURGANAX Hark. THE SWINE (without) Long live lona ! down with Swellfoot ! Enter DAKKT DAKRY Went to the garret of the Swineherd's tower, Which overlooks the sty, and made a long Harangue (all words) to the assembled Swine, Of delicacy, mercy, judgment, law, Morals, and precedents, and purity, Adultery, destitution, and divorce, 330 Piety, faith, and state necessity, And how I loved the Queen J and then I wept With the pathos of my own eloquence, And every tear turned to a millstone which Brained many a gaping Pig, and there was made A slough of blood and brains upon the place, Greased with the pounded bacon; round and round The millstones rolled, ploughing the pave- ment up, And hurling sucking Pigs into the air, With dust and stones. Enter MAMMON I wonder that gray wizards Like you should be so beardless in their schemes; 341 It had been but a point of policy To keep lona and the Swine apart. Divide and rule ! but ye have made a junc- tion Between two parties who will govern you, But for my art. Behold this Bag ! it is The poison Bag of that Green Spider huge, On which our spies skulked in ovation through The streets of Thebes, when they were paved with dead: 349 A bane so much the deadlier fills it now As calumny is worse than death; for here The Gadfly's venom, fifty times distilled, Is mingled with the vomit of the Leech, In due proportion, and black ratsbane, which That very Rat, who, like the Pontic ty- rant, Nurtures himself on poison, dare not touch. All is sealed up with the broad seal of Fraud, Who is the Devil's Lord High Chancellor, And over it the Primate of all Hell Murmured this pious baptism: 'Be thou called 36 ACT ii : sc. i OR, SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT 291 The Green Bag; and this power and grace be thine: That thy contents, on whomsoever poured, Turn innocence to guilt, and gentlest looks To savage, foul, and fierce deformity; Let all baptized by thy infernal dew Be called adulterer, drunkard, liar, wretch ! No name left out which orthodoxy loves, Court Journal or legitimate Review ! Be they called tyrant, beast, fool, glutton, lover Of other wives and husbands than their own 370 The heaviest sin on this side of the Alps ! Wither they to a ghastly caricature Of what was human ! let not mail or beast Behold their face with unaverted eyes, Or hear their names with ears that tingle not With blood of indignation, rage, and shame ! ' This is a perilous liquor, good my Lords. [SWELLFOOT approaches to touch the Green Bag. Beware ! for God's sake, beware ! if you should break The seal, and touch the fatal liquor PURGANAX There, Give it to me. I have been used to handle All sorts of poisons. His dread Majesty Only desires to see the color of it. 382 Now, with a little common sense, my Lords, Only undoing all that has been done, (Yet so as it may seem we but confirm it) Our victory is assured. We must entice Her Majesty from the sty, and make the Pigs Believe that the contents of the Green Bag Are the true test of guilt or innocence; And that, if she be guilty, 't will transform her 39 o To manifest deformity like guilt; If innocent, she will become transfigured Into an angel, such as they say she is; And they will see her flying through the air, So bright that she will dim the noonday Showering down blessings in the shape of comfits. This, trust a priest, is just the sort of thing Swine will believe. I '11 wager you will see them Climbing upon the thatch of their low sties, With pieces of smoked glass, to watch her sail 4 oo Among the clouds, and some will hold the flaps Of one another's ears between their teeth, To catch the coming hail of comfits in. You, Purganax, who have the gift o' the gab, Make them a solemn speech to this effect. I go to put in readiness the feast Kept to the honor of our goddess Famine, Where, for more glory, let the ceremony Take place of the uglificatiou of the Queeu. DAKKY (to SWELLFOOT) I, as the keeper of your sacred conscience, Humbly remind your Majesty that the care 411 Of your high office, as Man-milliner Te red Belloua, should not be deferred. PURGANAX All part, in happier plight to meet again. [Exeunt, ACT II SCENE I. The Public Sty. The Boars in full Assembly. Enter PURGANAX PURGANAX GRANT me your patience, Gentlemen and Boars, Ye, by whose patience under public bur- dens The glorious constitution of these sties Subsists, and shall subsist. The Lean-Pig rates Grow with the growing populace of Swine; The taxes, that true source of Piggishness> (How can I find a more appropriate term To include religion, morals, peace and plenty, And all that fit Boeotia as a nation To teach the other nations how to live ?) 10 292 (EDIPUS TYRANNUS ACT n: sc. i Increase with Piggishness itself; and still Does the revenue, that great spring of all The patronage, and pensions, and by-pay- ments, Which free-born Pigs regard with jealous eyes, Diminish, till at length, by glorious steps, All the land's produce will be merged in taxes, And the revenue will amount to no- thing ! The failure of a foreign market for Sausages, bristles, and blood-puddings, And such home manufactures, is but par- tial; 20 And, that the population of the Pigs, Instead of hog-wash, has been fed on straw And water, is a fact which is you know That is it is a state necessity Temporary, of course. Those impious Pigs, Who, by frequent squeaks, have dared im- pugn The settled Swellfoot system, or to make Irreverent mockery of the genuflexions Inculcated by the arch-priest, have been whipped Into a loyal and an orthodox whine. 30 Things being in this happy state, the Queen lona (A loud cry from the Pigs) She is innocent, most innocent ! PURGANAX That is the very thing that I was saying, Gentlemen Swine; the Queen lona being Most innocent, no doubt, returns to Thebes, And the lean Sows and Boars collect about her, Wishing to make her think that we believe (I mean those more substantial Pigs who swill Rich hog-wash, while the others month damp straw) That she is guilty; thus, the Lean-Pig fac- tion 40 Seeks to obtain that hog-wash, which has been Your immemorial right, and which I will Maintain you in to the last drop of A BOAK (interrupting him) What Does any one accuse her of ? PUKGANAX Why, no one Makes any positive accusation ; but There were hints dropped, and so the privy wizards Conceived that it became them to advise His Majesty to investigate their truth; Not for his own sake ; he could be content To let his wife play any pranks she pleased, If, by that sufferance, he could please the Pigs; s> But then he fears the morals of the Swine, The Sows especially, and what effect It might produce upon the purity and Religion of the rising generation Of sucking Pigs, if it could be suspected That Queen loua (A pause) FIEST HOAR Well, go on; we long To hear what she can possibly have done. PURGANAX Why, it is hinted, that a certain Bull Thus much is known : the milk-white Bulls that feed 60 Beside Clitumnns and the crystal lakes Of the Cisalpine mountains, in fresh dews Of lotus-grass and blossoming asphodel Sleeking their silken hair, and with sweet breath Loading the morning winds until they faint With living fragrance, are so beautiful ! Well, /say nothing; but Europa rode On such a one from Asia into Crete, And the enamoured sea grew calm be- neath His gliding beauty. And Pasiphae, 70 lona's grandmother, but she is inno- cent. ! And that both you and I, and all assert. Most innocent ! FIRST BOAR PUKGANAX Behold this Bag; a Bag SECOND BOAR Oh ! no Green Bags ! ! Jealousy's eyes are green, Scorpions are green, and water-snakes, and efts, And verdigris, and ACT II : SC. I OR, SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT 293 PUBGANAX Honorable Swine, In Piggish souls can prepossessions reign ? Allow me to remind you, grass is green All flesh is grass ; no bacon but is flesh Ye are but bacon. This divining Bag 80 (Which is not green, but only bacon color) Is filled with liquor, which if sprinkled o'er A woman guilty of we all know what Makes her so hideous, till she finds one blind She never can commit the like again; If innocent, she will turn into an angel And rain down blessings in the shape of comfits As she flies up to heaven. Now, my pro- posal Is to convert her sacred Majesty 89 Into an angel (as I am sure we shall do) By pouring on her head this mystic water. [Showing the Bag. I know that she is innocent; I wish Only to prove her so to all the world. FIBST BOAE Excellent, just, and noble Purganax ! gECOND BOAB How glorious it will be to see her Majesty Flying above our heads, her* petticoats Streaming like like like THIBD BOAB Anything. PUBGANAX Oh, no ! But like a standard of an admiral's ship, Or like the banner of a conquering host, Or like a cloud dyed in the dying day, 100 Unravelled on the blast from a white mountain; Or like a meteor, or a war-steed's mane, Or waterfall from a dizzy precipice Scattered upon the wind. FIBST BOAB Or a cow's tail, SECOND BOAB Or anything, as the learned Boar observed. PUBGANAX Gentlemen Boars, I move a resolution, That her most sacred Majesty should be Invited to attend the feast of Famine, And to receive upon her chaste white body Dews of apotheosis from this Bag. no [A great confusion is heard, of the Pigs out of Doors, which communicates itself to those within. During the Jirst strophe, the doors of the sty are staved in, and a number of ex- ceedingly lean Pigs and Sows and Boar* rush in. 6EMICHOBUS I No ! Yes ! SEMICHOBUS II Yes! No! SEMICHOBUS I A law 1 SEMICHOBUS H A flaw! SEMICHOBUS I Porkers, we shall lose our wash, Or must share it with the Lean- Pigs ! FIBST BOAB Order ! order ! be not rash ! Was there ever such a scene, Pigs t AN OLD sow (rushing in) I never saw so fine a dash Since I first began to wean Pigs. 120 SECOND BOAB (solemnly) The Queen will be an angel time enough. I vote, in form of an amendment, that Purganax rub a little of that stuff Upon his face PUBGANAX (his heart is seen to beat through his waistcoat) Gods ! What would ye be at ? SEMICHOBUS I Purganax has plainly shown a Cloven foot and jackdaw feather. BEMICHOKUS II I vote Swellfoot and lona Try the magic test together; Whenever royal spouses bicker, Both should try the magic liquor. 131 294 OEDIPUS TYRANNUS ACT ii : sc, I AN OLD BOAR (aside) A miserable state is that of Pigs, For if their drivers would tear caps and wigs, The Swiue must bite each other's ear there- for. AN OLD sow (aside) A wretched lot Jove has assigned to Swine, Squabbling makes Pig-herds hungry, and they dine On bacon, and whip sucking Pigs the more. CHOK0S Hog- wash has been ta'en away; If the Bull-Queen is divested, We shall be in every way Hunted, stripped, exposed, molested ; Let us do whate'er we may, 141 That she shall not be arrested. Queen, we entrench you with walls of brawn, And palisades of tusks, sharp as a bayo- net. Place your most Sacred Person here. We pawn Our lives that none a finger dare to lay on it. Those who wrong you, wrong us; Those who hate you, hate us; Those who sting you, sting us; Those who bait you, bait us; 150 The oracle is now about to be Fulfilled by circumvolving destiny, Which says: 'Thebes, choose reform or civil war, When through your streets, instead of hare with dogs, A Consort-Queen shall hunt a King with hogs, Riding upon the Ionian Minotaur.' Enter IONA TAUBINA IONA TAURINA (coming forward) Gentlemen Swine, and gentle Lady-Pigs, The tender heart of every Boar acquits Their Queen of any act incongruous 159 With native Piggishness, and she reposing With confidence upon the grunting nation, Has thrown herself, her cause, her life, her all, Her innocence, into their Hoggish arms; iN or has the expectation been deceived Of finding shelter there. Yet know, great Boars, (For such whoever lives among you finds you, And so do I) the innocent are proud ! I have accepted your protection only In compliment of your kind love and care, Not for necessity. The innocent 170 Are safest there where trials and dangers wait; Innocent queens o'er white-hot plough- shares tread Unsinged; and ladies, Erin's laureate sings it, Decked with rare gems, and beauty rarer still, Walked from Killarney to the Giant's Causeway Through rebels, smugglers, troops of yeo- manry, White-boys, and Orange-boys, and consta- bles, Tithe-proctors, and excise people, unin- jured 1 Thus I ! Lord Purganax, I do commit myself 180 Into your custody, and am prepared To stand the test, whatever it may be I PURGANAX This magnanimity in your sacred Majesty Must please the Pigs. You cannot fail of being A heavenly angel. Smoke your bits of glass, Ye loyal Swine, or her transfiguration Will blind your wondering eyes. AN OLD BOAR (aside) Take care, my Lord, They do not smoke you first. PURGANAX At the approaching feast Of Famine let the expiation be. SWINE Content content ! IONA TAURINA (aside) I, most content of all, 190 Know that my foes even thus prepare their fail! [Exeunt omnes. ACT ii : sc. ii OR, SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT 295 SCENE II. The interior of the Temple of Fan- ine. The statue of the Goddess, a skeleton clothed in party-colored rags, seated upon a heap of skulls and loaves intermingled. A number of exceedingly fat Priests in black gar- ments arrayed on each side, with -marrow-bones and cleavers in their hands. A flourish of trumpets. Enter MAMMON as Arch-priest, SWELLFOOT, DAKRY, PURGANAX, LAOCTONOS, followed by IONA TACKINA guarded. On the other side enter the Swine. CHOEUS OF PRIESTS (accompanied by the Court Porkman on marrow-bones and cleavers) Goddess bare, and gaunt, and pale, Empress of the world, all hail ! What though Cretans old called thee City-crested Cybele ? We call thec Famine ! Goddess of fasts and feasts, starving and cramming; Through thee, for emperors, kings and priests and lords, Who rule by viziers, sceptres, bank-notes, words, The earth pours forth its plenteous fruits, Corn, wool, linen, flesh, and roots. 10 Those who consume these fruits through thee grow fat, Those who produce these fruits through thee grow lean. Whatever change takes place, oh, stick to that, And let things be as they have ever been; At least while we remain thy priests, And proclaim thy fasts and feasts ! Through thee the sacred Swellfoot dynasty Is based upon a rock amid that sea Whose waves are Swine so let it ever be ! [SWELLFOOT, etc., seat themselves at a table, magnificently covered, at the upper end of the temple. Attendants pass over the stage with hog-wash in pails. A number of Pigs, ex- ceedingly lean, follow them, licking up the wash. I fear your sacred Majesty has lost 20 The appetite which you were used to have. Allow me now to recommend this dish A simple kickshaw by your Persian cook, Such as is served at the great King's second table. The price and pains which its ingredients cost Might have maintained some dozen families A winter or two not more so plain a dish Could scarcely disagree. SWELLFOOT After the trial, And these fastidious Pigo are gone, perhaps I may recover my lost appetite. 30 I feel the gout flying about my stomach; Give me a glass of Maraschino punch. PURGANAX (filling his glass, and standing up) The glorious constitution cf the Pigs ! A toast ! a toast ! stand up, and three times three ! DAKRT No heel-taps darken day-lights ! LAOCTONOS Claret, somehow, Puts me in mind of blood, and blood of claret 1 SWELLFOOT Laoctonos is fishing for a compliment; But 't is his due. Yes, you have drunk more wine, And shed more blood, than any man in Thebes. (To PURGANAX) For God's sake stop the grunting of those Pigs ! 4 o PURGANAX We dare not, Sire ! 't is Famine's privi- lege. CHORUS OF SWINE Hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine ! Thy throne is on blood, and thy robe is of rags; Thou devil which livest on damning; Saint of new churches and cant, and Green Bags; Till in pity and terror thou risest, Confounding the schemes of the wisest; When thou liftest thy skeleton form, When the loaves and the skulls roll about, 296 CEDIPUS TYRANNUS ACT II : SC. II We will greet thee the voice of a storm Would be lost iu our terrible shout ! 51 Then hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine ! Hail to thee, Empress of Earth ! When thou risest, dividing possessions, When thou risest, uprooting oppressions, Iu the pride of thy ghastly mirth; Over palaces, temples, and graves We will rush as thy minister-slaves, Trampling behind in thy train, Till all be made level again ! 60 I hear a crackling of the giant bones Of the dread image, and in the black pits Which once were eyes, I see two livid flames. These prodigies are oracular, and show The presence of the unseen Deity. Mighty events are hastening to their doom ! BWELLFOOT I only hear the lean and mutinous Swine Grunting about the temple. In a crisis Of such exceeding delicacy, I think 6< We ought to put her Majesty, the Queen, Upon her trial without delay. Is here. The Bag PURGANAX I have rehearsed the entire scene With an ox-bladder and some ditch-water, On Lady P ; it cannot fail. [Taking up the Bag. Your Majesty (To SWELLFOOT) In such a filthy business had better Stand on one side, lest it should sprinkle you. A spot or two on me would do no harm; Nay, it might hide the blood, which the sad genius Of the Green Isle has fixed, as by a spell, Upon my brow which would stain all its seas, 80 But which those seas could never wash away 1 IOKA TAURINA My Lord, I am ready nay, I am impa- tient, To undergo the test. [A graceful figure in a semi-transparent veil passes unnoticed through the Temple ; the word LIBERTY is seen through the veil, as if it wtre written in fire upon its forehead. Its words are almost drowned in the furious grunting of the Pigs, and the business of the trial. She kneels on the steps of the Altar, and speaks in tones at first faint and low, but which ever be- come louder and louder. Mighty Empress, Death's white wife, Ghastly mother-in-law of life ! By the God who made thee such, By the magic of thy touch, By the starving and the cramming Of fasts and feasts ! by thy dread self, O Famine ! I charge thee, when thou wake the multi- tude, 9 o Thou lead them not upon the paths of blood. The earth did never mean her foison For those who crown life's cup with poison Of fanatic rage and meaningless revenge; But for those radiant spirits, who are still The standard-bearers in the van of Change. Be they th' appointed stewards, to fill The lap of Pain, and Toil, and Age ! Remit, O Queen ! thy accustomed rage ! Be what thou art not ! In voice faint and low 100 Freedom calls Famine, her eternal foe, To brief alliance, hollow truce. Rise now ! [ Whilst the veiled figure has been chanting the strophe, MAMMON, DAKRY, LAOCTONOS, and SWKLLFOOT have surrounded IONA TAURINA, who, with her hands folded on her breast and her eyes lifted to Heaven, stands, as with saint-like resignation, to wait the issue of the business in perfect confidence of her innocence. PURGANAX, after unsealing the Green Hag, is gravely about to pour the liquor upon her head, when suddenly the whole expression of her figure and countenance changes ; she snatches it from his hand with a loud laugh of triumph, and empties it over SWELLFOOT and his whol* Court, who are instantly changed into a number EPIPSYCHIDION 297 ofjilthy and ugly animals, and rush out of the Temple, The image of Famine then arises with a tremendous sound, the Pigs begin scram- bling for the loaves, and are tripped up by the skulls ; all those who eat the loaves are turned into Bulls, and arrange themselves quietly be- hind the altar. The image of Famine sinks through a chasm in the earth, and a MINOTAUR rises. MINOTAUR I am the Ionian Minotaur, the mightiest Of all Europa's taurine progeny; I am the old traditional Man- Bull ; And from my ancestors having been Ionian I am called Ion, which, by interpretation, Is John; in plain Theban, that is to say, My name's John Bull; I am a famous hunter, And can leap any gate in all Bceotia, no Even the palings of the royal park Or double ditch about the new enclosures; And if your Majesty will deign to mount me, At least till you have hunted down your game, I will not throw you. IONA TAURINA [During this speech she has been putting on boots and spurs and a hunting-cap, buckishly cocked on one side; and, tucking up her hair, she leaps nimbly on his back. Hoa, hoa ! tally-ho ! tally-he ! ho ! ho ! Come, let us hunt these ugly badgers down, These stinking foxes, these devouring otters, These hares, these wolves, these anything but men. Hey, for a whipper-in ! my loyal Pigs, 120 Now let your noses be as keen as beagles', Your steps as swift as greyhounds', and your cries More dulcet and symphonious than the bells Of village-towers, on sunshine holiday; Wake all the dewy woods with jangling music. Give them no law (are they not beasts of blood ?) But such as they gave you. Tally-ho ! ho ! Through forest, furze and bog, and den and desert, Pursue the ugly beasts ! Tally-ho ! ho ! FULL CHORUS OF IONA AND THE SWINE Tally-ho ! tally-ho ! 130 Through rain, hail, and snow, Through brake, gorse, and briar, Through fen, flood, and mire, We go, we go ! Tally-ho! tally-ho! Through pond, ditch, and slough, Wind them, and find them, Like the Devil behind them ! Tally-ho, tally-ho ! [Exeunt , in full cry ; IONA driving on the Swine, with the empty Green Bay. EPIPSYCHIDION VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE NOBLE AND UNFORTUNATE LADY EMILIA V NOW IMPRISONED IN THE CONVENT OF L' anima amante si slancia fuori del create, e si crea nell' infinite un mondo tutto per essa, diverse assai da questo oscuro e pauroso baratro. HER OWN WORDS. The noble and unfortunate lady, Emilia V , -who inspired Epipsychidion was Teresa Emilia Viviani, eldest daughter of Count Vivi- ani, a nobleman of Pisa. She had been placed by her family in the neighboring 1 Convent of St. Anna, and there Shelley met her at the be- ginning of December, 1820, and interested himself in her fortunes. The episode, which is too long for narration in a note, is best de- scribed in Mrs. Marshall's Life of Mary Woll- stonecraft Shelley. Its pprsonal incidents are unimportant, since they do not enter into the 2Q8 EPIPSYCHIDION substance of the poem, which is ' an idealized history ' of Shelley's spirit. JThe lady, to whom the verses are addressed, soon lost the enchantment which Shelley's imagination and sympathy had woven about her, and she ceased to interest him except as an object of compassion. Shelley was fully aware of the mystical nature of the poem, which shows the most spiritual elements of his genius at their point of highest intensity of passion. He wrote to Gisborne : ' The Epipsychidion is a mystery ; as to real flesh and blood, you know that I do not deal in those articles ; yon might as well go to a gin-shop for a leg of mutton, as ex- pect anything human or earthly from me ; ' and again, ' The Epipsychidion I cannot look at ; the person whom it celebrates was a cloud in- stead of a Juno, and poor Ixion starts from the centaur that was the offspring of his own em- brace. If you are curious, however, to hear what I am and have been, it will tell you something thereof. It is an idealized history of my life and feelings. I think one is always in love with something or other; the error, and I confess it is not easy for spirits cased in flesh and blood to avoid it, consists in seeking in a mortal image the likeness of what is, per- haps, eternal.' In sending it for publication to Oilier, he says : ' I send yon . . . and a longer piece, entitled Epipsychidion. . . . The longer poem, I desire, should not be considered as my own ; indeed, in a certain sense, it is a production of a portion of me already dead ; and in this sense the advertisement is no fiction. It is to be published simply for the esoteric few ; and I make its author a secret, to avoid the malig- nity of those who turn sweet food into poison, transforming all they touch into the corruption of their own natures. My wish with respect to it is that it should be printed immediately in the simplest form, and merely one hundred copies : those who are capable of judging and feeling rightly with respect to a composition of so abstruse a nature, certainly do not arrive at that number among those, at least, who would ever be excited to read an obscure and anonymous production ; and it would give me no pleasure that the vulgar should read it. If you have any book-selling reason against pub- lishing so small a number as a hundred, merely, distribute copies among those to whom you think the poetry would afford any pleasure, SWEET Spirit ! sister of that orphan one, Whose empire is the name thou weepest on, In my heart's temple I suspend to thee These votive wreaths of withered memory. and send me, as soon as you can, a copy by the post.' The poem was composed at Pisa during the first weeks of 1821, and an edition of one hun- dred copies was published at London the fol- lowing summer. The title means, as Dr. Stop- ford Brooke points out, ' this soul out of my soul.' ADVERTISEMENT THE writer of the following lines died at Florence, as he was preparing for a voyage to one of the wildest of the Sporades, which he had bought and where he had fitted up the ruins of an old building, and where it was his hope to have reali/,ed a scheme of life, suited perhaps to that happier and better world of which he is now an inhabitant, but hardly practicable in this. His life was singular ; less on account of the romantic vicissitudes which diversified it than the ideal tinge which it re- ceived from his own character and feelings. The present Poem, like the Vita Nuova of Dante, is sufficiently intelligible to a certain class of readers without a matter-of-fact his- tory of the circumstances to which it relates ; and to a certain other class it must ever remain incomprehensible from a defect of a common organ of perception for the ideas of which it treats. Not but that, gran vergogna sarebbe a colui, che rimasse cosa sotto veste di Jigura o di colore rettorico : e domandato non sapesse denu- dare le sue parole da cotal veste, in guisa che avessero verace intend itnento. The present poem appears to have been in- tended by the writer as the dedication to some longer one. The stanza on the opposite page [below] is almost a literal translation from Dante's famous Canzone Voi, cA' intendendo, il lerzo citl morete, etc. The presumptuous application of the conclud- ing lines to his own composition will raise a smile at the expense of my unfortunate friend : be it a smile not of contempt, but pity. Mr Song, I fear that thou wilt find but few Who fitly shall conceive tliy reasoning, Of such hard matter dost thou entertain ; Whence, if by misadventure chance should bring Thee to base company (as chance may do) Quite unaware of what thou dost contain, I prithee, comfort thy sweet self again, My last delight ! tell them that they are dull, And bid them own that thou art beautiful. Poor captive bird ! who from thy narrow cage Pourest such music that it might assuage The rugged hearts of those who prisoned thee, EPIPSYCHIDION 299 Were they not deaf to all sweet melody, This song shall be thy rose ; its petals pale Are dead, indeed, my adored nightingale ! But soft and fragrant is the faded blos- som, And it has no thorn left to wound thy bosoui. 12 High, spirit-winged Heart ! who dost forever Beat thine unfeeling bars with vain en- deavor, Till those bright plumes of thought, in which arrayed It over-soared this low and worldly shade, Lie shattered; and thy panting wounded breast Stains with dear blood its unmaternal nest ! I weep vain tears; blood would less bitter be, Yet poured forth gladlier, could it profit thee. 20 Seraph of Heaven ! too gentle to be human, Veiling beneath that radiant form of Wo- man All that is insupportable in thee Of light, and love, and immortality ! Sweet Benediction in the eternal Curse ! Veiled glory of this lampless Universe ! Thou Moon beyond the clouds ! thou living Form Among the Dead ! thou Star above the Storm ! Thou Wonder, and thou Beauty, and thou Terror ! Thou Harmony of Nature's art ! thou Mir- ror 3 o In whom, as in the splendor of the Sun, All shapes look glorious which thou gazest on ! Ay, even the dim words which obscure thee now Flash, lightning-like, with unaccustomed glow; I pray thee that thou blot from this sad song All of its much mortality and wrong, With those clear drops, which start like sacred dew From the twin lights thy sweet soul dark- ens through, Weeping, till sorrow becomes ecstasy Then smile on it, so that it may not die. 40 I never thought before my death to see Youth's vision thus made perfect. Emily, I love thee; though the world by no thin name Will hide that love from its unvalued shame. Would we two had been twins of the same mother ! Or that the name my heart lent to another Could be a sister's bond for her and thee, Blending two beams of one eternity ! Yet were one lawful and the other true, These names, though dear, could paint not, as is due, 50 How beyond refuge I am thine. Ah me ! I am not thine I am a part of thee. Sweet Lamp ! my moth-like Muse has burned its wings; Or, like a dying swan who soars and sings, Young Love should teach Time, in his own gray style, All that thou art. Art thou not void of guile, A lovely soul formed to be blessed and bless ? A well of sealed and secret happiness, Whose waters like blithe light and music are, Vanquishing dissonance and gloom ? a star 60 Which moves not in the moving Heavens, alone ? A smile amid dark frowns ? a gentle tone Amid rude voices ? a beloved light ? A solitude, a refuge, a delight ? A lute, which those whom love has taught to play Make music on, to soothe the roughest day And lull fond grief asleep ? a buried trea- sure ? A cradle of young thoughts of wingless pleasure ? A violet-shrouded grave of woe ? I mea- sure The world of fancies, seeking one like thee, And find alas ! mine own infirmity. 71 She met me, Stranger, upon life's rough way, And lured me towards sweet death; as Night by Day, Winter by Spring, or Sorrow by swift Hope, Led into light, life, peace. An antelope, 300 EPIPSYCHIDION In the suspended impulse of its lightness, Were less ethereally light; the brightness Of her divinest presence trembles through Her limbs, as underneath a cloud of dew 79 Embodied in the windless heaven of June, Amid the splendor-winged stars, the Moon Burns, inextinguishably beautiful; And from her lips, as from a hyacinth full Of honey-dew, a liquid murmur drops, Killing the sense with passion, sweet as stops Of planetary music heard in trance. In her mild lights the starry spirits dance, The sunbeams of those wells which ever leap Under the lightnings of the soul too deep For the brief fathom-line of thought or sense. 90 The glory of her being, issuing thence, Stains the dead, blank, cold air with a warm shade Of unentungled intermixture, made By Love, of light and motion ; one intense Diffusion, one serene Omnipresence, Whose flowing outlines mingle in their flowing, Around her cheeks and utmost fingers glow- ing. With the unintermitted blood, which there Quivers (as in a fleece of snow-like air The crimson pulse of living morning quiver) 100 Continuously prolonged, and ending never Till they are lost, and in that Beauty furled Which penetrates, and clasps and fills the world ; Scarce visible from extreme loveliness. W r arm fragrance seems to fall from her light dress, And her loose hair; and where some heavy tress The air of her own speed has disentwined, The sweetness seems to satiate the faint wind; And in the soul a wild odor is felt, Beyond the sense, like fiery dews that melt Into the bosom of a frozen bud. m See where she stands ! a mortal shape in- dued With love and life and light and deity, And motion which may change but cannot die; An image of some bright Eternity; A shadow of some golden dream; a Splen- dor Leaving the third sphere pilotless; a ten- der Reflection of the eternal Moon of Love, Under whose motions life's dull billows move; A metaphor of Spring and Youth and Morning; 120 A vision like incarnate April, warning, With smiles and tears, Frost the Anatomy Into his summer grave. Ah ! woe is me ! What have I dared ? where am 1 lifted ? how Shall I descend, and perish not ? I know That Love makes all things equal; I have heard By mine own heart this joyous truth averred : The spirit of the worm beneath the sod, In love and worship, blends itself with God. Spouse ! Sister ! Angel ! Pilot of the Fate 130 Whose course has been so starless ! Oh, too late Beloved ! Oh, too soon adored, by me ! For in the fields of immortality My spirit should at first have worshipped thine, A divine presence in a place divine; Or should have moved beside it on this earth, A shadow of that substance, from its birth ; But not as now. I love thee; yes, I feel That on the fountain of my heart a seal Is set, to keep its waters pure and bright For thee, since in those tears thou hast de- light. 141 We are we not formed, as notes of music are, For one another, though dissimilar; Such difference without discord as can make Those sweetest sounds, in which all spirits shake As trembling leaves in a continuous air ? Thy wisdom speaks in me, and bids me dare Beacon the rocks on which high hearts are wrecked. EPIPSYCHIDION 301 I never was attached to that great sect, Whose doctrine is, that each oiie should select 150 Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend, And all the rest, though fair aud wise, commend To cold oblivion, though 't is in the code Of modern morals, and the beaten road Which those poor slaves with weary foot- steps tread Who travel to their home among the dead By the broad highway of the world, and so With one chained friend, perhaps a jealous foe, The dreariest and the longest journey go. True Love in this differs from gold and clay, 160 That to divide is not to take away. Love is like understanding that grows bright Gazing on many truths; 'tis like thy light, Imagination ! which, from earth and sky, And from the depths of human fantasy, As from a thousand prisms and mirrors, fills The Universe with glorious beams, and kills Error, the worm, with many a sun-like arrow Of its reverberated lightning. Narrow The heart that loves, the brain that con- templates, 170 The life that wears, the spirit that creates One object, aud one form, and builds thereb} 7 A sepulchre for its eternity. Mind from its object differs most in this; Evil from good; misery from happiness; The baser from the nobler; the impure And frail, from what is clear and must endure: If you divide suffering and dross, you may Diminish till it is consumed away; If you divide pleasure and love and thought, Each part exceeds the whole; aud we know not iSi How much, while any yet remains unshared, Of pleasure may be gained, of sorrow spared. This truth is that deep well, whence sages draw The unenvied light of hope ; the eternal law By which those live, to whom this world of life Is as a garden ravaged, and whose strife Tills for the promise of a later birth The wilderness of this Elysian earth. i8g There was a Being whom my spirit oft Met on its visioned wanderings, far aloft, In the clear golden prime of my youth's dawn, Upon the fairy isles of sunny lawn, Amid the enchanted mountains, and the caves Of divine sleep, and on the air-like waves Of wonder-level dream, whose tremulous floor Paved her light steps. On an imagined shore, Under the gray beak of some promontory She met me, robed in such exceeding glory That I beheld her not. In solitudes 200 Her voice came to me through the whis- pering woods, And from the fountains and the odors deep Of flowers, which, like lips murmuring in their sleep Of the sweet kisses which had lulled them there, Breathed but of her to the enamoured air; And from the breezes whether low or loud, And from the rain of every passing cloud, And from the singing of the summer-birds, And from all sounds, all silence. In the words Of antique verse and high romance, in form, 210 Sonnd, color, in whatever checks that Storm Which with the shattered present chokes the past, And in that best philosophy, whose taste Makes this cold common hell, our life, a doom As glorious as a fiery martyrdom Her Spirit was the harmony of truth. Then from the caverns of my dreamy youth I sprang, as one sandalled with plumes of fire, And towards the lodestar of my one desire I flitted, like a dizzy moth, whose flight 220 Is as a dead leaf's in the owlet light, When it would seek in Hesper's setting sphere A radiant death, a fiery sepulchre, 302 EPIPSYCHIDION As if it were a lamp of earthly flame. But She, whom prayers or tears theu could not tame, Passed, like a god throned on a winged planet, Whose burning plumes to tenfold swiftness fan it, Into the dreary cone of our life's shade ; And as a man with mighty loss dismayed, I would have followed, though the grave between 230 Yawned like a gulf whose spectres are un- seen; When a voice said : '0 Thou of hearts the weakest, The phantom is beside thee whom thou seekest.' Then I ' Where ? ' the world's echo an- swered ' Where ? ' And in that silence, and in my despair, I questioned every tongueless wind that flew Over my tower of mourning, if it knew Whither 't was fled, this soul out of my soul; And murmured names and spells which have control Over the sightless tyrants of our fate; 240 But neither prayer nor verse could dissipate The night which closed on her; noruncreate That world within this Chaos, mine and me, Of which she was the veiled Divinity, The world I say of thoughts that wor- shipped her; And therefore I went forth, with hope and fear And every gentle passion sick to death, Feeding my course with expectation's breath, Into the wintry forest of our life; And struggling through its error with vain strife, 250 And stumbling in my weakness and my haste, And half bewildered by new forms, I passed Seeking among those untaught foresters If I could find one form resembling hers, In which she might have masked herself from me. There, One whose voice was venomed melody Sate by a well, under blue night-shade bowers; The breath of her false mouth was like faiut flowers; Her touch was as electric poison, flame Out of her looks into my vitals came, 260 And from her living cheeks and bosom flew A killing air, which pierced like honey-dew Into the core of my green heart, and lay Upon its leaves; until, as hair grown gray O'er a young brow, they hid its unblown prime With ruins of unseasonable time. In many mortal forms I rashly sought The shadow of that idol of my thought. And some were fair but beauty dies away; Others were wise but honeyed words betray; 270 And one was true oh ! why not true to me? Then, as a hunted deer that could not flee, I turned upon my thoughts, and stood at bay, Wounded and weak and panting; the cold day Trembled, for pity of my strife and pain, When, like a noonday dawn, there shone again Deliverance. One stood on my path who seemed As like the glorious shape, which I had dreamed, As is the Moon, whose changes ever run Into themselves, to the eternal Sun; 280 The cold chaste Moon, the Queen of Hea- ven's bright isles, Who makes all beautiful on which she smiles; That wandering shrine of soft yet icy flame, Which ever is transformed, yet still the same, And warms not but illumines. Young and fair As the descended Spirit of that sphere, She hid me, as the Moon may hide the night From its own darkness, until all was bright Between the Heaven and Earth of my calm mind, And, as a cloud charioted by the wind, 290 She led me to a cave in that wild place, And sate beside me, with her downward face Illumining my slumbers, like the Moon Waxing and waning o'er Eudymion. EPIPSYCHIDION 303 And I was laid asleep, spirit and limb, And all my being became bright or dim As the Moon's image in a summer sea, According as she smiled or frowned on me; And there I lay, within a chaste cold bed. Alas, I then was nor alive nor dead; 300 For at her silver voice came Death and Life, Unmindful each of their accustomed strife, Masked like twin babes, a sister and a brother, The wandering hopes of one abandoned mother, And through the cavern without wings they flew, And cried, ' Away ! he is not of our crew.' I wept, and though it be a dream, I weep. What storms then shook the ocean of my sleep, Blotting that Moon, whose pale and waning lips 309 Then shrank as in the sickness of eclipse; And how my soul was as a lampless sea, And who was then its Tempest- and when She, The Planet of that hour, was quenched, what frost Crept o'er those waters, till from coast to coast The moving billows of my being fell Into a death of ice, immovable ; And then what earthquakes made it gape and split, The white Moon smiling all the while on it; These words conceal; if not, each word would be The key of stanchless tears. Weep not for me ! 320 At length, into the obscure forest came The Vision I had sought through grief and shame. Athwart that wintry wilderness of thorns Flashed from her motion splendor like the Morn's, And from her presence life was radiated Through the gray earth and branches bare and dead; So that her way was paved and roofed above With flowers as soft as thoughts of budding love; And music from her respiration spread Like light, all other sounds were pene- trated 330 By the small, still, sweet spirit of that sound, So that the savage winds hung mute around ; And odors warm and fresh fell from her hair Dissolving the dull cold in the frore air. Soft as an Incarnation of the Sun, When light is changed to love, this glorious One Floated into the cavern where I lay, And called my Spirit, and the dreaming clay Was lifted by the thing that dreamed be- low 339 As smoke by fire, and in her beauty's glow I stood, and felt the dawn of my long night Was penetrating me with living light; I knew it was the Vision veiled from me So many years that it was Emily. Twin Spheres of light who rule *his passive Earth, This world of love, this me and into birth Awaken all its fruits and flowers, and dart Magnetic might into its central heart; And lift its billows and its mists, and guide By everlasting laws each wind and tide 350 To its fit cloud, and its appointed cave; And lull its storms, each in the craggy grave Which was its cradle, luring to faint bowers The armies of the rainbow-winged showers ; And, as those married lights, which from the towers Of Heaven look forth and fold the wan- dering globe In liquid sleep and splendor, as a robe; And all their many-mingled influence blend, If equal, yet unlike, to one sweet end ; So ye, bright regents, with alternate sway, Govern my sphere of being, night and day ! Thou, not disdaining even a borrowed might; 362 Thou, not eclipsing a remoter light; And, through the shadow of the seasons three, From Spring to Autumn's sere maturity, Light it into the Winter of the tomb, Where it may ripen to a brighter bloom. Thou too, O Comet, beautiful and fierce, Who drew the heart of this frail Universe 34 EPIPSYCHIDION Towards thine own; till, wrecked in that convulsion, 370 Alternating attraction and repulsion, Thine went astray, and that was rent in twain ; Oh, float into our azure heaven again ! Be there love's folding-star at thy return; The living Sun will feed thee from its urn Of golden fire; the Moon will veil her horn In thy last smiles; adoring Even and Morn Will worship thee with incense of calm breath And lights and shadows, as the star of Death And Birth is worshipped by those sisters wild 380 Called Hope and Fear upon the heart are piled Their offerings, of this sacrifice divine A World shall be the altar. Lady mine, Scorn not these flowers of thought, the fading birth, Which from its heart of hearts that plant puts forth, Whose fruit, made perfect by thy sunny eyes, Will be as of the trees of Paradise. The day is come, and thou wilt fly with me. To whatsoe'er of dull mortality Is mine remain a vestal sister still; 390 To the intense, the deep, the imperishable, Not mine, but me, henceforth be thou united Even as a bride, delighting and delighted. The hour is come the destined Star has risen Which shall descend upon a vacant prison. The walls are high, the gates are strong, thick set The sentinels but true love never yet Was thus constrained; it overleaps all fence; Like lightning, with invisible violence Piercing its continents; like Heaven's free breath, 400 Which he who grasps can hold not; liker Death, Who rides upon a thought, and makes his way Through temple, tower, and palace, and the array Of arms; more strength has Love than he or they; For it can burst his charnel, and make free The limbs in chains, the heart in agony, The soul in dust and chaos. Emily, A ship is floating in the harbor now, A wind is hovering o'er the mountain's brow; There is a path on the sea's azure floor No keel has ever ploughed that path be- fore; 411 The halcyons brood around the foamless isles; The treacherous Ocean has forsworn its wiles; The merry mariners are bold and free : Say, my heart's sister, wilt thou sail with me? Our bark is as an albatross, whose nest Is a far Eden of the purple East ; And we between her wings will sit, while Night, And Day, and Storm, and Calm, pursue their flight, Our ministers, along the boundless Sea, 420 Treading each other's heels, unheededly. It is an isle under Ionian skies, Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise, And, for the harbors are not safe and good, This land would have remained a solitude But for some pastoral people native there, Who from the Elysian, clear, and golden air Draw the last spirit of the age of gold, Simple and spirited, innocent and bold. The blue ^Egean girds this chosen home 430 With ever-changing sound and light and foam Kissing the sifted sands and caverns hoar; And all the winds wandering along the shore Undulate with the undulating tide; There are thick woods where sylvan forms abide, And many a fountain, rivulet, and pond, As clear as elemental diamond, Or serene morning air; and far beyond, The mossy tracks made by the goats and deer (Which the rough shepherd treads but once a year) 440 Pierce into glades, caverns, and bowers, and halls EPIPSYCHIDION 305 Built round with ivy, which the waterfalls Illumining, with sound that never fails Accompany the noonday nightingales; And all the place is peopled with sweet airs; The light clear element which the isle wears Is heavy with the scent of lemon-flowers, Which floats like mist laden with unseen showers, And falls upon the eyelids like faint sleep; And from the moss violets and jonquils peep, 45 o And dart their arrowy odor through the brain Till you might faint with that delicious pain. And every motion, odor, beam, and tone, With that deep music is in unison, Which is a soul within the soul; they seem Like echoes of an antenatal dream. It is an isle 'twixt Heaven, Air, Earth, and Sea, Cradled and hung in clear tranquillity; Bright as that wandering Eden, Lucifer, Washed by the soft blue Oceans of young air. 460 It is a favored place. Famine or Blight, Pestilence, War, and Earthquake, never light Upon its mountain-peaks; blind vultures, they Sail onward far upon their fatal way ; The winged storms, chanting their thunder- psalm To other lands, leave azure chasms of calm Over this isle, or weep themselves in dew, From which its fields and woods ever renew Their green and golden immortality. And from the sea there rise, and from the sky 47 o There fall, clear exhalations, soft and bright, Veil after veil, each hiding some delight, Which Sun or Moon or zephyr draw aside, Till the isle's beauty, like a naked bride Glowing at once with love and loveliness, Blushes and trembles at its own excess; Yet, like a buried lamp, a Soul no less Burns in the heart of this delicious isle, An atom of the Eternal, whose own smile Unfolds itself, and may be felt, not seen, 480 O'er the gray rocks, blue waves, and forests green, Filling their bare and void interstices. But the chief marvel of the wilderness Is a lone dwelling, built by whom or how None of the rustic island-people know; 'T is not a tower of strength, though with its height It overtops the woods; but, for delight, Some wise and tender Ocean-King, ere crime Had been invented, in the world's young prime, Reared it, a wonder of that simple time, 490 And envy of the isles, a pleasure-house Made sacred to his sister and his spouse. It scarce seems now a wreck of human art, But, as it were, Titanic, in the heart Of Earth having assumed its form, then grown Out of the mountains, from the living stone, Lifting itself in caverns light and high; For all the antique and learned imagery Has been erased, and in the place of it The ivy and the wild vine interknit 500 The volumes of their many-twining stems; Parasite flowers illume with dewy gems The lampless halls, and, when they fade, the sky Peeps through their winter-woof of tracery With moonlight patches, or star-atoms keen, Or fragments of the day's intense serene, Working mosaic on their Parian floors. And, day and night, aloof, from the high towers And terraces, the Earth and Ocean seem To sleep in one another's arms, and dream Of waves, flowers, clouds, woods, rocks, and all that we 51: Read in their smiles, and call reality. This isle and house are mine, and I have vowed Thee to be lady of the solitude. And I have fitted up some chambers there Looking towards the golden Eastern air, And level with the living winds, which flow Like waves above the living waves below. I have sent books and music there, and all Those instruments with which high spirits call 520 The future from its cradle, and the past Out of its grave, and make the present last In thoughts and joys which sleep, but can- not die, Folded within their own eternity. Our simple life wants little, and true taste Hires not the pale drudge Luxury to waste The scene it would adorn, and therefore still Nature with all her children haunts the hill 306 EPIPSYCHIDION The ring-dove, in the embowering ivy, yet Keeps up her love-lament, and the owls flit Round the evening tower, and the young stars glance 531 Between the quick bats in their twilight dance; The spotted deer bask in the fresh moon- light Before our gate, and the slow silent night Is measured by the pants of their calm sleep. Be this our home in life, and when years heap Their withered hours, like leaves, on our decay, Let us become the overhanging day, The living soul of this Elysian isle, 539 Conscious, inseparable, one. Meanwhile We two will rise, and sit, and walk together Under the roof of blue Ionian weather, And wander in the meadows, or ascend The mossy mountains, where the blue hea- vens bend With lightest winds, to touch their para- mour; Or linger, where the pebble-paven shore, Under the quick faint kisses of the sea Trembles and sparkles as with ecstasy, Possessing and possessed by all that is 549 Within that calm circumference of bliss, And by each other, till to love and live Be one; or, at the noontide hour, arrive Where some old cavern hoar seems yet to keep The moonlight of the expired night asleep, Through which the awakened day can never peep; A veil for our seclusion, close as Night's, Where secure sleep may kill thine innocent lights; Sleep, the fresh dew of languid love, the rain Whose drops quench kisses till they burn again. 559 And we will talk, until thought's melody Become too sweet for utterance, and it die In words, to live again in looks, which dart With thrilling tone into the voiceless heart, Harmonizing silence without a sound. Our breath shall intermix, our bosoms bound, And our veins beat together; and our lips, With other eloquence than words, eclipse The soul that burns between them; and the wells Which boil under our being's inmost cells, The fountains of our deepest life, shall be Confused in passion's golden purity, 571 As mountain-springs under the morning Sun. We shall become the same, we shall be one Spirit within two frames, oh ! wherefore two? One passion in twin-hearts, which grows and grew, Till like two meteors of expanding flame Those spheres instinct with it become the same, Touch, mingle, are transfigured ; ever still Burning, yet ever inconsumable; In one another's substance finding food, 580 Like flames too pure and light and uniin- bued To nourish their bright lives with baser prey, Which point to Heaven and cannot pass away; One hope within two wills, one will beneath Two overshadowing minds, one life, one death, One Heaven, one Hell, one immortality, And one annihilation. Woe is me ! The winged words on which my soul would pierce Into the height of love's rare Universe, Are chains of lead around its flight of fire. I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire ! 591 Weak Verses, go, kneel at your Sover- eign's feet, And say : ' We are the masters of thy slave ; What wouldest thou with us and ours and thine ? ' Then call your sisters from Oblivion's cave, All singing loud: 'Love's very pain is sweet, But its reward is in the world divine, Which, if not here, it builds beyond the grave.' So shall ye live when I am there. Then haste Over the hearts of men, until ye meet 600 Marina, Vanna, Primus, and the rest, And bid them love each other and be blessed ; And leave the troop which errs, and which reproves, And come and be my guest, for I am Love's. AUTHOR'S PREFACE 307 ADONAIS AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS 'AoTtjp itpiv fiev cAapiTre? tvl ^taoKTiv ea>o. Nw e Oavuv, Aa/x-t is e) (cepdaai rot *H SOVVOLL xarfovTi TO (frdpnaitov tK(j>vyev SiSav ; MOSCHUS, EPITAPH. BION. IT is my intention to subjoin to the London edition of this poem a criticism upon the claims of its lamented object to be classed among the writers of the highest genius who have adorned our age. My known repugnance to the narrow principles of taste on which several of his earlier compositions were modelled prove, at least, that I am an impartial judge. I consider the fragment of Hyperion as second to nothing that was ever produced by a writer of the same years. John Keats died at Rome of a consumption, in his twenty-fourth year, on the of 1821 ; and was buried in the romantic and lonely cemetery of the Protestants in that city, under the pyramid which is the tomb of Ces- tius and the massy walls and towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed the circuit of ancient Rome. The cemetery is an ADONAIS open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place. The genius of the lamented person to whose memory I have dedicated these unworthy verses was not less delicate and fragile than it was beautiful ; and where cankerworms abound what wonder if its young flower was blighted in the bud ? The savage criticism on his En- dymion, which appeared in the Quarterly Re- view, produced the most violent effect on his susceptible mind ; the agitation thus originated ended in the rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs ; a rapid consumption ensued, and the succeeding acknowledgments from more can- did critics of the true greatness of his powers were ineffectual to heal the wound thus wan- tonly inflicted. It may be well said that these wretched men know not what they do. They scatter their insults and their slanders without heed as to whether the poisoned shaft lights on a heart made callous by many blows, or one like Keats's composed of more penetrable stuff. One of their associates is, to my knowledge, a most base and unprincipled calumniator. As to Endymion, was it a poem, whatever might be its defects, to be treated contemptuously by those who had celebrated with various degrees of complacency and panegyric Paris and Wo- man and a Syrian Tale, and Mrs. Lefanu and Mr. Barrett and Mr. Howard Payne and a long list of the illustrious obscure ? Are these the men who in their venal good nature presumed to draw a parallel between the Rev. Mr. Mil- man and Lord Byron ? What gnat did they strain at here after having swallowed all those camels ? Against what woman taken in adul- tery dares the foremost of these literary pros- titutes to cast his opprobrious stone ? Mis- erable man ! you, one of the meanest, have wantonly defaced one of the noblest specimens of the workmanship of God. Nor shall it be your excuse that, murderer as you are, you have spoken daggers but used none. The circumstances of the closing scene of poor Keats's life were not made known to me until the Elegy was ready for the press. I am given to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received from the criticism of Endymion was exasperated by the bitter sense of unrequited benefits ; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from the stage of life no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise of his genius than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his care. He was accompanied to Rome and attended in his last illness by Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been informed, ' almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend.' Had I known these circum- stances before the completion of my poem, I should have been tempted to add my feeble trib- ute of applause to the more solid recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own motives. Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from ' such stuff as dreams are made of.' His conduct is a golden augury of the success of his future career may the unextinguished Spirit of his illustrious friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead against Oblivion for his name ! I WEEP for Adonais he is dead ! Oh, weep for Adonais ! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head ! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow ! Say: ' With me Died Adonais; till the Future darea Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity ! ' Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies In darkness ? where was lorn Urania When Adonais died ? With veiled eyes, 'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise She sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath, Rekindled all the fading melodies, With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He bad adorned and hid the coming bulk of death. HI Oh, weep for Adonais he is dead 1 Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep ! Yet wherefore ? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep Like his a mute and uncomplaining deep; ADONAIS 39 For he is gone where all things wise and fair Descend. Oh, dream not that the amor- ous Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair. IV Most musical of mourners, weep again I Lament anew, Urania ! He died, Who was the sire of an immortal strain, Blind, old, and lonely, when his country's pride The priest, the slave, and the liberticide Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified, Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite Tet reigns o'er earth, the third among the sons of light. Most musical of mourners, weep anew f Not all to that bright station dared to climb; And happier they their happiness who knew, Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time In which suns perished; others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or God, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode. VI But now, thy youngest, dearest one has perished, The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished And fed with true-love tears instead of dew; Most musical of mourners, weep anew ! Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last, The bloom, whose petals, nipped before they blew, Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; The broken lily lies the storm is over- past. VII To that high Capital, where kingly Death Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came; and bought, with price of pur- est breath, A grave among the eternal. Come away ! Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day Is yet his fitting charnel-roof ! while still He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay; Awake him not ! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill. VIII He will awake no more, oh, never more ! Within the twilight chamber spreads apace The shadow of white Death, and at the door Invisible Corruption waits to trace His extreme way to her dim dwelling- place ; The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface So fair a prey, till darkness and the law Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw. IX Oh, weep for Adonais ! The quick Dreams, The passion- winged ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the liv- ing streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music, wander not, Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain, But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again. 310 ADONAIS And one with trembling band clasps his cold head, And fans hiui with her moonlight wings, and cries, 1 Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead; See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain.' Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise ! She knew not 't was her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain. XI One from a lucid urn of starry dew Washed his light limbs, as if embalming them; Another clipped her profuse locks, and threw The wreath upon him, like an anadem, Which frozen tears instead of pearls be- gem; Another in her wilful grief would break Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem A greater loss with one which was more weak; And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek. XII Another Splendor on his mouth alit, That mouth whence it was wont to draw the breath Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit, And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music; the damp death Quenched its caress upon hia icy lips; And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapor, which the cold night clips, It flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its eclipse. XIII And others came Desires and Adora- tions, Winged Persuasions and veiled Desti- nies, Splendors, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations Of hopes and fears, and twilight Fanta- sies; And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs, And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, Came in slow pomp; the moving pomp might seem Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream. XIV All he had loved, and moulded into thought From shape, and hue, and odor, and sweet sound, Lamented Adonais. Morning sought Her eastern watch tower, and her hair unbound, Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, Dimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day; Afar the melancholy thunder moaned, Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, And the wild winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay. XV Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless moun- tains, And feeds her grief with his remem- bered lay, And will no more reply to winds OP fountains, Or amorous birds perched on the young green spray, Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear Than those for whose disdain she pined away Into a shadow of all sounds: a drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear. XVI Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown, ADONAIS For whom should she have waked the sullen year ? To Phcebus was not Hyacinth so dear, Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both Thou, Adonais; wan they stand and sere Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears; odor, to sighing ruth. Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale, Mourns not her mate with such melo- dious pain; Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain, Soaring and screaming round her empty nest, As Albion wails for thee: the curse of Cain Light on his head who pierced thy inno- cent breast, And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest ! XVIII Ah woe is me ! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year; The airs and streams renew their joyous tone; The ants, the bees, the swallows, reap- pear; Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons' bier; The amorous birds now pair in every brake, And build their mossy homes in field and brere ; And the green lizard and the golden snake, Like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake. XIX Through wood and stream and field and hill and Ocean, A quickening life from the Earth's heart has burst, As it has ever done, with change and motion, From the great morning of the world when first God dawned on Chaos; in its stream im- mersed, The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light; All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst, Diffuse themselves, and spend in love's delight The beauty and the joy of their renewed might. XX The leprous corpse, touched by this spirit tender. Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath; Like incarnations of the stars, when splendor Is changed to fragrance, they illumine death And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath. Nought we know dies. Shall that alone which knows Be as a sword consumed before the sheath By sightless lightning ? the intense atom glows A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose. XXI Alas ! that all we loved of him should be, But for our grief, as if it had not been, And grief itself be mortal ! Woe is me ! Whence are we, and why are we ? of what scene The actors or spectators ? Great and mean Meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow. As long as skies are blue and fields are green, Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow. XXII He will awake no more, oh, never more ! ' Wake thou,' cried Misery, ' childless Mother, rise Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's core, A wound more fierce than his with tears and sighs.' 312 ADONAIS And all the Dreams that watched Ura- nia's eyes, And all the Echoes whom their sister's SOIlg Had held in holy silence, cried, ' Arise ! ' Swift as a Thought by the snake Mem- ory stung, From her ambrosial rest the fading Splen- dor sprung. XXIII She rose like an autumnal Night, that springs Out of the East, and follows wild and drear The golden Day, which, on eternal wings, Even as a ghost abandoning a bier, Had left the Earth a corpse ; sorrow and fear So struck, so roused, so rapt Urania; So saddened round her like an atmo- sphere Of stormy inist; so swept her on her way Even to the mournful place where Adouais lay. XXIV Out of her secret Paradise she sped, Through camps and cities rough with stone, and steel, And human hearts which, to her airy tread Yielding not, wounded the invisible Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell; And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they, Rent the soft Form they never could repel, Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of May, Paved with eternal flowers that undeserving way. In the death-chamber for a moment Death, Shamed by the presence of that living Might, Blushed to annihilation, and the breath Revisited those lips, and life's pale light Flashed through those limbs, so late her dear delight. ' Leave me not wild and drear and com' f ortless, As silent lightning leaves the starless night ! Leave me not ! ' cried Urania; her dis- tress Roused Death ; Death rose and smiled, and met her vain caress. XXVI ' Stay yet awhile ! speak to me once again ; Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live; And in my heartless breast and burning brain That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive, With food of saddest memory kept alive, Now thou art dead, as if it were a part Of thee, my Adonais ! I would give All that I am to be as thou now art I But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart ! XXVII ' O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart Dare the unpastured dragon in his den ? Defenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then Wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear ? Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when Thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere, The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer. xxvin 'The herded wolves, bold only to pursue; The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead; The vultures, to the conqueror's banner true, Who feed where Desolation first has fed, And whose wings rain contagion ; how they fled, When, like Apollo, from his golden bow The Pythian of the age one arrow sped And smiled ! The spoilers tempt no second blow, They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low. ADONAIS XXIX ' The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn; He sets, and each ephemeral insect then Is gathered into death without a dawn, And the immortal stars awake again; So is it in the world of living men: A godlike mind soars forth, in its de- light Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when It sinks, the swarms that dimmed or shared its light Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's aw- ful night.' XXX Thus ceased she; and the mountain shepherds came, Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent; The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow; from her wilds lerne sent The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, And love taught grief to fall like music from his tongue. XXXI 'Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wil- derness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey. XXXII A pard-like Spirit beautiful and swift A love in desolation masked; a Power Girt round with weakness; it can scarce uplift The weight of the superincumbent hour; It is a dying lamp, a falling shower, A breaking billow; even whilst we speak Is it not broken ? On the withering flower The killing sun smiles brightly; on a cheek The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break. xxxm His head was bound with pansies over- blown, And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue; And a light spear topped with a cypress cone, Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasped it; of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart; A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart. XXXFV All stood aloof, and at his partial moan Smiled through their tears; well knew that gentle band Who in another's fate now wept his own, As in the accents of an unknown land He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scanned The Stranger's mien, and murmured: 'Whoartthou?' He answered not, but with a sudden hand Made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, Which was like Cain's or Christ's oh ! that it should be so ! XXXV What softer voice is hushed over the dead? Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown ? What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed, In mockery of monumental stone, The heavy heart heaving without a moan? If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise, Taught, soothed, loved, honored the de- parted one, Let me not vex with inharmonious sighs The silence of that heart's accepted sacri- fice. ADONAIS XXXVI Our Adonais has drunk poison oh, What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Life's early cup with such a draught of woe ? The nameless worm would now itself disown; It felt, yet could escape the magic tone Whose prelude held all envy, hate and wrong, But what was howling in one breast alone, Silent with expectation of the song, Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung. XXXVII Live thon, whose infamy is not thy fame ! Live ! fear no heavier chastisement from me, Thou noteless blot on a remembered name ! But be thyself, and know thyself to be ! And ever at thy season be thou free To spill the venom when thy fangs o'er- flow; Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee; Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt as now. XXXVIII Nor let us weep that onr delight is fled Far from these carrion kites that scream below; He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead; Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. Dust to the dust ! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal, which must glow Through time and change, unquenchably the same, Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame. xxxix Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep He hath awakened from the dream of life 'T is we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spir- it's knife Invulnerable nothings. We decay Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief Convulse us and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay. XL He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall de- light, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. XLI He lives, he wakes 't is Death is dead, not he; Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn, Turn all thy dew to splendor, for from thee The spirit thou lamentest is not gone; Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan ! Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air, Which like a mourning veil thy scarf haclst thrown O'er the abandoned Earth, now leave it bare Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair ! XLH He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan ADONAIS Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn hisbeingto its own; Which wields the world with never-wea- ried love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above. XLIII He is a portion of the loveliness Which once he made more lovely; he doth bear His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear, Torturing the unwilling dross that checks its flight To its own likeness, as each mass may bear, And bursting in its beauty and its might From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light. XLIV The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb, And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend in it for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. XLV The inheritors of unfulfilled renown Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought, Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton Rose pale, his solemn agony had not Yet faded from him ; Sidney, as he fought And as he fell and as he lived and loved Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot, Arose; and Lucan, by his death ap- proved ; Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved. XLVI And many more, whose names on earth are dark But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. ' Thou art become as one of us,' they cry; ' It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty, Silent alone amid an Heaven of song. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng ! ' XLVII Who mourns for Adonais ? Oh, come forth, Fond wretch ! and know thyself and him aright. Clasp with thy panting soul the pendu- lous Earth; As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might Satiate the void circumference; then shrink Even to a point within our day and night; And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the brink. XLVIII Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre, Oh, not of him, but of our joy; 't is nought That ages, empires, and religions, there Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; For such as he can lend, they borrow not Glory from those who made the world their prey; And he is gathered to the kings of thought ADONAIS Who waged contention with their time's decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away. XLIX Go thou to Rome, at once the Para- dise, The grave, the city, and the wilderness; And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, And flowering weeds and fragrant copses dress The bones of Desolation's nakedness, Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access, Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread; And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand ; And one keen pyramid with wedge sub- lime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath, A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extin- guished breath. LI Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet To have outgrown the sorrow which con- signed Its charge to each; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, Break it not thou 1 too surely shalt thou find Thine own well full, if thou returnest home, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is, why fear we to become ? LIT The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments. Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek ! Follow where all is fled ! Rome's azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. LIU Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart ? Thy hopes are gone before; from all things here They have departed ; thou shouldst now depart ! A light is passed from the revolving year, And man, and woman; and what still is dear Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near; 'T is Adonais calls ! oh, hasten thither, No more let Life divide what Death can join together. LIV That Light whose smile kindles the Uni- verse, That Beauty in which all things work and move, That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. PROLOGUE LV The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trem- bling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. HELLAS A LYRICAL DRAMA MANTI2 'EIM' 'ESQAfiN 'AFONHN CEniP. COLON. Hellas, the last of Shelley's political poems, was written at Pisa in the fall of 1821, and published the next spring 1 at London by Oilier, who made some omissions in the notes and preface with Shelley's permission. Edward Williams suggested the title, and was much interested in the poem as it grew. Shelley de- scribes it, during its composition, as ' a sort of imitation of the Persce of ^Eschylus, full of lyrical poetry. I try to be what I might have been, but am not successful ; ' and in mentioning to Gisborne the accuracy of the proof-reading he says, ' Am I to thank you for the revision of the press ? or who acted as midwife to this last of my orphans, introducing it to oblivion, and me to my accustomed fail- ure ? May the cause it celebrates be more fortunate than either ! Tell me how you like Hellas, and give me your opinion freely. It was written without much care, and in one of those few moments of enthusiasm which now seldom visit me, and which make me pay dear for their visits.' Mrs. Shelley's note gives an excellent account of the circumstances amid which it was written, and of its spirit : ' The south of Europe was in a state of great political excitement at the beginning of the year 1821. The Spanish Revolution had been a signal to Italy secret societies were formed and when Naples rose to declare the Con- stitution, the call was responded to from Brundusinm to the foot of the Alps. To crush these attempts to obtain liberty, early in 1821, the Austrians poured their armies into the Peninsula : at first their coming rather seemed to add energy and resolution to a people long enslaved. The Piedmontese asserted their freedom ; Genoa threw off the yoke of the King of Sardinia ; and, as if in playful imita- tion, the people of the little state of Massa and Carrara gave the conge to their sovereign and set up a republic. ' Tuscany alone was perfectly tranquil. It was said that the Austrian minister presented a list of sixty Carbonari to the grand-duke, urging their imprisonment ; and the grand- duke replied, " I do not know whether these sixty men are Carbonari, but I know if I imprison them, I shall directly have sixty thousand start up." But though the Tuscans had no desire to disturb the paternal govern- ment, beneath whose shelter they slumbered, they regarded the progress of the various Italian revolutions with intense interest, and hatred for the Austrian was warm in every bosom. But they had slender hopes ; they knew that the Neapolitans would offer no fit resistance to the regular German troops, and that the overthrow of the Constitution in Naples would act as a decisive blow against all struggles for liberty in Italy. ' We have seen the rise and progress of re- form. But the Holy Alliance was alive and active in those days, and few could dream of the peaceful triumph of liberty. It seemed then that the armed assertion of freedom in the south of Europe was the only hope of the liberals, as, if it prevailed, the nations of the north would imitate the example. Happily the reverse has proved the fact. The coun- tries accustomed to the exercise of the privi- leges of freemen, to a limited extent, have extended, and are extending these limits. Freedom and knowledge have now a chance of procbeding hand in hand ; and if it continue thus, we may hope for the durability of both. Then, as I have said, in 1821, Shelley, as well as every other lover of liberty, looked upon the struggles in Spain and Italy as decisive of the destinies of the world, probably for centuries to come. The interest he took in the progress HELLAS of affairs was intense. When Genoa declared itself free, his hopes were at their highest. Day after day, he read the bulletins of the Austrian army, and sought eagerly to gather tokens of its defeat. He heard of the revolt of Genoa with emotions of transport. His whole heart and soul were in the triumph of their cause. We were living at Pisa at that time ; and several well-informed Italians, at the head of whom we may place the celebrated Vacca, were accustomed to seek for sympathy in their hopes from Shelley : they did not find such for the despair they too generally experi- enced, founded on contempt for their southern countrymen. ' While the fate of the progress of the Aus- trian armies then invading Naples was yet in suspense, the news of another revolution filled him with exultation. We had formed the ac- quaintance at Pisa of several Constantinopol- itan Greeks, of the family of Prince Caradja, formerly Hospodar of Wallachia, who, hearing that the bowstring, the accustomed finale of his viceroyalty, was on the road to him, escaped with his treasures, and took up his abode in Tuscany. Among these was the gentleman to whom the drama of Hellas is dedicated. Prince Mavrocordato was warmed by those aspirations for the independence of his country, which filled the hearts of many of his countrymen. He often intimated the possibility of an insur- rection in Greece ; but we had no idea of its being so near at hand, when, on the 1st of April, 1821, he called on Shelley; bringing the proclamation of his cousin, Prince Ipsi- lanti, and, radiant with exultation and delight, declared that henceforth Greece would be free. ' Shelley had hymned the dawn of liberty in Spain and Naples, in two odes, dictated by the warmest enthusiasm ; he felt himself natu- rally impelled to decorate with poetry the uprise of the descendants of that people, whose works he regarded with deep admiration ; and to adopt the vaticinatory character in prophe- sying their success. Hellas was written in a moment of enthusiasm. It is curious to re- mark how well he overcomes the difficulty of forming a drama out of such scant materials. His prophecies, indeed, came true in their general, not their particular purport. He did not foresee the death of Lord Londonderry, which was to be the epoch of a change in Eng- lish politics, particularly as regarded foreign affairs ; nor that the navy of his country would Sght for instead of against the Greeks: and by the battle of Navarino secure their enfran- chisement from the Turks. Almost against reason, as it appeared to him, he resolved to believe that Greece would prove triumphant : and in this spirit, auguring ultimate good, yet grieving over the vicissitudes to be endured in the interval, he composed his drama. . . . ' Hellas was among the last of his composi- tions, and is among the most beautiful. The choruses are singularly imaginative, and melo- dious in their versification. There are some stanzas that beautifully exemplify Shelley's peculiar style. . . . ' The conclusion of the last chorus is among the most beautiful of his lyrics ; the imagery is distinct and majestic ; the prophecy, such as poets love to dwell upon, the regeneration of mankind and that regeneration reflecting back splendor on the foregone time, from which it inherits so much of intellectual wealth, and memory of past virtuous deeds, as must render the possession of happiness and peace of tenfold value.' To HIS EXCELLENCY PRINCE ALEXANDER MAVROCORDATO LATE SECRETARY FOR FOREIGN AFFAIRS TO THE HOSrODAR OF WALLACHIA THE DRAMA OF HELLAS IS INSCRIBED AS AN IMPERFECT TOKEN OP THE ADMIRATION, SYMPATHY, AtfD FRIEN! SHIP OF THE AUTHOR PISA, November 1, 1821. PREFACE THE poem of lldlas, written at the sugges- tion of the events of the moment, is a mere improvise, and derives its interest (should it be found to possess any) solely from the in- tense sympathy which the Author feels with the cause he would celebrate. The subject in its present state is insuscep- tible of being treated otherwise than lyrically, and if I have called this poem a drama from the circumstance of its being composed in dia- logue, the license is not greater than that which has been assumed by other poets who have called their productions epics, only because they have been divided into twelve or twenty- four books. The Persce of uEschylus afforded me the first model of my conception, although the decision of the glorious contest now waging in Greece being yet suspended forbids a catastrophe parallel to the return of Xerxes and the deso- lation of the Persians. I have, therefore, contented myself with exhibiting a series of Ivric pictures and with having wrought upon AUTHOR'S PREFACE the curtain of futurity, which falls upon the unfinished scene, such figures of indistinct and visionary delineation as suggest the final tri- umph of the Greek cause as a portion of the cause of civilization and social improvement. The drama (if drama it must be called) is, however, so inartificial that I doubt whether, if recited on the Thespian wagon to an Athe- nian village at the Uionysiaca, it would have obtained the prize of the goat. I shall bear with equanimity any punishment greater than the loss of such a reward which the Aristarchi of the hour may think fit to inflict. The only goat-song which I have yet at- tempted has, I confess, in spite of the unfavor- able nature of the subject, received a greater and a more valuable portion of applause than I expected or than it deserved. Common fame is the only authority which I can allege for the details which form the basis of the poem, and I must trespass upon the for- giveness of my readers for the display of newspaper erudition to which I have been re- duced. Undoubtedly, until the conclusion of the war, it will be impossible to obtain an ac- count of it sufficiently authentic for historical materials ; but poets have their privilege, and it is unquestionable that actions of the most exalted courage have been perf omued by the Greeks that they have gained more than one naval victory, and that their defeat in Wallachia was signalized by circumstances of heroism more glorious even than victory. The apathy of the rulers of the civilized world to the astonishing circumstance of the descendants of that nation to which they owe their civilization rising as it were from the ashes of their ruin is something perfectly inexplicable to a mere spectator of the shows of this mortal scene. We are all Greeks. Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts, have their root in Greece. But for Greece, Rome, the instructor, the conqueror, or the metropolis of our ancestors, would have spread no illumination with her arms, and we might still have been savages and idolaters ; or, what is worse, might have arrived at such a stagnant and miserable state of social institution as China and Japan possess. The human form and the human mind at- tained to a perfection in Greece which has impressed its image on those faultless produc- tions whose very fragments are the despair of modern art, and has propagated impulses which cannot cease, through a thousand chan- nels of manifest or imperceptible operation, to ennoble and delight mankind until the ex- tinction of the race. The modern Greek is the descendant of those glorious beings whom the imagination almost refuses to figure to itself as belonging to our kind, and he inherits much of their sensibility, their rapidity of conception, their enthusiasm and their courage. If in many instances he is degraded by moral and political slavery to the practice of the basest vices it engenders and that below the level of ordinary degradation let us reflect that the corruption of the best produces the worst, and that habits which sub- sist only in relation to a peculiar state of social institution may be expected to cease so soon as that relation is dissolved. In fact, the Greeks, since the admirable novel of A nasta- sius could have been a faithful picture of their manners, have undergone most important changes ; the flower of their youth returning to their country from the universities of Italy, Germany and France have communicated to their fellow-citizens the latest results of that social perfection of which their ancestors were the original source. The university of Chios contained before the breaking out of the revo- lution eight hundred students, and among them several Germans and Americans. The muni- ficence and energy of many of the Greek princes and merchants, directed to the renova- tion of their country with a spirit and a wis- dom which has few examples, is above all praise. The English permit their own oppressors to act according to their natural sympathy with the Turkish tyrant and to brand upon their name the indelible blot of an alliance with the enemies of domestic happiness, of Christianity and civilization. Russia desires to possess, not to liberate Greece ; and is contented to see the Turks, its natural enemies, and the Greeks, its intended slaves, enfeeble each other until one or both fall into its net. The wise and generous policy of England would have consisted in establish- ing the independence of Greece and in main- taining it both against Russia and the Turk ; but when was the oppressor generous or just ? Should the English people ever become free, they will reflect upon the part which those who presume to represent their will have played in the great drama of the revival of liberty, with feelings which it would become them to anticipate. This is the age of the war of the oppressed against the oppressors, and every one of those ringleaders of the privileged gangs of murderers and swindlers, called sovereigns, look to each other for aid against the common enemy, and suspend their mutual jealousies in the presence of a mightier fear. Of this holy alliance all the despots of the earth are virtual members. But a new race has arisen through- out Europe, nursed in the abhorrence of the opinions which are its chains, and she will con- tinue to produce fresh generations to accom- 320 HELLAS plish that destiny which tyrants foresee and dread. The Spanish Peninsula is already free. France is tranquil in the enjoyment of a par- tial exemption from the abuses which its un- natural and feeble government are vainly at- tempting to revive. The seed of blood and misery has been sown in Italy, and a more vig- orous race is arising to go forth to the harvest. The world waits only the news of a revolution of Germany to see the tyrants who have pinna- HELLAS DRAMATIS PERSONS THE PROLOGUE : HERALD OP ETEBHITT. CHRIST. SATAN. MAHOMET. CHORUS. THE DRAMA : MAHMUD. HASSAN. DAOOD. AHAStTERtrs, a Jew. PHANTOM OF MAHOMBT THE SECOND. CHORCS OP GREEK CAPTIVE WOMEN. MESSENGERS, SLAVES AND ATTENDANTS. SCENE. Constantinople. TIME. Sunset. PROLOGUE : A FRAGMENT HERALD OF ETERNITY IT is the day when all the sons of God Wait in the roofless senate-house, whose floor Is Chaos, and the immovable abyss Frozen by His steadfast word to hyaline The shadow of God, and delegate Of that before whose breath the universe Is as a print of dew. Hierarchs and kings Who from your thrones pinnacled on the past Sway the reluctant present, ye who sit Pavilioned on the radiance or the gloom 10 Of mortal thought, which like an exhala- tion Steaming from earth conceals the of heaven Which gave it birth, assemble here Before your Father's throne; the swift decree Yet hovers, and the fiery incarnation cled themselves on its supineness precipitated into the ruin from which they shall never arise. Well do these destroyers of mankind know their enemy, when they impute the insurrec- tion in Greece to the same spirit before which they tremble throughout the rest of Europe, and that enemy well knows the power and the cunning of its opponents and watches the moment of their approaching weakness and in- evitable division to wrest the bloody sceptres from their grasp. Is yet withheld, clothed in which it shall annul The fairest of those wandering isles that gem The sapphire space of interstellar air, That green and azure sphere, that earth enwrapped 20 Less in the beauty of its tender light Than in an atmosphere of living spirit Which interpenetrating all the . . . it rolls from realm to realm And age to age, and in its ebb and flow Impels the generations To their appointed place, Whilst the high Arbiter Beholds the strife, and at the appointed time Sends his decrees veiled in eternal ... 30 Within the circuit of this pendant orb There lies an antique region, on which fell The dews of thought in the world's golden dawn Earliest and most benign, and from it sprung Temples and cities and immortal forms And harmonies of wisdom and of song, And thoughts, and deeds worthy of thoughts so fair. And when the sun of its dominion failed, And when the winter of its glory came, The winds that stripped it bare blew on, and swept 40 That dew into the utmost wildernesses In wandering clouds of sunny rain that thawed The unmaternal bosom of the North. Haste, sons of God, for ye beheld, Reluctant, or consenting, or astonished, The stern decrees go forth, which heaped on Greece Ruin and degradation and despair. A fourth now waits : assemble, sons of God, PROLOGUE 321 To speed, or to prevent, or to suspend, If, as ye dream, such power be not with- held, 50 The unaccomplished destiny. The curtain of the Universe Is rent and shattered, The splendor-winged worlds disperse Like wild doves scattered. Space is roofless and bare, And in the midst a cloudy shrine, Dark amid thrones of light. In the blue glow of hyaline Golden worlds revolve and shine. 60 In flight From every point of the Infinite, Like a thousand dawns on a siuglenight, The splendors rise and spread; And through thunder and darkness dread Light and music are radiated, And, in their pavilioned chariots led By living wings high overhead, The giant Powers move, 69 Gloomy or bright as the thrones they fill. A chaos of light and motion Upon that glassy ocean. The senate of the Gods is met, Each in his rank and station set; There is silence in the spaces Lo ! Satan, Christ, and Mahomet Start from their places 1 Almighty Father ! Low-kneeling at the feet of Destiny There are two fountains in which spirits weep 80 When mortals err, Discord and Slavery named, And with their bitter dew two Destinies Filled each their irrevocable urns; the third, Fiercest and mightiest, mingled both, and added Chaos and Death, and slow Oblivion's lymph, And hate and terror, and the poisoned rain The Aurora of the nations. By this brow Whose pores wept tears of blood, by these wide wounds, By this imperial crown of agony, By infamy and solitude and death, 90 For this I underwent, and by the pain Of pity for those who would for me The unremembered joy of a revenge, For this I felt by Plato's sacred light, Of which my spirit was a burning morrow By Greece and all she cannot cease to be, Her quenchless words, sparks of immortal truth, Stars of all night her harmonies and forms, Echoes and shadows of what Love adores In thee, I do compel thee, send forth Fate, too Thy irrevocable child: let her descend A seraph-winged victory [arrayed] In tempest of the omnipotence of God Which sweeps through all tilings. From hollow leagues, from Tyranny which arms Adverse miscreeds and emulous anarchies To stamp, as on a winged serpent's seed, Upon the name of Freedom; from the storm Of faction, which like earthquake shakes and sickens The solid heart of enterprise; from all no By which the holiest dreams of highest spirits Are stars beneath the dawn . . . She shall arise Victorious as the world arose from Chaos ! And as the Heavens and the Earth arrayed Their presence in the beauty and the light Of thy first smile, O Father, as they gather The spirit of thy love which paves for them Their path o'er the abyss, till every sphere Shall be one living Spirit, so shall Greece Be as all things beneath the empyrean 120 Mine ! Art thou eyeless like old Destiny, Thou mockery-king, crowned with a wreath of thorns ? Whose sceptre is a reed, the broken reed Which pierces thee ! whose throne a chair of scorn; For seest thou not beneath this crystal floor The innumerable worlds of golden light Which are my empire, and the least of them which thou wouldst redeem from me ? Know'st thou not them my portion ? 322 HELLAS Or wouldst rekindle the strife ? 130 Which our gre.it Father then did arbitrate When he assigned to his competing sons Each his apportioned realm ? Thou Destiny, Thou who art mailed in the omnipotence Of Him who sends thee forth, whate'er thy task, Speed, spare not to accomplish, and be mine Thy trophies, whether Greece again become The fountain in the desert whence the earth Shall drink of freedom, which shall give it strength To suffer, or a gulf of hollow death 140 To swallow all delight, all life, all hope. Go, thou Vicegerent of my will, no less Than of the Father's; hut lest thou shouldst faint, The winged hounds, Famine and Pestilence, Shall wait on thee, the hundred-forked snake, Insatiate Superstition, still shall The earth behind thy steps, and War shall hover Above, and Fraud shall gape below, and Change Shall flit before thee on her dragon wings, Convulsing and consuming, and I add 150 Three vials of the tears which demons weep When virtuous spirits through the gate of Death Pass triumphing over the thorns of life, Sceptres and crowns, mitres and swords and snares, Trampling in scorn, like Him and Socrates. The first is Anarchy; when Power and Pleasure, Glory and science and security, On Freedom hang like fruit on the green tree, Then pour it forth, and men shall gather ashes. The second Tyranny CHRIST Obdurate spirit ! Thou seest but the Past in the To-come. 161 Pride is thy error and thy punishment. Boast not thine empire, dream not that thy worlds Are more than furnace-sparks or rainbow- drops Before the Power that wields and kindles them. True greatness asks not space, true excel- lence Lives in the Spirit of all things that live, Which lends it to the worlds thou callest thine. Haste thou and fill the waning crescent With beams as keen as those which pierced the shadow 170 Of Christian night rolled back upon the West When the orient moon of Islam rode in triumph From Tmolus to the Acrocerauniau snow. Wake, thou Word Of God, and from the throne of Destiny Even to the utmost limit of thy way May Triumph Be thou a curse on them whose creed Divides and multiplies the most high God. HELLAS SCENE A Terrace, on the Seraglio. {sleeping) ; an Indian Slave sitting beside his Couch. CHORUS OF GREEK CAPTIVE WOMEN We strew these opiate flowers On thy restless pillow; They were stripped from orient bowers, By the Indian billow. Be thy sleep Calm and deep, Like theirs who fell not ours who weep ! Away, unlovely dreams ! Away, false shapes of sleep ! Be his, as Heaven seems, i Clear, and bright, and deep ! Soft as love, and calm as death, Sweet as a summe night without a breatu. CHORUS Sleep, sleep ! our song is laden W'ith the soul of slumber; It was sung by a Samian maiden, HELLAS 323 Whose lover was of the uumber Who now keep That calm sleep Whence none may wake, where none shall weep. 20 I touch thy temples pale ! I breathe my soul on thee ! And could my prayers avail, All my joy should be Dead, and I would live to weep, So thou mightst win one hour of quiet sleep. CHORUS Breathe low, low, The spell of the mighty mistress now ! When Conscience lulls her sated snake, And Tyrants sleep, let Freedom wake. 30 Breathe low low, The words, which, like secret fire, shall flow Through the veins of the frozen earth low, low ! SEMICHORUS I Life may change, but it may fly not; Hope may vanish, but can die not; Truth be veiled, but still it burneth; Love repulsed, but it returneth. SEMICHORUS II Yet were life a charnel, where Hope lay coffined with Despair; Yet were truth a sacred lie. 4 o Love were lust SEMICHORUS I If Liberty Lent not life its sonl of light, Hope its iris of delight, Truth its prophet's robe to wear, Love its power to give and bear. In the great morning of the world, The spirit of God with might unfurled The flag of Freedom over Chaos, And all its banded anarchs fled, Like vultures frighted from Imaus 50 Before an earthquake's tread. So from Time's tempestuous dawn Freedom's splendor burst and shone; Thermopylae and Marathon Caught, like mountains beacon-lighted, The springing Fire; the winged glory On Philippi half-alighted, Like an eagle on a promontory. Its unwearied wings could fan The quenchless ashes of Milan. 60 From age to age, from man to man It lived; and lit from land to laud Florence, Albion, Switzerland. Then night fell; and, as from night, Reassurning fiery flight, From the West swift Freedom came, Against the course of heaven and doom, A second sun arrayed in flame, To burn, to kindle, to illume. From far Atlantis its young beams 70 Chased the shadows and the dreams. France, with all her sanguine steams, Hid, but quenched it not; again Through clouds its shafts of glory rain From utmost Germany to Spain. As an eagle fed with morning Scorns the embattled tempest's warning, When she seeks her aerie hanging In the mountain-cedar's hair, And her brood expect the clanging 80 Of her wings through the wild air, Sick with famine; Freedom so To what of Greece remaineth now Returns; her hoary ruins glow Like orient mountains lost in day; Beneath the safety of her wings Her renovated nurslings play, And in the naked lightnings Of truth they purge their dazzled eyes. Let Freedom leave, where'er she flies, 90 A desert, or a paradise; Let the beautiful and the brave Share her glory, or a grave. SEMICHORUS I With the gifts of gladness Greece did thy cradle strew; SEMICHORUS II With the tears of sadness Greece did thy shroud bedew; SEMICHORUS I With an orphan's affection She followed thy bier through time: 324 HELLAS SEMICHOKUS II And at thy resurrection 100 Reappeareth, like thou, sublime ! SEMICHORUS I If Heaven should resume thee, To Heaven shall her spirit ascend; 8EMICHORUS II If Hell should entomb thee, To Hell shall her high hearts bend. SEMICHOBUS I If Annihilation BEMJCHORUS II Dust let her glories be; And a name and a nation Be forgotten, Freedom, with thee ! INDIAN His brow grows darker breathe not move not ! no He starts he shudders; ye that love not, With your panting loud and fast Have awakened him at last. MAHMUD (starting from his sleep) Man the Seraglio-guard ! make fast the gate. What ! from a cannonade of three short hours ? 'Tis false ! that breach towards the Bos- phorus Cannot be practicable yet who stirs ? Stand to the match, that, when the foe pre- vails, One spark may mix in reconciling ruin The conqueror and the conquered ! Heave the tower 120 Into the gap wrench off the roof. Enter HASSAN Ha ! what ! The truth of day lightens upon my dream, And I am Mahmud still. Your Sublime Highness Is strangely moved. MAHMTTD The times do cast strange shadows On those who watch and who must rule their course, Lest they, being first in peril as in glory, Be whelmed in the fierce ebb : and these are of them. Thrice has a gloomy vision hunted me As thus from sleep into the troubled day; It shakes me as the tempest shakes the sea, i 3 o Leaving no figure upon memory's glass. Would that no matter. Thou didst say thou knewest A Jew, whose spirit is a chronicle Of strange and secret and forgotten things. I bade thee summon him; 'tis said his tribe Dream, and are wise interpreters of dreams. The Jew of whom I spake is old, so old He seems to have outlived a world's decay; The hoary mountains and the wrinkled ocean Seem younger still than he; his hair and beard i 40 Are whiter than the tempest-sifted snow; His cold pale limbs and pulseless arteries Are like the fibres of a cloud instinct With light, and to the soul that quickens them Are as the atoms of the mountain-drift To the winter wind; but from his eye looks forth A life of unconsumed thought which pierces The present, and the past, and the to- come. Some say that this is he whom the great prophet Jesus, the son of Joseph, for his mockery, Mocked with the curse of immortality. 151 Some feign that he is Enoch; others dream He was pre-adamite, and has survived Cycles of generation and of ruin. The sage, in truth, by dreadful abstinence, And conquering penance of the mutinous flesh, Deep contemplation, and unwearied study, In years outstretched beyond the date of man, May have attained to sovereignty and sci- ence Over those strong and secret things and thoughts 160 Which others fear and know not. MAHMUD With this old Jew. I would talk HELLAS 325 HASSAN Thy will is even now Made known to him, where he dwells in a sea-cavern ''Mid the Demonesi, less accessible Than thou or God ! He who would ques- tion him Must sail alone at sunset, where the stream Of Ocean sleeps around those foainless isles, When the young moon is westering as now, And evening airs wander upon the wave; And when the pines of that bee-pasturing isle, 170 Green Erebiiithus, quench the fiery shadow Of its gilt prow within the sapphire water, Then must the lonely helmsman cry aloud, Ahasuerus ! and the caverns round Will answer, Ahasuerus ! If his prayer Be granted, a faint meteor will arise, Lighting him over Marmora, and a wind Will rush out of the sighing pine forest, And with the wind a storm of harmony Unutterably sweet, and pilot him 180 Through the soft twilight to the Bos- phorus: Thence, at the hour and place and circum- stance Fit for the matter of their conference, The Jew appears. Few dare, and few who dare Win the desired communion but that shout Bodes [A shout within. Evil, doubtless; like all human sounds. Let me converse with spirits. HASSAN That shout again. MAHMUD This Jew whom thou hast summoned HASSAN Will be here When the omnipotent hour, to which are yoked He, I, and all things, shall compel enough. 190 Silence those mutineers that drunken crew That crowd about the pilot in the storm. Ay ! strike the foremost shorter by a head ! They weary me, and I have need of rest. Kings are like stars they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose. [Exeunt severally. Worlds on worlds are rolling ever From creation to. decay, Like the bubbles on a river, Sparkling, bursting, borne away. 200 But they are still immortal Who, through birth's orient portal And death's dark chasm hurrying to and fro, Clothe their unceasing flight In the brief dust and light Gathered around their chariots as they go; New shapes they still may weave, New gods, new laws receive, Bright or dim are they, as the robes they last On Death's bare ribs had cast. no A power from the unknown God, A Promethean conqueror, came ; Like a triumphal path he trod The thorns of death and shame. A mortal shape to him Was like the vapor dim Which the orient planet animates with light; Hell, Sin and Slavery came, Like bloodhounds mild and tame, Nor preyed until their lord had taken flight; 220 The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set; While blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon The cross leads generations on. Swift as the radiant shapes of sleep From one, whose dreams are Paradise, Fly, when the fond wretch wakes to weep, And day peers forth with her blank eyes; So fleet, so faint, so fair, The Powers of earth and air 230 326 HELLAS Fled from the folding star of Bethlehem; Apollo, Pan, and Love, And even Olympian Jove, Grew weak, for killing Truth had glared on them ; Our hills and seas and streams, Dispeopled of their dreams, Their waters turned to hlood, their dew to tears, Wailed for the golden years. Enter MAHMUD, HASSAN, DAOOD, and others MAHMUD More gold ? our ancestors hought gold with victory, 239 And shall I sell it for defeat ? Clamor for pay. The Jauizars MAHMUD Go, bid them pay themselves With Christian blood ! Are there no Gre- cian virgins Whose shrieks and spasms and tears they may enjoy ? No infidel children to impale on spears ? No hoary priests after that Patriarch Who bent the curse against his country's heart, Which clove his own at last ? Go ! bid them kill; Blood is the seed of gold. DAOOD It hns been sown, And yet the harvest to the sickle-men 249 Is as a grain to each. MAHMUD Then take this signet. Unlock the seventh chamber, in which lie The treasures of victorious Solyman, An empire's spoil stored for a day of ruin. O spirit of my sires, is it not come ? The prey-birds and the wolves are gorged and sleep; But these, who spread their feast on the red earth, Hunger for gold, which fills not. See them fed; Then lead them to the rivers of fresh death. [Exit DAOOD. Oh, miserable dawn, after a night More glorious than the day which it usurped ! 260 O faith in God ! O power on earth ! O word Of the great Prophet, whose o'ershadowing wings Darkened the thrones and idols of the West, Now bright ! for thy sake cursed be the hour, Even as a father by an evil child, When the orient moon of Islam rolled in triumph From Caucasus to white Ceraunia ! Rum above, and anarchy below; Terror without, and treachery within; The chalice of destruction full, and all 270 Thirsting to drink; and who among us dares To dash it from his lips ? and where is Hope? HASSAN The lamp of our dominion still rides high; One God is God Mahomet is his Pro- phet. Four hundred thousand Moslems, from the limits Of utmost Asia, irresistibly Throng, like full clouds at the Sirocco's cry, But not like them to weep their strength in tears; They bear destroying lightning, and their step Wakes earthquake, to consume and over- whelm, 280 And reign in ruin. Phrygian Olympus, Tmolus, and Latinos, and Mycale, roughen With horrent arms; and lofty ships, even now, Like vapors anchored to a mountain's edge, Freighted with fire and whirlwind, wait at Scala The convoy of the ever- veering wind. Samos is drunk with blood; the Greek has paid Brief victory with swift loss and long de- spair. The false Moldavian serfs fled fast and far When the fierce shout of Allah-illa-Allah Rose like the war-cry of the northern wind, 291 Which kills the sluggish clouds, and leaves a flock HELLAS 3 2 7 Of wild swans struggling with the naked storm. So were the lost Greeks on the Danube's day ! If night is mute, yet the returning sun Kindles the voices of the morning birds; Nor at thy bidding less exultingly Than birds rejoicing in the golden day The Anarchies of Africa unleash Their tempest-winged cities of the sea, 300 To speak in thunder to the rebel world. Like sulphurous clouds half-shattered by the storm, They sweep the pale JEgean, while the Queen Of Ocean, bound upon her island throne, Far in the West, sits mourning that her sons, Who frown on Freedom, spare a smile for thee. Russia still hovers, as an eagle might Within a cloud, near which a kite and crane Hang tangled in inextricable fight, To stoop upon the victor; for she fears 310 The name of Freedom, even as she hates thine. But recreant Austria loves thee as the Grave Loves Pestilence, and her slow dogs of war, Fleshed with the chase, come up from Italy, And howl upon their limits; for they see The panther, Freedom, fled to her old cover, Amid seas and mountains, and a mightier brood Crouch round. What Anarch wears a crown or mitre, Or bears the sword, or grasps the key of gold, Whose friends are not thy friends, whose foes thy foes ? 320 Our arsenals s,ud our armories are full; Our forts defy assault; ten thousand can- non Lie ranged upon the beach, and hour by hour Their earth-convulsing wheels affright the city; The galloping of fiery steeds makes pale The Christian merchant; and the yellow Jew Hides his hoard deeper in the faithless earth. Like clouds, and like the shadows of the clouds, Over the hills of Anatolia, Swift in wide troops the Tartar chivalry 330 Sweep; the far-flashing of their starry lances Reverberates the dying light of day. We have one God, one King, one Hope, one Law; But many-headed Insurrection stands Divided in itself, and soon must fall. Proud words, when deeds come short, are seasonable. Look, Hassan, on yon crescent moon, em- blazoned Upon that shattered flag of fiery cloud Which leads the rear of the departing day, Wan emblem of an empire fading now 340 See how it trembles in the blood-red air, And like a mighty lamp whose oil is spent, Shrinks on the horizon's edge, while, from above, One star with insolent and victorious light, Hovers above its fall, and with keen beams Like arrows through a fainting antelope, Strikes its weak form to death. Renews itself HASSAN Even as that moon Shall we be not renewed ! Far other bark than ours were needed now To stem the torrent of descending time; 350 The spirit that lifts the slave before his lord Stalks through the capitals of armed kings, And spreads his ensign in the wilderness; Exults in chains; and, when the rebel falls, Cries like the blood of Abel from the dust; And the inheritors of the earth, like beas,ts When earthquake is unleashed, with idiot fear Cower in their kingly dens as I do now. What were Defeat, when Victory must appall ? Or Danger, when Security looks pale ? 360 How said the messenger, who from the fort Islanded in the Danube saw the battle Of Bucharest ? that 328 HELLAS HASSAN Ibrahim's scimitar Drew with its gleam swift victory from heaven To burn before him in the night of battle A light and a destruction. Was ours; but how ? Ay ! the day The light Wallachians, The Arnaut, Servian, and Albanian allies, Fled from the glance of our artillery Almost before the thunder-stone alit; 370 One half the Grecian army made a bridge Of safe and slow retreat with Moslem dead; The other MAHMUD Speak tremble not. HASSAN Islanded By victor myriads formed in hollow square With rough and steadfast front, and thrice flung back The deluge of our foaming cavalry; Thrice their keen wedge of battle pierced our lines. Our baffled army trembled like one man Before a host, and gave them space; but soon From the surrounding hills the batteries blazed, 380 Kneading them down with fire and iron rain. Yet none approached; till, like a field of corn Under the hook of the swart sickle-man, The band, entrenched in mounds of Turk- ish dead, Grew weak and few. Then said the Pacha, 1 Slaves, Render yourselves they have abandoned you What hope of refuge, or retreat, or aid ? We grant your lives.' ' Grant that which is thine own ! ' Cried one, and fell upon his sword and died ! Another ' God, and man, and hope aban- don me; 390 But I to them and to myself remain Constant;' he bowed his head and his heart burst. A third exclaimed, 'There is a refuge, tyrant, Where thou darest not pursue; and canst not harm, Shouldst thou pursue; there we shall meet again.' Then held his breath, and, after a brief spasm, The indignant spirit cast its mortal garment Among the slain dead earth upon the earth ! So these survivors, each by different ways, Some strange, all sudden, none dishonor- able, 4 oo Met in triumphant death; and, when our army Closed in, while yet wonder, and awe, and shame Held back the base hyenas of the battle That feed upon the dead and fly the living, One rose out of the chaos of the slain ; And if it were a corpse which some dread spirit Of the old saviors of the land we rule Had lifted in its anger, wandering by; Or if there burned within the dying man Unquenchable disdain of death, and faith Creating what it feigned, I cannot tell; But he cried, ' Phantoms of the free, we come ! 412 Annies of the Eternal, ye who strike To dust the citadels of sanguine kings, And shake the souls throned on their stony hearts, And thaw their frost-work diadems like dew; O ye who float around this clime, and weave The garment of the glory which it wears, Whose fame, though earth betray the dust it clasped, Lies sepulchred in monumental thought; 430 Progenitors of all that yet is great, Ascribe to your bright senate, oh, accept In your high ministrations, us, your sons Us first, and the more glorious yet to come I And ye, weak conquerors ! giants, who look pale When the crushed worm rebels beneath your tread The vultures, and the dogs, your pensioners tame, HELLAS 329 Are overgorged; but, like oppressors, still They crave the relic of Destruction's feast. The exhalations and the thirsty winds 430 Are sick with blood; the dew is foul with death ; Heaven's light is quenched in slaughter; thus where'er Upon your camps, cities, or towers, or fleets, The obscene birds the reeking remnants cast Of these dead limbs, upon your streams and mountains, Upon your fields, your gardens, and your housetops, Where'er the winds shall creep, or the clouds fly, Or the dews fall, or the angry sun look down With poisoned light Famine, and Pesti- lence, 439 And Panic, shall wage war upon our side ! Nature from all her boundaries is moved Against ye; Time has found ye light as foam. The Earth rebels; and Good and Evil stake Their empire o'er the unborn world of men On this one cast; but ere the die be thrown, The renovated genius of our race, Proud umpire of the impious game, de- scends, A seraph-winged Victory, bestriding The tempest of the Omnipotence of God, Which sweeps all things to their appointed doom, 450 And you to oblivion ! ' More he would have said, But MAHMUD Died as thou shouldst ere thy lips bad painted Their ruin in the hues of our success. A rebel's crime, gilt with a rebel's tongue ! Your heart is Greek, Hassan. HASSAN It may be so: A spirit not my own wrenched me within, And I have spoken words I fear and hate; Yet would I die for MAHMUD Live ! oh, live ! outlive Me and this sinking empire. But the fleet Alas MAHMUD The fleet which, like a flock of clouds Chased by the wind, flies the insurgent banner ! 4 6i Our winged castles from their merchant ships ! Our myriads before their weak pirate bands ! Our arms before their chains ! our years of empire Before their centuries of servile fear ! Death is awake ! Repulse is on the wa- ters; They own no more the thunder-bearing banner Of Mahmud, but, like hounds of a base breed, Gorge from a stranger's hand, and rend their master. Latinos, and Ampelos, and Phause, saw 470 The wreck MAHMOD The caves of the Icariau isles Told each to the other in Icud mockery, And with the tongue as of a thousand echoes, First of the sea-convulsing fight and then Thou darest to speak senseless are the mountains; Interpret thou their voice ! HASSAN My presence bore A part in that day's shame. The Grecian fleet Bore down at daybreak from the north, and hung As multitudinous on the ocean line As cranes upon the cloudless Thracian wind. 4 8c Our squadron, convoying ten thousand men, Was stretching towards Nauplia when the battle Was kindled. First through the hail of our artillery The agile Hydriote barks with press of sail Dashed; ship to ship, cannon to cannon, man 330 HELLAS To man, were grappled in the embrace of war, Inextricable but by death or victory. The tempest of the raging fight convulsed To its crystalline depths that stainless sea, And shook heaven's roof of golden morn- ing clouds 491 Poised on an hundred azure mountain isles. In the brief trances of the artillery One cry from the destroyed and the de- stroyer Rose, and a cloud of desolation wrapped The unforeseen event, till the north wind Sprung from the sea, lifting the heavy veil Of battle-smoke then victory victory ! For, as we thought, three frigates from Algiers Bore down from Naxos to our aid, but soon The abhorred cross glimmered behind, be- fore, 501 Among, around us; and that fatal sign Dried with its beams the strength in Mos- lem hearts, As the sun drinks the dew. What more ? We fled ! Our noonday patli over the sanguine foam Was beaconed and the glare struck the sun pale By our consuming transports; the fierce light Made all the shadows of our sails blood- red, And every countenance blank. Some ships lay feeding The ravening fire even to the water's level: Some were blown up; some, settling heav- ily* 5>i Sunk; and the shrieks of our companions died Upon the wind that bore us fast and far, Even after they were dead. Nine thousand perished ! We met the vultures Icgioned in the air, Stemming the torrent of the tainted wind; They, screaming from their cloudy moun- tain peaks, Stooped through the sulphurous battle- smoke, and perched Each on the weltering carcass that we loved, Like its ill angel or its damned soul, 520 Riding upon the bosom of the sea. We saw the dog-fish hastening to their feast. Joy waked the voiceless people of the sea, And ravening Famine left his ocean-cave To dwell with War, with us, and with De- spair. We met night three hours to the west of Patmos, And with night, tempest MAHMCD Cease ! MESSENGER Your Sublime Highness, That Christian hound, the Muscovite am- bassador, Has left the city. If the rebel fleet Had anchored in the port, had victory 530 Crowned the Greek legions in the Hippo- drome, Panic were tamer. Obedience and Mutiny, Like giants in contention planet-struck, Stand gazing on each other. There is peace In Stamboul. MAHMUD Is the grave not calmer still ? Its ruins shall be mine. HASSAN Fear not the Russian ; The tiger leagues not with the stag at bay Against the hunter. Cunning, base, and cruel, He crouches, watching till the spoil be won, And must be paid for his reserve in blood. After the war is fought, yield the sleek Russian 541 That which thou canst not keep, his de- served portion Of blood, which shall not flow through streets and fields, Rivers and seas, like that which we may win, But stagnate in the veins of Christian slaves ! SECOND MESSENGER Nauplia, Tripolizza, Mothon, Athens, Navarin, Artas, Monembasia, Corinth and Thebes, are carried by as^ Malt; And every Islamite who made his dogs Fat with the flesh of Galilean slaves 550 HELLAS 33 1 Passed at the edge of the sword; the lust of blood, Which made our warriors drunk, is quenched in death; But like a fiery plague breaks out anew In deeds which make the Christian cause look pale In its own light. The garrison of Patras Has store but for ten days, nor is there hope But from the Briton; at once slave and tyrant, His wishes still are weaker than his fears, Or he would sell what faith may yet re- main From the oaths broke in Genoa and in Norway; 560 And if you buy him not, your treasury Is empty even of promises his own coin. The freed man of a western poet chief Holds Attica with seven thousand rebels, And has beat back the Pacha of Negropoiit; The aged Ali sits in Yanina, A crownless metaphor of empire; His name, that shadow of his withered might, Holds our besieging army like a spell In prey to famine, pest, and mutiny; 570 He, bastioned in his citadel, looks forth Joyless upon the sapphire lake that mirrors The ruins of the city where he reigned, Childless and sceptreless. The Greek has reaped The costly harvest his own blood matured, Not the sower, Ali who has bought a truce From Ypsilanti, with ten camel-loads Of Indian gold. Enter a Third Messenger MAHMUD What more ? THIRD MESSENGER The Christian tribes Of Lebanon and the Syrian wilderness Are in revolt; Damascus, Hems, Aleppo, 580 Tremble; the Arab menaces Medina; The JEthiop has entrenched himself in Sen- naar, And keeps the Egyptian rebel well em- ployed, Who denies homage, claims investiture As price of tardy aid. Persia demands The cities on the Tigris, and the Georgians Refuse their living tribute. Crete and Cyprus, Like mountain-twins that from each other's veins Catch the volcano fire and earthquake spasm, Shake in the general fever. Through the city, 59 o Like birds before a storm, the Santous shriek, And prophesyings horrible and new Are heard among the crowd; that sea of men Sleeps on the wrecks it made, breathless and still. A Dervise, learned in the Koran, preaches That it is written how the sins of Islam Must raise up a destroyer even now. The Greeks expect a Saviour from the west, Who shall not come, men say, in clouds and glory, But in the Omnipresence of that Spirit 6 In which all live and are. Ominous signs Are blazoned broadly on the noonday sky; One saw a red cross stamped upon the sun; It has rained blood; and monstrous births declare The secret wrath of Nature and her Lord. The army encamped upon the Cydaris Was roused last night by the alarm of bat- tle, And saw two hosts conflicting in the air, The shadows doubtless of the unborn time Cast on the mirror of the night. While yet 610 The fight hung balanced, there arose a storm Which swept the phantoms from among the stars. At the third watch the Spirit of the Plague Was heard abroad flapping among the tents; Those who relieved watch found the senti- nels dead. The last news from the camp is that a thousand Have sickened, and Enter a Fourth Messenger MAHMUD And thou, pale ghost, dim shadow Of some untimely rumor, speak I 332 HELLAS FOURTH MESSENGEB One comes Fainting with toil, covered with foam and blood; He stood, he says, on Chelonites' 620 Promontory, which o'erlooks the isles that groan Under the Briton's frown, and all their wa- ters Then trembling in the splendor of the moon; When, as the wandering clouds unveiled or hid Her boundless light, he saw two adverse fleets Stalk through the night in the horizon's glimmer, Mingling fierce thunders and sulphureous gleams, And smoke which strangled every infant wind That soothed the silver clouds through the deep air. At length the battle slept, but the Sirocco Awoke, and drove his flock of thunder- clouds 63 1 Over the sea-horizon, blotting out All objects save that in the faint moon- glimpse He saw, or dreamed he saw, the Turkish admiral And two the loftiest of our ships of war With the bright image of that Queen of Heaven, Who hid, perhaps, her face for grief, re- versed ; And the abhorred cross Enter an Attendant ATTENDANT Your Sublime Highness, The Jew, who MAHMUD Could not come more seasonably. Bid him attend. I '11 hear no more ! too long 640 We gaze on danger through the mist of fear, And multiply upon our shattered hopes The images of ruin. Come what will ! To-morrow and to-morrow are as lamps Set in our path to light us to the edge Through rough and smooth; nor can we suffer aught Which he inflicts not in whose hand we are. [Exeunt. SEMICHOKUS I Would I were the winged cloud Of a tempest swift and loud ! I would scorn 650 The smile of morn, And the wave where the moonrise is born ! I would leave The spirits of eve A shroud for the corpse of the day to weave From other threads than mine ! Bask in the deep blue noon divine Who would, not I. SEMICHORUS n Whither to fly ? SEMICHORUS I Where the rocks that gird the JEgean 660 Echo to the battle pa3an Of the free, I would flee, A tempestuous herald of victory ! My golden rain For the Grecian slain Should mingle in tears with the bloody main ; And my solemn thunder-knell Should ring to the world the passing-bell Of tyranny ! 670 SEMICHORUS II Ah king ! wilt thou chain The rack and the rain ? Wilt thou fetter the lightning and hurri- cane ? The storms are free, But we O Slavery ! thou frost of the world's prime, Killing its flowers and leaving its thorns bare ! Thy touch has stamped these limbs with crime, These brows thy branding garland bear; But the free heart, the impassive soul, Scorn thy control ! 68- SEMICHORtTS I Let there be light ! said Liberty; And like sunrise from the sea HELLAS 333 Athens arose ! Around her born, Shone like mountains in the morn Glorious states; and are they now Ashes, wrecks, oblivion? SEMICHOKUS II Go Where Thermae and Asopus swallowed Persia, as the sand does foam; Deluge upon deluge followed, 690 Discord, Macedon, and Rome; And, lastly, thou ! SEMICHOKUS I Temples and towers, Citadels and marts, and they Who live and die there, have been ours, And may be thine, and must decay; But Greece and her foundations are Built below the tide of war, Based on the crystalline sea Of thought and its eternity; Her citizens, imperial spirits, 700 Rule the present from the past; On all this world of men inherits Their seal is set. SEMICHOBUS II Hear ye the blast, Whose Orphic thunder thrilling calls From ruin her Titanian walls ? Whose spirit shakes the sapless bones Of Slavery ? Argos, Corinth, Crete, Hear, and from their mountain thrones The dsemons and the nymphs repeat The harmony. SBMICHOROS I I hear, I hear ! 710 SEMICHOKUS II The world's eyeless charioteer, Destiny, is hurrying by ! What faith is crushed, what empire bleeds Beneath her earthquake-footed steeds ? What eagle-winged Victory sits At her right hand ? what Shadow flits Before ? what Splendor rolls behind ? Ruin and Renovation cry, Who but we ? 8EMICHORUS I I hear, I hear ! The hiss as of a rushing wind, 720 The roar as of an ocean foaming, The thunder as of earthquake coming. I hear, I hear ! The crash as of an empire falling, The shrieks as of a people calling Mercy ! Mercy ! How they thrill ! Then a shout of ' Kill, kill, kill ! ' And then a small still voice, thus SEMICHORUS n For Revenge and Wrong bring forth their kind ; The foul cubs like their parents are; 730 Their den is in the guilty mind, And Conscience feeds them with despair; SEMICHOKUS I In sacred Athens, near the fane Of Wisdom, Pity's altar stood; Serve not the unknown God in vain, But pay that broken shrine again Love for hate, and tears for blood. Enter MAHMUD and AHASUEKUS MAHMUD Thou art a man, thou sayest, even as we. AHASUEKUS No more ! MAHMUD But raised above thy fellow-men By thought, as I by power. AHASUEKUS Thou sayest so. Thou art an adept in the difficult lore 741 Of Greek and Frank philosophy; thou nurnberest The flowers, and thou measurest the stars; Thou severest element from element; Thy spirit is present in the past, and sees The birth of this old world through all its cycles Of desolation and of loveliness, And when man was not, and how man be- came The monarch and the slave of this low sphere, And all its narrow circles it is much. 750 I honor thee, and would be what thou art Were I not what I am; but the unborn hour, 334 HELLAS Cradled in fear and hope, conflicting storms, Who shall unveil ? Nor thou, nor I, nor any Mighty or wise. I apprehended not What thou hast taught me, but I now per- ceive That thou art no interpreter of dreams; Thou dost not own that art, device, or God, Can make the future present let it come ! Moreover thou disdainest us and ours ! 760 Thou art as God, whom thou contemplatest. AHASUERUS Disdain thee? not the worm beneath thy feet ! The Fathomless has care for meaner things Thau thou canst drfiam, and has made pride for those Who would be what they may not, or would seem That which they are not. Sultan ! talk no more Of thee and rne, the future and the past; But look on that which cannot change the One, The unborn and the undying. Earth and Ocean, Space, and the isles of life or light that gem 77 The sapphire floods of interstellar air, This firmament pavilioned upon chaos, With all its cressets of immortal fire, Whose outwall, bastionecl impregnably Against the escape of boldest thoughts, repels them As Calpe the Atlantic clouds this Whole Of suns, and worlds, and men, and beasts, and flowers, With all the silent or tempestuous workings By which they have been, are, or cease to be, Is but a vision; all that it inherits 780 Are motes of a sick eye, bubbles, and dreams; Thought is its cradle and its grave, nor less The future and the past are idle shadows Of thought's eternal flight they have no being; Nought is but that which feels itself to be. MAHMUD What meanest thou ? thy words stream like a tempest Of dazzling mist within iny brain they shake The earth on which I stand, and hang like night On Heaven above me. What can they avail ? They cast on all things, surest, brightest, best, 790 Doubt, insecurity, astonishment. AHASUERUS Mistake me not ! All is contained in each. Dodona's forest to an acorn's cup Is that which has been or will be, to that Which is the absent to the present. Thought Alone, and its quick elements, Will, Pas- sion, Reason, Imagination, cannot die; They are what that which they regard ap- pears, The stuff whence mutability can weave All that it hath dominion o'er worlds, worms, 800 Empires, and superstitions. What has thought To do with time, or place, or circumstance ? Wouldst thou behold the future ? ask and have ! Knock and it shall be opened look, and lo! The coining age is shadowed on the past As on a glass. MAHMUD Wild, wilder thoughts convulse My spirit. Did not Mahomet the Second Win Stamboul ? AHASUERUS Thou wouldst ask that giant spirit The written fortunes of thy house and faith. Thou wouldst cite one out of the grave to tell 8 10 How what was born in blood must die. Have power on me 1 I see Thy words AHASUERUS What hearest thou ? A far whisper Tc/riblc silence. HELLAS 335 AHASUEKUS What succeeds ? MAHMCTD The sound As of the assault of an imperial city, The hiss of inextinguishable fire, The roar of giant cannon; the earth-quak- ing Fall of vast bastions and precipitous towers, The shock of crags shot from strange en- ginery, The clash of wheels, and clang of armed hoofs 820 And crash of brazen mail, as of the wreck Of adamantine mountains; the mad blast Of trumpets, and the neigh of raging steeds, And shrieks of women whose thrill jars the blood, And one sweet laugh, most horrible to hear, As of a joyous infant waked, and playing With its dead mother's breast; and now more loud The mingled battle-cry ha ! hear I not 'Ev rovrcfi i/tKjj. Allah-illah- Allah ! AHASUERU8 The sulphurous mist is raised thou seest MAHMUD A chasm, As of two mountains, in the wall of Stam- boul ; 83 1 And in that ghastly breach the Islamites, Like giants on the ruins of a world, Stand in the light of sunrise. In the dust Glimmers a kiugless diadem, and one Of regal port has cast himself beneath The stream of war. Another proudly clad In golden arms spurs a Tartarian barb Into the gap, and with his iron mace Directs the torrent of that tide of men, 840 And seems he is Mahomet ! AHASUERUS What thou seest Is but the ghost of thy forgotten dream ; A dream itself, yet less, perhaps, than that Thou call'st reality. Thou mayst behold How cities, on which empire sleeps en- throned, Bow their towered crests to mutability. Poised by the flood, e'en on the height thou boldest, Thou mayst now learn how the full tide of power Ebbs to its depths. Inheritor of glory Conceived in darkness, born in blood, and nourished 8$q With tears and toil, thou seest the mortal throes Of that whose birth was but the same. The Past Now stands before thee like an Incarnation Of the To-come; yet wouldst thou commune with That portion of thyself which was ere thou Didst start for this brief race whose crown is death, Dissolve with that strong faith and fervent passion, Which called it from the uncreated deep, Yon cloud of war with its tempestuous phantoms Of raging death; and draw with mighty will S6o The imperial shade hither. [Exit AHASUEKUS. Approach ! PHANTOM I come Thence whither thou must go ! The grave is fitter To take the living than give up the dead; Yet has thy faith prevailed, and I am here. The heavy fragments of the power which fell When I arose, like shapeless crags and clouds, Hang round my throne on the abyss, and voices Of strange lament soothe my supreme re- pose, Wailing for glory never to return. A later empire nods in its decay; 870 The autumn of a greener faith is come; And wolfish change, like winter, howls to strip The foliage in which Fame, the eagle, built Her aerie, while Dominion whelped below. The storm is in its branches, and the frost Is on its leaves, and the blank deep expects Oblivion on oblivion, spoil on spoil, 336 HELLAS Ruin on ruin. Thou art slow, my son; The Anarchs of the world of darkness keep A throne for thee, round which thine em- pire lies 880 Boundless and mute; and for thy subjects thou, Like us, shalt rule the ghosts of murdered life, The phantoms of the powers who rule thee now Mutinous passions and conflicting fears, And hopes that sate themselves on dust and I die, Stripped of their mortal strength, as thou of thine. Islam must fall, but we will reign together Over its ruins in the world of death; And if the trunk be dry, yet shall the seed Unfold itself even in the shape of that 890 Which gathers birth in its decay. Woe ! Woe! To the weak people tangled in the grasp Of its last spasms ! Spirit, woe to all ; Woe to the wronged and the avenger ! Woe To the destroyer, woe to the destroyed ! Woe to the dupe, and woe to the deceiver ! Woe to the oppressed, and woe to the op- pressor ! Woe both to those that suffer and inflict; Those who are born, and those who die ! But say, Imperial shadow of the thing I am, 900 "When, how, by whom, Destruction must accomplish Her consummation ? PHANTOM Ask the cold pale Hour, Rich in reversion of impending death, When he shall fall upon whose ripe gray hairs Sit Care, and Sorrow, and Infirmity The weight which Crime, whose wings are plumed with years, Leaves in his flight from ravaged heart to heart Over the heads of men, under which bur- den They bow themselves unto the grave. Fond wretch ! He leans upon his crutch, and talks of years To come, and how in hours of youth re- newed 911 He will renew lost joys, and VOICE (without) Victory ! victory ! [The Phantom vanishes. MAHMUD What sound of the importunate earth has broken My mighty trance ? VOICE (without) Victory ! victory ! MAHMUD Weak lightning before darkness ! poor faint smile Of dying Islam ! Voice which art the re- sponse Of hollow weakness ! Do I wake and live? Were there such things ? or may the un- quiet brain, Vexed by the wise mad talk of the old Jew, Have shaped itself these shadows of its fear ? 920 It matters not ! for nought we see or dream, Possess, or lose, or grasp at, can be worth More than it gives or teaches. Come what may, The future must become the past, and I As they were, to whom once this present hour, This gloomy crag of time to which I cling, Seemed an Elysian isle of peace and joy Never to be attained. I must rebuke This drunkenness of triumph ere it die, And dying, bring despair. Victory ! poor slaves ! 930 [Exit MAHMTD. VOICE (without) Shout in the jubilee of death ! the Greeks Are as a brood of lions in the net Round which the kingly hunters of the earth Stand smiling. Anarchs, ye whose daily food Are curses, groans, and gold, the fruit of death, From Thule to the girdle of the world, HELLAS 337 Coine, feast ! the board groans with the flesh of men; The cup is foaming with a nation's blood; Famine and Thirst await ! eat, drink, and die! SEMIGROUPS I Victorious Wrong, with vulture scream, Salutes the risen sun, pursues the flying day ! 941 I saw her ghastly as a tyrant's dream, Perch on the trembling pyramid of night, Beneath which earth and all her realms pavilioned lay In visions of the dawning undelight. Who shall impede her flight ? Who rob her of her prey ? VOICE (without) Victory, victory ! Russia's famished eagles Dare not to prey beneath the crescent's light. Impale the remnant of the Greeks ! de- spoil ! 950 Violate ! make their flesh cheaper than dust! SEMICHOBUS II Thou voice which art The herald of the ill in splendor hid ! Thou echo of the hollow heart Of monarchy, bear me to thine abode When, desolation flashes o'er a world de- stroyed. Oh, bear me to those isles of jagged cloud Which float like mountains on the earthquake, mid 958 The momentary oceans of the lightning; Or to some toppling promontory proud Of solid tempest, whose black pyramid, Riven, overhangs the founts intensely brightning Of those dawn-tinted deluges of fire Before their waves expire, When heaven and earth are light, and only light In the thunder-night ! VOICE (without) Victory, victory ! Austria, Russia, England, And that tame serpent, that poor shadow, France, Cry peace, and that means death when monarchs speak. Ho, there ! bring torches, sharpen those red stakes ! 97 o These chains are light, fitter for slaves and poisoners Than Greeks. Kill, plunder, burn ! let none remain. SEMICHOKDS I Alas for Liberty ! If numbers, wealth, or unfulfilling years, Or fate, can quell the free ! Alas for Virtue ! when Torments, or contumely, or the sneers Of erring judging men Can break the heart where it abides ! Alas ! if Love, whose smile makes this ob- scure world splendid, 980 Can change, with its false times and tides, Like hope and terror Alas for Love ! And Truth, who wanderest lone and unbe- friended, If thou canst veil thy lie-consuming mir- ror Before the dazzled eyes of Error, Alas for thee ! Image of the Above ! SEMICHORUS II Repulse, with plumes from conquest torn, Led the ten thousand from the limits of the morn Through many an hostile Anarchy ! 990 At length they wept aloud and cried, ' the sea ! the sea ! ' Through exile, persecution, and despair, Rome was, and young Atlantis shall become, The wonder, or the terror, or the tomb, Of all whose step wakes Power lulled in her savage lair. But Greece was as a hermit child, Whose fairest thoughts and limbs were built To woman's growth by dreams so mild She knew not pain or guilt; And now, O Victory, blush ! and Empire, tremble, icoo When ye desert the free ! . If Greece must be A wreck, yet shall its fragments reassem- ble, And build themselves again impregnably In a diviner clime, To Amphionic music, on some Cape sub- lime Which frowns above the idle foam of time. 338 HELLAS SEMICHORUS I Let the tyrants rule the desert they have made; Let the free possess the paradise they claim ; Be the fortune of our fierce oppressors weighed 1010 With our ruin, our resistance, and our name ! SEMICHORUS n Our dead shall be the seed of their decay, Our survivors be the shadows of their pride, Our adversity a dream to pass away, Their dishonor a remembrance to abide ! VOICE (without) Victory ! Victory ! the bought Briton sends The keys of ocean to the Islamite. Now shall the blazon of the cross be veiled, And British skill, directing Othiuau might, Thunder-strike rebel victory. Oh, keep _ holy 1020 This jubilee of unrevenged blood ! Kill, crush, despoil ! Let not a Greek es- cape ! SEMICHORUS I Darkness has dawned in the East On the noon of time; The death birds descend to their feast, From the hungry clime. Let Freedom and Peace flee far To a sunnier strand, And follow Love's folding star To the Evening land ! 1030 SEMICHORTJS It The young moon has fed Her exhausted horn With the sunset's fire; The weak day is dead, But the night is not born; And, like loveliness panting with wild de- sire, While it trembles with fear and delight, Hesperus flies from awakening night, And pants in its beauty and speed with light Fast-flashing, soft and bright. 1040 Thou beacon of love ! thou lamp of the free ! Guide us far, far away, To climes where now, veiled by the ardor of day, Thou art hidden From waves on which weary Noon Faints in her summer swoon, Between kingless continents, sinless as Eden, Around mountains and islands inviola- bly Pranked on the sapphire sea. SEMICHORUS I Through the sunset of hope, 1050 Like the shapes of a dream, What Paradise islands of glory gleam ! Beneath Heaven's cope, Their shadows more clear float by ; The sound of their oceans, the light of their sky, The music and fragrance their solitudes breathe, Burst like morning on dream, or like Hea- ven on death, Through the walls of our prison; And Greece, which was dead, is arisen ! The world's great age begins anew, 1060 The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn; Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam, Like wrecks of a dissolving dream. A brighter Hellas rears its mountains From waves serener far; A new Peneus rolls his fountains Against the morning-star. Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep. 1071 A loftier Argo cleaves the main, Fraught with a later prize; Another Orpheus sings again, And loves, and weeps, and dies. A new Ulysses leaves once more Calypso for his native shore. Oh, write no more the tale of Troy, If earth Death's scroll must be ! Nor mix with Laian rage the joy 1080 Which dawns upon the free; Although a subtler Sphinx renew Riddles of death Thebes never knew. Another Athens shall arise, And to remoter time EARLY POEMS 339 Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, The splendor of its prime; And leave, if nought so bright may live, All earth caii take or Heaven can give. Saturn and Love their long repose 1090 Shall burst, more bright and good Than ail who fell, than Oue who rose, Thau many unsubdued; Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers, But votive tears and symbol flowers. Oh, cease ! must hate and death return ? Cease ! must men kill and die ? Cease ! drain not to its dregs the urn Of bitter prophecy. The world is weary of the past, noo Oh, might it die or rest at last ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS EARLY POEMS 1813-1815 The Miscellaneous Poems, with some excep- tions, were published either by Shelley, in his successive volumes, or by Mrs. Shelley, in Posthumous Poems, 1824, and the two editions of 1839. A few first appeared elsewhere and were included in the collected editions by Mrs. Shelley, and still others have from time to time found their way to the public. The origi- nal issue of each poem is here stated in the in- troductory note, and its history so far as known is given. By far the greater portion of Shelley's shorter poems is parsonal, and many of them are addressed to his friends and companions or those who made up the domestic circle in his wanderings ; even thosa which are most en- tirely posnis of nature are, with few exceptions, charged with his moods, and governed by pass- ing circumstances ; as a whole, therefore, they require, for full understanding, intimacy with the events of his private life, and the reader must be referred to the Life of the poet for such a narrative as could not be condensed in- telligibly into brief introductory notes, with respect both to persons and facts. Mrs. Shelley's biographical notes, however, have been largely used to preface the poems of each year because of their extraordinary truth to the feeling and atmosphere of Shelley's Italian life. The few political poems are sufficiently EVENING TO HARRIET I Composed at Bracknell, July 31, 1813, for the birthday (August 1 ) of Harriet, his first wife, on the completion of her eighteenth year. Pubb'shed by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887. explained by reference to current events ; in most of these Shelley owes the manner to Coleridge's example. Tradition has established Queen Mab at the head of Shelley's mature work, and in accord- ance with it all poems earlier than Queen Mab are included under Juvenilia. A more just sense would have given this honor to Alastor, and have relegated the poems of 1815 to the period of immaturity, to which with all the events relating to them they together with Queen Mab belong. It is, however, not deemed wise to attempt to disturb the traditionary arrange- ment at so late a time. The Early Poems mainly relate to Shelley's domestic history. A few only show his politi- cal interest. Mrs. Shelley describes the sum- mar of 1815 as one of rest, but it was excep- tional, as these years were the most troubled of his life. Her record begins with 1815. ' He never spent a season more tranquilly than the summer of 1815. He had just recov- ered from a severe pulmonary attack ; the weather was warm and pleasant. He lived near Windsor Forest, and his life was spent under its shades, or on the water ; meditating subjects for verse. Hitherto, he had chiefly aimed at extending his political doctrines ; and attempted so to do by appeals, in prose essays, to the people, exhorting them to claim their rights ; but he had now begun to feel that the time for action was not ripe in England, and that the pen was the only instrument where- with to prepare the way for better things.' O THOU bright Sun ! beneath the dark blue line Of western distance that sublime de- scendest, And, gleaming lovelier as thy beams de- cline, Thy million hues to every vapor lend est, 340 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS And, over cobweb lawii and grove and stream Sheddest the liquid magic of thy light, Till calm Earth, with the parting splen- dor bright, Shows like the vision of a beauteous dream; What gazer now with astronomic eye Could coldly count the spots within thy sphere ? Such were thy lover, Harriet, could he fly The thoughts of all that makes his passion dear, And, turning senseless from thy warm caress, Pick flaws in our close-woven happiness. TO IANTHE Elizabeth lanthe, Shelley's first child, was born June, 1813. Published by Dowden, Life of Shelley, 1887. I LOVE thee, Baby ! for thine own sweet sake; Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek, Thy tender frame, so eloquently weak, Love in the sternest heart of hate might wake; But more when o'er thy fitful slumber bending Thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart, Whilst love and pity, in her glances blending, All that thy passive eyes can feel im- part: More, when some feeble lineaments of her, Who bore thy weight beneath her spot- less bosom, As with deep love I read thy face, re- cur, More dear art thou, O fair and fragile blossom ; Dearest when most thy tender traits ex- press The image of thy mother's loveliness. STANZA WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL 'fhe stanza apparently refers to Mrs. Boin- vflle, from whose house Shelley writes to Hogg, March 16, 1814 : ' I have written nothing but one stanza, which has no meaning, and that I have only written in thought. This is the vision of a delirious and distempered dream, which passes away at the cold clear light of morning. Its surpassing excellence and ex- quisite perfections have no more reality than the color of an autumnal sunset.' Published by Hogg, Life of Shelley. 1858. THY dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy gentle words stir poison there; Thou hast disturbed the only rest That was the portion of despair t Subdued to Duty's hard control, I could have borne my wayward lot: The chains that bind this ruined soul Had cankered then but crushed it not. TO AAKPT2I AIOI2& HOTMON 'AHOTMON. Mrs. Shelley states that Coleridge is the per- son addressed : ' The poem beginning " Oh, there are spirits in the air " was addressed in idea to Coleridge, whom he never knew ; and at whose character he could only guess imper- fectly, through his writings and accounts he heard of him from some who knew him well. He regarded his change of opinions as rather an act of will than conviction, and believed that in his inner heart he would be haunted by what Shelley considered the better and holier aspirations of his youth.' Dowden questions ' whether it was not rather addressed in a de- spondent mood by Shelley to his own spirit.' This suggestion was first advanced by Bertram Dobell, in his reprint of Alastor, and supported by the assent of Rossetti there given ; that it is correct is reasonably certain. Published with Alastor, 1816. OH, there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair As star-beams among twilight trees ! Such lovely ministers to meet Oft hast thou turned from men thv lonely feet. With mountain winds, and babbling springs, And moonlight seas, that are the voice Of these inexplicable things, Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice When they did answer thee ; but they Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away. EARLY POEMS And thou hast sought in starry eyes Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth; tame sacrifice To a fond faith ! still dost thou pine ? Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks or lips, may answer thy de- mands ? Ah, wherefore didst thou build thine hope On the false earth's inconstancy ? Did thine own mind afford no scope Of love, or moving thoughts to thee, That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles ? Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled, Whose falsehood left thee broken- hearted; The glory of the moon is dead; Night's ghost and dreams have now departed; Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery. This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever Beside thee like thy shadow hangs, Dream not to chase; the mad endeavor Would scourge thee to severer pangs. Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, Dark as it is, all change would aggravate. TO This poem is placed conjecturally by Mrs. Shelley with the poems of 1817 ; but Dowden suggests that it was addressed to Mary Godwin in June, 1814. Harriet answers as well or better to the situation described. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 2d ed., 1839. YET look on me take not thine eyes away, Which feed upon the love within mine own, Which is indeed but the reflected ray Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown. Yet speak to me thy voice is as the tone Of my heart's echo, and I think I hear That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone Like one before a mirror, without care Of aught but thine own features, imaged there; And yet I wear out life in watching thee; A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed Art kind when I am sick, and pity me. STANZAS. APRIL, 1814 Described by Dowden as ' a fragment of transmuted biography ; ' he ascribes Shelley's mood to his bidding farewell to the Boinvilles on his return to his own home. The incident that occasioned the verses has not been re- corded. It was composed at Bracknell, and published with Alastor, 1816. AWAY ! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of even. Away ! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven. Pause not ! the time is past ! every voice cries, Away ! Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's ungentle mood; Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay; Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude. Away, away ! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melan- choly mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head; The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet; But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace, may meet. The cloud-shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep; Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows ; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. 342 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Thou in the grave shalt rest yet till the phantoms flee, Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices, and the light of one sweet smile. TO HARRIET Dowden, who published the poem in Life of Shelley, 1887, describes it as ' the first of a few [five] short pieces added in Harriet's hand- writing to the MS. collection of poems pre- pared for publication in the early days of the preceding year.' It was composed in May, 1814. THY look of love has power to calm The stormiest passion of my soul; Thy gentle words are drops of balm In life's too bitter bowl; No grief is mine, but that alone These choicest blessings I have known. Harriet ! if all who long to live In the warm sunshine of thine eye, That price beyond all pain must give, Beneath thy scorn to die; Then hear thy chosen own too late His heart most worthy of thy hate. Be thou, then, one among mankind Whose heart is harder not for state, Thou only virtuous, gentle, kind, Amid a world of hate; And by a slight endurance seal A fellow-being's lasting weal. For pale with anguish is his cheek, His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim, Thy name is struggling ere he speak, Weak is each trembling limb; In mercy let him not endure The misery of a fatal cure. Oh, trust for once no erring guide ! Bid the remorseless feeling flee; 'T is malice, 't is revenge, 't is pride, 'T is anything but thee; Oh, deign a nobler pride to prove, And pity if thou canst not love. Composed in June, 1814, and published bj Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 18-4. MINE eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, 1 was firm thus wert not thou; My baffled looks did fear yet dread To meet thy looks I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine With soothing pity upon mine. To sit and curb the soul's mute rage Which preys upon itself alone; To curse the life which is the cage Of fettered grief that dares not groan, Hiding from many a careless eye The scorned load of agony; III Whilst thou alone, then not regarded, The thou alone should be, To spend years thus, and be rewarded, As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near Oh, I did wake From torture for that moment's sake. IV Upon my heart thy accents sweet Of peace and pity fell like dew On flowers half dead; thy lips did meet Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes thrcv. Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain. We are not happy, sweet ! our state Is strange and full of doubt and fear; More need of words that ills abate ; Reserve or censure come not near Our sacred friendship, lest there be No solace left for thee and me. VI Gentle and good and mild thou art, Nor can I live if thou appear Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart Away from me, or stoop to wear The mask of scorn, although it be To hide the love thou feel'st for me. EARLY POEMS 343 MUTABILITY Published with Alastor, 1816. WE are as clouds that veil the midnight moon ; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly ! yet soon Night closes round, and they are lost forever: Or like forgotten lyres whose dissonant strings Give various response to each varying blast, To whose frail frame no second motion brings One mood or modulation like the last. We rest a dream has power to poison sleep; We rise one wandering thought pol- lutes the day; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep; Embrace foud woe, or cast our cares away: It is the same ! for, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free; Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability. ON DEATH Published with Alastor, 1816. An earlier version is among 1 the Esdaile MSS. in the collec- tion Shelley intended to issue with Queen Mab in 1813, and the poem is the only one preserved by him out of that collection. There is no work, nor cbvice, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest. ECCLESI- ASTES. THE pale, the cold, and the moony smile Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle, Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone. O man ! hold thee on in courage of soul Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way, And the billows of cloud that around thee roll Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny. This world is the nurse of all we know, This world is the mother of all we feel; And the coining of deatli is a fearful blow To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel, When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass like an unreal mystery. The secret things of the grave are there, Where all but this frame must surely be, Though the fine-wrought eye and the won- drous ear No longer will live to hear or to see All that is great and all that is strange In the boundless realm of unending change. Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death ? Who lifteth the veil of what is to come ? Who painteth the shadows that are beneath The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb? Or umteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which A SUMMER EVENING CHURCH- YARD LECHLADE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE Composed September, 1815, while on a voy- age up the Thames with Peacock. Published with Alastor, 1816. THE wind has swept from the wide atmo- sphere Each vapor that obscured the sunset's ray; And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day. 344 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men, Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen. They breathe their spells toward the de- parting day, Encompassing the earth, air, stars and sea; Light, sound and motion own the potent sway, Responding to the charm with its own mystery. The winds are still, or the dry church- tower grass Knows not their gentle motions as they pass. Thou too, aerial Pile, whose pinnacles Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells, Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire, Around whose lessening and invisible height Gather among the stars the clouds of night. The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres; And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrill- ing sound, Half sense, half thought, among the dark- ness stirs, Breathed from their wormy beds all liv- ing things around ; And mingling with the still night and mute sky Its awful hush is felt inaudibly. Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild And terrorless as this serenest night ; Here could I hope, like some inquiring child Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human sight Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless slpep That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep. TO WORDSWORTH This poem reflects the contemporary feeling of the radicals toward Wordsworth's conserva- tive politics. Published with Alastor, 1816. POET of Nature, thou hast wept to know That things depart which never may re- turn; Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine, Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone de- plore; Thou weit as a lone star whose light did shine On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar; Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood Above the blind and battling multitude; In honored poverty thy voice did weave Songs consecrate to truth and liberty ; Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve, Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be. FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE Published with Alastor, 1816. I HATED thee, fallen tyrant ! I did groan To think that a most unambitious slave, Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave Of Liberty. Thou mightst have built thy throne Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer A frail and bloody pomp which time has swept In fragments towards oblivion. Massa- cre, For this I prayed, would on thy sleep have crept, Treason and Slavery, Rapine, Fear, and Lust, And stifled thee, their minister. I know Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, That Virtue owns a more eternal foe Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, Legal Crime, And bloody Faith, the foulest birth of time. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816 34.5 LINES This poem apparently refers to the death of Harriet, in November, 1816, and was published by Hunt in The Literary Pocket-Book, 1823. THE cold earth slept below; Above the cold sky shone; And all around, With a chilling sound, From caves of ice and fields of snow The breath of night like death did flow Beneath the sinking moon. The wintry hedge was black; The green grass was not seen; The birds did rest On the bare thorn's breast, Whose roots, beside the pathway track, Had bound theiv folds o'er many a crack Which the frost had made between. Thine eyes glowed in the glare Of the moon's dying light; As a fen-fire's beam On a sluggish stream Gleams dimly so the moon shone there, And it yellowed the strings of thy tangled hair, That shook in the wind of night. The moon made thy lips pale, beloved; The wind made thy bosom chill; The night did shed On thy dear head Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie Where the bitter breath of the naked sky Might visit thee at will. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816 THE SUNSET This poem seems to contain elements of memory as well as of imagination. It was composed at Bishopsgate in the spring, and published in part by Hunt, The Literary Pocket-Book, 1823, and entire by Mrs. Shel- ley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. THERE late was One within whose subtle being, As light and wind within some delicate cloud That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky, Genius and death contended. None may know The sweetness of the joy which made his breath Fail, like the trances of the summer air, When, with the lady of his love, who then First knew the unreserve of mingled being, He walked along the pathway of a field, Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o'er, 10 But to the west was open to the sky. There now the sun had sunk; but lines of gold Hung on the ashen clouds, and on tho points Of the far level grass and nodding flowers, And the old dandelion's hoary beard, And, mingled with the shades of twilight, lay On the brown massy woods; and in the east The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose Between the black trunks of the crowded trees, While the faint stars were gathering over- head. 20 ' Is it not strange, Isabel,' said the youth, ' I never saw the sun ? We will walk here To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me.' That night the youth and lady mingled lay In love and sleep; but when the morning came The lady found her lover dead and cold. Let none believe that God in mercy gave That stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild, 28 But year by year lived on; in truth I think Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles, And that she did not die, but lived to tend Her aged father, were a kind of madness, If madness 't is to be unlike the world. For but to see her were to read the tale Woven by some subtlest bard to make hard hearts Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief. Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan, Her eyelashes were worn away with tears, Her lips and cheeks were like things dead so pale; Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins 40 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS And weak articulations might be seen Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day, Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee! ' Inheritor of more than earth can give, Passionless calm and silence uureproved, Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep, but rest, And are the uncomplaining things they seem, Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love; Oh, that, like thine, mine epitaph were Peace ! ' 50 This was the only moan she ever made. HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY Composed in Switzerland, where Shelley spent the summer, and conceived, Mrs. Shelley eays, during 1 his voyage round the Lake of Ge- neva with Lord Byron. It was published by Hunt, The Examiner, 1817. THE awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats though unseen among us, visit- ing This various world with as inconstant wing As summer winds that creep from flower to flower; Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower, It visits with inconstant glance Each human heart and countenance; Like hues and harmonies of evening, Like clouds in starlight widely spread, Like memory of music fled, Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery. Spirit of Beauty, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art thou gone ? Why dost thou pass away, and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate ? Ask why the sunlight not forever Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river; Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown; Why fear and dream and death and birth Cast on the daylight of this earth Such gloom; why man has such a scope For love and hate, despondency and hope. in No voice from some sublimer world hath ever To sage or poet these responses given; Therefore the names of Demon, Ghost and Heaven, Remain the records of their vain en- deavor Frail spells, whose uttered charm might not avail to sever, From all we hear and all we see, Doubt, chance and mutability. Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains driven, Or music by the night wind sent Through strings of some still instru- ment, Or moonlight on a midnight stream, Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream. IV Love, Hope and Self-esteem, like clouds, depart, And come, for some uncertain mo- ments lent. Man were immortal and omnipotent, Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart. Thou messenger of sympathies That wax and wane in lovers' eyes ! Thou, that to human thought art nourish- ment, Like darkness to a dying flame, Depart not as thy shadow came ! Depart not, lest the grave should be, Like life and fear, a dark reality ! POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816 347 While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, ami sped Through many a listening chamber, cave and ruin, And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead; I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed. I was not heard I saw them not When, musing deeply on the lot Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing All vital things that wake to bring News of birds and blossoming, Sudden thy shadow fell on me; I shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy ! VI I vowed that I would dedicate my powers To thee and thine have I not kept the vow ? With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now I call the phantoms of a thousand hours Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers Of studious zeal or love's delight Outwatched with me the envious night They know that never joy illumed my brow Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free This world from its dark slavery, That thou, O awful Loveliness, Wouldst give whate'er these words can- not express. VII The day becomes more solemn and serene When noon is past; there is a harmony In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been ! Thus let thy power, which like the truth Of nature on my passive youth Descended, to my onward life supply Its calm, to one who worships thee, And every form containing thee, Whom, Spirit fair, thy spells did bind To fear himself, and love all humankind. MONT BLANC LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHA- MOUXI ' The poem,' Shelley writes, in his Preface to History of a Six Weeks Tour, 1817, where it appeared, ' was composed under the immediate impression of the deep and powerful feelings excited by the objects which it attempts to de- scribe ; and, as an undisciplined overflowing of the soul, rests its claim to approbation on an attempt to imitate the untamable wildness and inaccessible solemnity from which those feel- ings sprang.' The, ' objects ' referred to, Mrs. Shelley nrtes, were Mont Blanc and ' its surrounding peaks and valleys, as he lingered on the Bridge of Arve on his way through the Valley '> Chamouui.' THE everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark, now glittering, now reflecting gloom, Now lending splendor, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters, with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap forever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river 10 Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves. Thus thou, Ravine of Arve dark, deep Ravine Thou many-colored, many-voiced vale, Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail Fast cloud-shadows, and sunbeams ! awful scene, Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down From the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne, 348 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame Of lightning through the tempest ! thou dost lie, Thy giant brood of pines around thee cling- ing, 20 Children of elder time, in whose devotion The chaiuless winds still come and ever came To drink their odors, and their mighty swinging To hear an old and solemn harmony ; Thine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil Robes some unsculptured image; the strange sleep Which when the voices of the desert fail Wraps all in its own deep eternity; Thy caverns echoing to the Arve's commo- tion 30 A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame. Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless mo- tion, Thou art the path of that unresting sound, Dizzy Ravine ! and when I gaze on thee, I seem as in a trance sublime and strange To muse on my own separate fantary, My own, my human mind, which passively Now renders and receives fast influencings, Holding an unremitting interchange With the clear universe of things around; One legion of wild thoughts, whose wan- dering wings 41 Now float above thy darkness, and now rest, Where that or thou art no unbidden guest, In the still cave of the witch Poesy, Seeking among the shadows that pass by Ghosts of all things that are some shade of thee, Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast From which they fled recalls them, thou art there 1 ill Some say that gleams of a remoter world Visit the soul in sleep, that death is slumber, 50 And that its shapes the busy thoughts out- number Of those who wake and live. I look on high; Has some unknown Omnipotence unfurled The veil of life and death ? or do I lie In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep Spread far around and inaccessibly Its circles ? for the very spirit fails, Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep That vanishes among the viewless gales ! Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky, 60 Mont Blanc appears, still, snowy and serene Its subject mountains their unearthly forms Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps, Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread And wind among the accumulated steeps; A desert peopled by the storms alone, Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone, And the wolf tracks her there. How hid- eously Its shapes are heaped around ! rude, bare and high, 7 o Ghastly, and scarred, and riven. Is this the scene Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young Ruin ? Were these their toys ? or did a sea Of fire envelop once this silent snow ? None can reply all seems eternal now. The wilderness has a mysterious tongue Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild, So solemn, so serene, that man may be But for such faith with Nature reconciled ; Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to re- peal 80 Large codes of fraud and woe; not under- stood By all, but which the wise, and great, and good, Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel. IV The fields, the lakes, the forests and the streams, Ocean, and all the living things that dwell Within the dffidal earth, lightning, and rain, Earthquake, and fiery flood, and huwicane, The torpor of the year when feeble dreams Visit the hidden buds or dreamless sleep POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817 349 Holds every future leaf and flower, the bound 90 With which from that detested trance they leap, The works and ways of man, their death and birth, And that of him and all that his maybe, All things that move and breathe with toil and sound Are born and die, revolve, subside and swell ; Power dwells apart in its tranquillity, Remote, serene, and inaccessible; And this, the naked countenance of earth On which I gaze, even these primeval mountains, Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep, 100 Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains, Slow rolling on ; there many a precipice Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power Have piled dome, pyramid and pinnacle, A city of death, distinct with many a tower And wall impregnable of beaming ice; Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing Its destined path, or in the mangled soil Branchless and shattered stand; the rocks, drawn down m From yon remotest waste, have overthrown The limits of the dead and living world, Never to be reclaimed. The dwelling-place Of insects, beasts and birds, becomes its spoil, Their food and their retreat forever gone; So much of life and joy is lost. The race Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling Vanish, like smoke before the tempest's stream, And their place is not known. Below, vast caves 120 Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam, Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling Meet in the Vale ; and one majestic River, The breath and blood of distant lands, for- ever Rolls its loud waters to the ocean waves, Breathes its swift vapors to the circling air. Mont Blanc yet gleams on high : the power is there, The still and solemn power of many sights And many sounds, and much of life and death. In the calm darkness of the moonless nights, 130 In the lone glare of day, the snows descend IJpon that Mountain; none beholds them there, Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun, Or the star-beams dart through them; winds contend Silently there, and heap the snow, with breath Rapid and strong, but silently ! Its home The voiceless lightning in these solitudes Keeps innocently, and like vapor broods Over the snow. The secret strength of things, Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome 140 Of heaven is as a law, inhabits thee ! And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea, If to the human mind's imaginings Silence and solitude were vacancy ? POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817 Mrs. Shelley, in her note on the poems of this year, summarizes Shelley's life at the time : ' The very illness that oppressed, and the as- pect of death which had approached so near Shelley, appears to have kindled to yet keener life the spirit of poetry in his heart. The rest- less thoughts kept awake by pain clothed themselves in verse. Much was composed dur- ing this year. The Revolt of Islam, written and printed, was a great effort Bosalind and Helen was begun and the fragments and poems I can trace to the same period, show how full of passion and reflection were his sol- itary hours. ' His readings this year were chiefly Greek. Besides the Hymns of Homer and the Iliad, he read the Dramas of ^Eschylus and Sopho- cles, the Symposium of Plato, and Arrian'a Historia Indica. In Latin, Apuleius alone ia 35 named. In English, the Bible was his constant study ; he read a great portion of it aloud in the evening. Among these evening readings, I find also mentioned the Faery Queen ; and other modern works, the production of his con- temporaries, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Moore, and Byron. ' His life was now spent more in thought than action he had lost the eager spirit which be- lieved it could achieve what it projected for the benefit of mankind. And yet in the converse of daily life Shelley was far from being a melan- choly man. He was eloquent when philosophy, or politics, or taste were the subjects of con- versation. He was playful and indulged in the wild spirit that mocked itself and others not in bitterness, but in sport. The Au- thor of Nightmare Abbey [Peacock] seized on some points of his character and some habits of his life when he painted Scythrop. He was not addicted to " port or madeira," but in youth he had read of " Illuminati and Eleutherarchs," and believed that he possessed the power of operating an immediate change in the minds of men and the state of society. These wild dreams had faded ; sorrow and adversity had struck home ; but he struggled with despond- ency as he did with physical pain. There are few who remember him sailing paper boats, and watching the navigation of his tiny craft with eagerness or repeating with wild energy The Ancient Mariner, and Southey's Old II o- man of Berkeley but those who do, will re- collect that it was in such, and in the creations of his own fancy, when that was most daring and ideal, that he sheltered himself from the storms and disappointments, the pain and sor- row, that beset his life.' MARIANNE'S DREAM The dream here put into verse was told Shelley by Mrs. Hunt, the ' Marianne ' of the poem. It was composed at Marlow, and pub- lished by Hunt, The Literary Pocket-Hook, 1819. I A PALE dream came to a Lady fair, And said, ' A boon, a boon, I pray ! I know the secrets of the air; And things are lost in the glare of day, Which I can make the sleeping see, If they will put their trust in inc. ' And tbou shalt know of things unknown, If thon wilt let me rest between The veiny lids whose fringe is thrown Over thine eyes so dark and sheen.' And half in hope and half in fright The Lady closed her eyes so bright. in At first all deadly shapes were driven Tumultuously across her sleep, And o'er the vast cope of bending heaven All ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep; And the Lady ever looked to spy If the golden sun shone forth on high. IV And, as towards the east she turned, She saw aloft in the morning air, Which now with hues of sunrise burned, A great black Anchor rising there; And, wherever the Lady turned her eyes, It hung before her in the skies. The sky was blue as the summer sea, The depths were cloudless overhead, The air was calm as it could be, There was no sight or sound of dread, But that black Anchor floating still Over the piuy eastern hill. VI The Lady grew sick with a weight of fear To see that Anchor ever hanging, And veiled her eyes; she then did hear The sound as of a dim low clanging, And looked abroad if she might know Was it aught else, or but the flow Of the blood in her own veins, to and fro. VII There was a mist in the sunless air, Whicli shook as it were with an earth- quake's shock, But the very weeds that blossomed there Were moveless, and each mighty rock Stood on its basis steadfastly; The Anchor was seen no more on high. VIII But piled around, with summits hid In lines of cloud at intervals, Stood many a mountain pyramid, Among whose everlasting walls POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817 Two mighty cities shone, and ever Through the red mist their domes did quiver. IX On two dread mountains, from whose crest Might seem the eagle for her brood Would ne'er have hung her dizzy nest, Those tower-encircled cities stood. A vision strange such towers to see, Sculptured and wrought so gorgeously, Where human art could never be. And columns framed of marble white, And giant fanes, dome over dome Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright With workmanship, which could not come From touch of mortal instrument, Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lent From its own shapes magnificent. XI But still the Lady heard that clang Filling the wide air far away; And still the mist whose light did hang Among the mountains shook alway; So that the Lady's heart beat fast, As, half in joy and half aghast, On those high domes her look she cast. XII Sudden from out that city sprung A light that made the earth grow red ; Two flames that each with quivering tongue Licked its high domes, and overhead Among those mighty towers and fanes Dropped fire, as a volcano rains Its sulphurous ruin on the plains. XIII And hark ! a rush, as if the deep Had burst its bonds; she looked behind, And saw over the western steep A raging flood descend, and wind Through that wide vale ; she felt no fear, But said within herself, ' 'T is clear These towers are Nature's own, and she To save them has sent forth the sea.' XIV And now those raging billows came Where that fair Lady sate, and she Was borne towards the showering flame By the wild waves heaped tumultuously; And, on a little plank, the flow Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro. XV The flames were fiercely vomited From every tower and every dome, And dreary light did widely shed O'er that vast flood's suspended foam, Beneath the smoke which hung its night On the stained cope of heaven's light. XVI The plank whereon that Lady sate Was driven through the chasms, about and about, Between the peaks so desolate Of the drowning mountains, in and out, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails While the flood was filling those hollow vales. XVII At last her plank an eddy crossed, And bore her to the city's wall, Which now the flood had reached almost; It might the stoutest heart appall To hear the fire roar and hiss Through the domes of those mighty palaces. XVIII The eddy whirled her round and round Before a gorgeous gate, which stood Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound Its aery arch with light like blood ; She looked on that gate of marble clear With wonder that extinguished fear; XIX For it was filled with sculptures rarest, Of forms most beautiful and strange, Like nothing human, but the fairest Of winged shapes, whose legions range Throughout the sleep of those that are, Like this same Lady, good and fair. XX And as she looked, still lovelier grew Those marble forms; the sculptor sure Was a strong spirit, and the hue Of his own mind did there endure, After the touch, whose power had braided Such grace, was in some sad change faded 352 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS XXI She looked, the flames were dim, the flood Grew tranquil as a woodland river Winding through hills in solitude; Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver, And their fair limbs to float in motion, Like weeds unfolding in the ocean j XXII And their lips moved; one seemed to speak, When suddenly the mountains cracked, And through the chasiu the flood did break With an earth-uplifting cataract; The statues gave a joyous scream, And on its wings the pale thin dream Lifted the Lady from the stream. XXIII The dizzy flight of that phantom pale Waked the fair Lady from her sleep, And she arose, while irom the veil Of her dark eyes the dream did creep; And she walked about as one who knew That sleep has sights as clear and true As any waking eyes can view. TO CONSTANTIA SINGING This poem was addressed to Miss Clairmont, and the name Constantia was probably due to Shelley's admiration for the character of Con- stantia Dudley, in Charles Brockden Brown's Ortnond. It was published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. THUS to be lost and thus to sink and die, Percbauce were death indeed ! Con- stantia, turn ! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odor it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget ! II A breathless awe, like the swift change Unseen but felt in youthful slumbers, Wild, sweet, but uncomiounicably strange, Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven By the enchantment of thy strain; And on my shoulders wings are woven To follow its sublime career Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of Nature's utmost sphere, Till the world's shadowy walls are passed and disappear, Hi Her voice is hovering o'er my soul it lingers O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings; The blood and life within those snowy fingers Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings, My brain is wild, my breath comes quick The blood is listening in my frame, And thronging shadows, fast and thick, Fall on my overflowing eyes; My heart is quivering like a flame; As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies IV I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song Flows on, and fills all things with mel- ody. Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, On which, like one in trance upborne, Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn; Now 't is the breath of summer night, Which, when the starry waters sleep, Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptu- ous flight. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817 353 TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR The decree which deprived Shelley of the custody of his children was pronounced in August. Mrs. Shelley writes : ' His heart, attuned to every kindly affection, was full of burning love for his offspring. No words can express the anguish he felt when his elder chil- dren were torn from him. In his first resent- ment against the Chancellor, on the passing of the decree, he had written a curse, in which there breathes, besides haughty indignation, all the tenderness of a father's love, which could imagine and fondly dwell upon its loss and the consequences.' It was published by Mrs. Shelley, in her first collected edition, 1839. I THY country's curse is on thee, darkest crest Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm Which rends our Mother's bosom ! Priestly Pest ! Masked Resurrection of a buried Form ! Thy country's curse is on thee ! Justice sold, Truth trampled, Nature's landmarks overthrown, And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold, Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction's throne. Ill And, whilst that sure slow Angel, which aye stands Watching the beck of Mutability, Delays to execute her high commands, And, though a nation weeps, spares thine and thee, IV Oh, let a father's curse be on thy sonl, And let a daughter's hope be on thy tomb; Be both, on thy gray head, a leaden cowl To weigh thee down to thine approach- ing doom ! I curse thee ! By a parent's outraged love, By hopes long cherished and too lately lost, By gentle feelings thou couldst never prove, By griefs which thy stern nature never crossed; VI By those infantine smiles of happy light, Which were a fire within a stranger's hearth, Quenched even when kindled, in un- timely night, Hiding the promise of a lovely birth; VII By those unpractised accents of young speech, Which he who is a father thought to frame To gentlest lore, such as the wisest teach Thou strike the lyre of mind ! oh, grief and shame ! VIII By all the happy see in children's growth, That undeveloped flower of budding years Sweetness and sadness interwoven both, Source of the sweetest hopes and sad- dest fears IX By all the days under an hireling's care, Of dull constraint and bitter heaviness, Oh, wretched ye if ever any were, Sadder than orphans, yet not fatherless ! By the false cant which on their innocent lips Must hang like poison on an opening bloom, By the dark creeds which cover with eclipse Their pathway from the cradle to the tomb XI By thy most impious Hell, and all its terror; By all the grief, the madness, and the guilt Of thine impostures, which must be their error That sand on which thy crumbling Power is built 354 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS XII By thy complicity with lust and hate Thy thirst for tears thy hunger after gold The ready frauds which ever on thee wait The servile arts in which thou hast grown old XIII By thy most killing sueer, and by thy smile By all the arts and snares of thy black den, And for thou canst out weep the croco- dile- By thy false tears those millstones braining men XIV By all the hate which checks a father's love By all the scorn which kills a father's care By those most impious hands which dared remove Nature's high bounds by thee and by despair xv Yes, the despair which bids a father groan, And cry, ' My children are no longer mine The blood within those veins may be mine own, But, Tyrant, their polluted souls are thine ; ' XVI I curse thee, though I hate thee not. O slave ! If thou couldst quench the earth-consum- ing Hell Of which thou art a demon, on thy grave This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well I TO WILLIAM SHELLEY William Shelley was born at Bishopsgate, January 24, 1810, baptized at St.-Giles-in-the- Fields, March 9, 1818, died at Rome, June 7, 1819. Mrs. Shelley notes : ' At one time, while the question was still pending, the Chancellor had said some words that seemed to intimate that Shelley should not be permitted the care of any of his children, and for a moment he feared that our infant son would be torn from us. He did not hesitate to resolve, if such were menaced, to abandon country, fortune, everything, and to escape with his child ; and I find some unfinished stanzas addressed to this son, whom afterwards we lost at Rome, written under the idea that we might suddenly be forced to cross the sea, so to preserve him. This poem, as well as the one previously quoted, were not written to exhibit the pangs of distress to the public ; they were the sponta- neous outbursts of a man who brooded over his wrongs and woes, and was impelled to shed the grace of his genius over the uncontrollable emotions of his heart.' The poem was pub- lished by Mrs. Shelley, in part, in her first col- lected edition, 1839, and entire, in the second, of the same year. THE billows on the beach are leaping around it, The bark is weak and frail, The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it Darkly strew the gale. Come with me, thou delightful child, Come with me though the wave is wild, And the winds are loose, we must not stay, Or the slaves of the law may rend thee away. n They have taken thy brother and sister dear, They have made them unfit for thee; They have withered the smile and dried the tear Which should have been sacred to me. To a blighting faith and a cause of crime They have bound them slaves in youthly prime, And they will curse my name and thee Because we are fearless and free. ill Come thou, beloved as thou art; Another sleepeth still Near thy sweet mother's anxious heart, Which thou with joy shalt fill, With fairest smiles of wonder thrown On that which is indeed our own, And which in distant lands will be The dearest playmate unto thee. POEMS WRITTEN itf 1817 355 IV Fear not the tyrants will rule forever, Or the priests of the evil faith; They stand on the brink of that raging river Whose waves they have tainted with death. It is fed from the depth of a thousand dells, Aronnd them it foams and rages and swells; And their swords and their sceptres I float- ing see, Like wrecks on the surge of eternity. Rest, rest, and shriek not, thou gentle child ! The rocking of the boat thou fearest, And the cold spray and the clamor wild ? There sit between us two, thou dear- est Me and thy mother well we know The storm at which thou tremblest so, With all its dark and hungry graves, Less cruel than the savage slaves Who hunt us o'er these sheltering waves. VI This hour will in thy memory Be a dream of days forgotten lono-; We soon shall dwell by the azure sea Of serene and golden Italy, Or Greece, the Mother of the free; And I will teach thine infant tongue To call upon those heroes old In their own language, and will mould Thy growing spirit in the flame Of Grecian lore, that by such name A patriot's birthright thou mayst claim ! ON FANNY GODWIN Fanny Godwin, half-sister of Mary, com- mitted suicide by taking laudanum, at an inn in Swansea, October 9, 1816. Shelley had re- cently seen her in London. The poem was published by Mrs. Shelley in her first col- lected edition, 1839. HER voice did quiver as we parted, Yet knew I not that heart was broken From which it came, and I departed Heeding not the words then spoken. Misery O Misery, This world is all too wide for thee. LINES Composed November 5, and published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. THAT time is dead forever, child, Drowned, frozen, dead forever ! We look on the past, And stare aghast At the spectres wailing, pale and ghast, Of hopes which thou and I beguiled To death on life's dark river. II The stream we gazed on then, rolled by; Its waves are uureturiiing; But we yet stand In a lone land, Like tombs to mark the memory Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee In the light of life's dim morning. DEATH Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. THEY die the dead return not. Misery Sits near an open grave and calls them over, A Youth with hoary hair and haggard eye. They are the names of kindred, friend and lover, Which he so feebly calls; they all are gone Fond wretch, all dead ! those vacant names alone, This most familiar scene, my pain, These tombs, alone remain. Misery, my sweetest friend, oh, weep no more ! Thou wilt not be consoled I wonder not! For I have seen thee from thy dwelling's door Watch the calm sunset with them, and this spot Was even as bright and calm, but transi- tory, And now thy hopes are gone, thy hair is hoary; This most familiar scene, my pain, These tombs, alone remain. 356 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS SONNET. OZYMANDIAS Published by Hunt, The Examiner, 1818. I MET a traveller from an antique land Who said: ' Two vast and trunk! ess legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold com- mand, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these life- less things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear " My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and de- spair 1 " Nothing beside remains. Round the de- cay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.' LINES TO A CRITIC Published by Hunt, The Libtral, 1823. HOXEY from silkworms who can gather. Or silk from the yellow bee ? The grass may grow in winter weather As soon as hate in me. II Hate men who cant, and men who pray, And men who rail like thee; An equal passion to repay They are not coy like me. in Or seek some slave of power and gold, To be thy dear heart's mate; Thy love will move that bigot cold Sooner than me thy hate. A passion like the one I prove Cannot divided be; I hate thy want of truth and love How should I then hate thee ? POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818 Mrs. Shelley describes the scenes and char- acter of this first year in Italy at length : ' I Capuccini was a villa built on the site of a Capuchin convent, demolished when the French suppressed religious houses ; it was situated on the very overhanging brow of a low hill at the foot of a range of higher ones. The house was cheerful and pleasant ; a vine-trellised walk, a pergola, as it is called in Italian, led from the hall door to a summer-house at the end of the garden, which Shelley made his study, and in which he began the Prometheus ; and here also, as he mentions in a letter, he wrote Julian and Maddalo ; a slight ravine, with a road in its depth, divided the garden from the hill, on which stood the ruins of the ancient castle of Este, whose dark massive wall gave forth an echo, and from whose ruined crevices, owls and bats flitted forth at night, as the .crescent moon sunk behind the black and heavy battlements. We looked from the garden over the wide plain of Lombardy, bounded to the west by the far Apennines, while to the east, the horizon was lost in misty distance. After the picturesque but limited view of mountain, ravine, and chestnut wood at the baths of Lucca, there was something infinitely gratifying to the eye in the wide range of prospect commanded by our new abode. ' Our first misfortune, of the kind from which we soon suffered even more severely,.happened here. Our little girl, an infant in whose small features 1 fancied that I traced great resem- blance to her father, showed symptoms of suf- fering from the heat of the climate. Teething increased her illness and danger. We were at Este, and when we became alarmed, hastened to Venice for the best advice. When we ar- rived at Fusina, we found that we had for- gotten our passport, and the soldiers on duty attempted to prevent our crossing the laguna ; but they could not resist Shelley's impetuosity at such a moment. We had scarcely arrived at Venice, before life fled from the little suf- ferer, and we returned to Este to weep her loss. ' After a few weeks spent in this retreat, which wero interspersed by visits to Venice, we proceeded southward. We often hear of persons disappointed by a first visit to Italy. This was not Shelley's case the aspect of its POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818 357 nature, its sunny sky, its majestic storms ; of the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and the noble marble-built cities, enchanted him. The sight of the works of art was full [of] enjoyment and wonder ; he had not studied pictures or statues before ; he now did so with the eye of taste, that referred not to the rules of schools, but to those of nature and truth. The first entrance to Rome opened to him a scene of remains of antique grandeur that far surpassed his expectations; and the unspeakable beauty of Naples and its en- virons added to the impression he received of the transcendent and glorious beauty of Italy. As I have said, he wrote long letters during the first year of our residence in this country, and these, when published, will be the best testimonials of his appreciation of the har- monious and beautiful in art and nature, and his delicate taste in discerning and describing them. ' Our winter was spent at Naples. Here he wrote the fragments of Marenyhi and The Woodman and the Nightingale, which he after- wards threw aside. At this time Shelley suf- fered greatly in health. He put himself under the care of a medical man, who promised great things, and made him endure severe bodily pain, without any good results. Constant and poignant physical suffering exhausted him ; and though he preserved the appearance of cheerfulness, and often greatly enjoyed our wanderings in the environs of Naples, and our SONNET: TO THE NILE This is the sonnet composed in competition with Hunt and Keats, on the same subject February 4. It was published in the St. James Magazine, 1876. MONTH after month the gathered rains de- scend Drenching yon secret ^Ethiopian dells; And from the desert's ice-girt pinnacles, Where Frost and Heat in strange em- braces blend On Atlas, fields of moist snow half de- pend; Girt there with blasts and meteors, Tem- pest dwells By Nile's aerial urn, with rapid spells Urging those waters to their mighty end. O'er Egypt's land of Memory floods are level, And they are thine, O Nile ! and well thou knowest excursions on its sunny sea, yet many hours were passed when his thoughts, shadowed by illness, became gloomy, and then he escaped to solitude, and in verses, which he hid from fear of wounding me, poured forth morbid but too natural bursts of discontent and sadness. One looks back with unspeakable regret and gnawing remorse to such periods ; fancying that had one been more alive to the nature of his feelings, and more attentive to soothe them, such would not have existed and yet en- joying, as he appeared to do, every sight or influence of earth or sky, it was difficult to imagine that any melancholy he showed was aught but the effect of the constant pain to which he was a martyr. ' We lived in utter solitude and such is often not the nurse of cheerfulness ; for then, at least with those who have been exposed to adversity, the mind broods over its sorrows too intently ; while the society of the enlightened, the witty, and the wise, enables us to forget ourselves by making us the sharers of the thoughts of others, which is a portion of the philosophy of happiness. Shelley never liked society in numbers, it harassed and wearied him ; but neither did he like loneliness, and usually when alone sheltered himself against memory and reflection, in a book. But with one or two whom he loved, he gave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversation expounded his opinions with vi- vacity and eloquence.' That soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evil, And fruits and poisons, spring where'er thon flowest. Beware, O Man ! for knowledge must to thee Like the great flood to Egypt ever be. PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES Composed May 4, and published by Mrs, Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. LISTEN, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar, Or like the sea on a northern shore, Heard in its raging ebb and flow By the captives pent in the cave below. The Apennine in the light of day Is a mighty mountain dim and gray, Which between the earth and sky doth lay; 358 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS But when night conies, a chaos dread On the dim starlight then is spread, And the Apeuuiue walks abroad with the storm. THE PAST Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. WILT thou forget the happy hours Which we buried in Love's sweet bow- ers, Heaping over their corpses cold Blossoms and leaves instead of mould ? Blossoms which were the joys that fell, And leaves, the hopes that yet re- main. Forget the dead, the past ? Oh, yet There are ghosts that may take revenge for it; Memories that make the heart a tomb, Regrets which glide through the spirit's gloom, And with ghastly whispers tell That joy, once lost, is pain. ON A FADED VIOLET Sent by Shelley, in a letter, to Miss Sophia Stacey, March 7, 1820 : ' I promised you what I cannot perform : a song on singing : there are only two subjects remaining. I have a few old stanzas on one which, though simple and rude, look as if they were dictated by the heart. And so if yon tell no one whose they are, you are welcome to them. Pardon these dull verses from one who is dull but who is not the less, ever yours, P. B. S.' It was pub- lished by Hunt, The Literary Pocket-Boole, 1821. THE odor from the flower is gone, Which like thy kisses breathed on me ; The color from the flower is flown, Which glowed of thee, and only thee ! A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form, It lies on my abandoned breast, And mocks the heart, which yet is warm, With cold and silent rest. in I weep my tears revive it not; I sigh it breathes no more on me; Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be. LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS Composed at Este, in October, and possibly revised at Naples the following month. The passage on Byron was inserted after the poem had gone to the printer. It was published with Rosalind and Helen, 181!', and in the Preface Shelley says it ' was written after a day's excursion among those lovely mountains which surround what was once the retreat, and where is now the sepulchre, of Petrarch. If any one is inclined to condemn the insertion of the introductory lines, which image forth the sudden relief of a state of deep despondency by the radiant visions disclosed by the sudden burst of an Italian sunrise in autumn, on the highest peak of those delightful mountains, I can only offer as my excuse, that they were not erased at the request of a dear friend, with whom added years of intercourse only add to my apprehension of its value, and who would have had more right than any one to complain, that she has not been able to extinguish in me the very power of delineating sadness.' MANY a green isle needs must be In the deep, wide sea of misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on Day and night, and night and day, Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track; Whilst above, the sunless sky, Big with clouds, hangs heavily, ia And behind, the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet, Riving sail, and cord, and plank, Till the ship has almost drank Deatli from the o'er-brimming deep, And sinks down, down like that sleep When the dreamer seems to be Weltering through eternity; And the dim low line before Of a dark and distant shore 20 Still recedes, as ever still, Longing with divided will But no power to seek or shun, He is ever drifted on POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818 359 O'er the unreposing wave To the haven of the grave. What, if there no friends will greet ? What, if there no heart will meet His with love's impatient beat ? Wander wheresoe'er he may, 30 Can he dream before that day To find refuge from distress In friendship's smile, in love's caress ? Then 't will wreak him little woe Whether such there be or no. Senseless is the breast, and cold, Which relenting love would fold; Bloodless are the veins, and chill, Which the pulse of pain did fill; Every little living nerve 40 That from bitter words did swerve Round the tortured lips and brow, Are like sapless leaflets now Frozen upon December's bough. On the beach of a Tiorthern sea Which tempests shake eternally, As once the wretch there lay to sleep, Lies a solitary heap, One white skull and seven dry bones, On the margin of the stones, 50 Where a few gray rushes stand, Boundaries of the sea and land: Nor is heard one voice of wail But che sea-mews, as they sail O'er the billows of the gale; Or the whirlwind up and down Howling, like a slaughtered town When a king in glory rides Through the pomp of fratricides. Those unburied bones around 60 There is many a mournful sound; There is no lament for him, Like a sunless vapor, dim, Who once clothed with life and thought What now moves nor murmurs not. Ay, many flowering islands lie In the waters of wide Agony. To such a one this morn was led My bark, by soft winds piloted. Mid the mountains Euganean 70 I stood listening to the paean With which the legioned rooks did hail The sun's uprise majestical; Gathering round with wings all hoar, Through the dewy mist they soar Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven Bursts, and then, as clouds of even, Flecked with fire and azure, lie In the unfathomable sky, So their plumes of purple grain, go Starred with drops of golden rain, Gleam above the sunlight woods, As in silent multitudes On the morning's fitful gale Through the broken mist they sail, And the vapors cloven and gleaming Follow down the dark steep streaming, Till all is bright, and clear, aiid still, Round the solitary hill. Beneath is spread like a green sea 90 The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by the vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair. Underneath day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls, Which her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves. Lo ! the sun upsprings behind, ioc Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined On the level quivering line Of the waters crystalline; And before that chasm of light, As within a furnace bright, Column, tower, and dome and spire, Shine like obelisks of fire, Pointing with inconstant motion From the altar of dark ocean To the sapphire-tinted skies; HC As the flames of sacrifice From the marble shrines did rise As to pierce the dome of gold Where Apollo spoke of old. Sun-girt City ! thou hast been Ocean's child, and then his queen; Now is come a darker day, And thou soon must be his prey, If the power that raised thee here Hallow so thy watery bier. 120 A less drear ruin then than now, With thy conquest-branded brow Stooping to the slave of slaves From thy throne among the waves, Wilt thou be, when the sea-mew Flies, as once before it flew, O'er thine isles depopulate, And all is in its ancient state, Save where many a palace-gate With green sea-flowers overgrown 130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Like a rock of ocean's own, Topples o'er the abandoned sea As the tides change sullenly. The fisher on his watery way, Wandering at the close of day, Will spread his sail and seize his oar Till he pass the gloomy shore, Lest thy dead should, from their sleep Bursting o'er the starlight deep, Lead a rapid masque of death 140 O'er the waters of his path. Those who alone thy towers behold Quivering through aerial gold, As I now behold them here, Would imagine not they were Sepulchres, where human forms, Like pollution-nourished worms, To the corpse of greatness cling, Murdered, and now mouldering. Bnt if Freedom should awake 150 In her omnipotence, and shake From the Celtic Anarch's hold All the keys of dungeons cold, Where a hundred cities lie Chained like thee, ingloriously, Thou and all thy sister band Might adorn this sunny land, Twining memories of old time With new virtues ;nore sublime. If not, perish thou and they ! 160 Clouds which stain truth's rising day By her sun consumed away Earth can spare ye; while like flowers, In the waste of years and hours, From your dust new nations spring With more kindly blossoming. Perish ! let there only be Floating o'er thy hearthless sea, As the garment of thy sky Clothes the world immortally, 170 One remembrance, more sublime Than the tattered pall of time, Which scarce hides thy visage wan; That a tempest-cleaving Swan Of the songs of Albion, Driven from his ancestral streams By the might of evil dreams, Found a nest in thee; and Ocean Welcomed him with such emotion That its joy grew his, and sprung 180 From his lips like music flung O'er a mighty thunder-fit, Chastening terror. What though yet Poesy's unfailing River, Which through Albion winds forever Lashing with melodious wave Many a sacred poet's grave, Mourn its latest nursling fled ? What though thon with all thy dead Scarce can for this fame repay 190 . Aught thine own ? oh, rather say Though thy sins and slaveries foul Overcloud a sun-like soul ? As the ghost of Homer clings Round Scamander's wasting springs; As divinest Shakespeare's might Fills Avon and the world with light Like omniscient power which he Imaged 'mid mortality; As the love from Petrarch's urn zco Yet amid yon hills doth burn, A quenchless lamp, by which the heart, Sees things unearthly ; so thou art, Mighty spirit ! so shall be The City that did refuge thee ! Lo, the sun floats up the sky, Like thought-winged Liberty, Till the universal light Seems to level plain and height. From the sea a mist has spread, 210 And the beams of morn lie dead On the towers of Venice now, Like its glory long ago. By the skirts of that gray cloud Many-domed Padua proud Stands, a peopled solitude, Mid the harvest-shining plain, Where the peasant heaps his grain In the garner of his foe, And the milk-white oxen slow 220 With the purple vintage strain, Heaped upon the creaking wain, That the brutal Celt may swill Drunken sleep with savage will; And the sickle to the sword Lies unchanged, though many a lord, Like a weed whose shade is poison, Overgrows this region's foison, Sheaves of whom are ripe to come To destruction's harvest-home. 230 Men must reap the things they sow, Force from force must ever flo *v, Or worse; but 'tis a bitter woe That love or reason cannot change The despot's rage, the slave's revenge. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818 361 Padua, them within whose walls Those mute guests at festivals, Sou and Mother, Death and Sin, Played at dice for Ezzelin, Till Death cried, ' I win, I win ! ' 240 And Sin cursed to lose the wager, But Death promised, to assuage her, That he would petition for Her to be made Vice-Emperor, When the destined years were o'er, Over all between the Po And the eastern Alpine snow, Under the mighty Austrian, Sin smiled so as Sin only can, And since that time, ay, long before, 250 Both have ruled from shore to shore That incestuous pair, who follow Tyrants as the sun the swallow, As Repentance follows Crime, And as changes follow Time. In thine halls the lamp of learning, Padua, now no more is burning; Like a meteor whose wild way Is lost over the grave of day, It gleams betrayed and to betray. 260 Once remotest nations came To adore that sacred flame, When it lit not many a hearth On this cold and gloomy earth ; Now new fires from antique light Spring beneath the wide world's might; But their spark lies dead in thee, Trampled out by tyranny. As the Norway woodman quells, In the depth of piny dells, 270 One light flame among the brakes, While the boundless forest shakes, And its mighty trunks are torn By the fire thus lowly born ; The spark beneath his feet is dead, He starts to see the flames it fed Howling through the darkened sky With myriad tongues victoriously, And sinks down in fear; so thou, O Tyranny ! beholdest now 280 Light around thee, and thou nearest The loud flames ascend, and fearest. Grovel on the earth ! ay, hide In the dust thy purple pride ! Noon descends around me now. 'T is the noon of autumn's glow, When a soft and purple mist, Like a vaporous amethyst, Or an air-dissolved star Mingling light and fragrance, far 295 From the curved horizon's Round To the point of heaven's profound Fills the overflowing sky. And the plains that silent lie Underneath; the leaves unsodden Where the infant frost has trodden With his morning-winged feet, Whose bright print is gleaming yet; And the red and golden vines, Piercing with their trellised lines 300 The rough, dark-skirted wilderness; The dun and bladed grass no less, Pointing from this hoary tower In the windless air; the flower Glimmering at my feet; the line Of the olive-sandalled Apennine In the south dimly islanded; And the Alps, whose snows are spread High between the clouds and sun; And of living things each one; 3 ic And my spirit, which so long Darkened this swift stream of soug ; Interpenetrated lie By the glory of the sky: Be it love, light, harmony, Odor, or the soul of all Which from heaven like dew doth fall. Or the mind which feeds this verse Peopling the loue universe. Noon descends, and after noon 320 Autumn's evening meets me soon, Leading the infantine moon And that one star, which to her Almost seems to minister Half the crimson light she brings From the sunset's radiant springs; And the soft dreams of the morn (Which like winged winds had borne To that silent isle, which lies Mid remembered agonies, 330 The frail bark of this lone being) Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, And its ancient pilot, Pain, Sits beside the helm again- Other flowering isles must be In the sea of life and agony; Other spirits float and flee O'er that gulf: even now, perhaps, On some rock the wild wave wraps, With folding wings they waiting sit 340 For my bark, to pilot it 362 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS To some calm and blooming cove, Where for me, and those I love, May a wiiiftles^ bower be built, Far from passion, pain, and guilt, In a dell mid lawny hills, Which the wild sea-murmur fills, And soft sunshine, and the sound Of old forests echoing round, And the light and smell divine 350 Of all flowers that breathe and shine. We may live so happy there, That the spirits of the air, Envying us, may even entice To our healing paradise The polluting multitude; But their rage would be subdued By that clime divine and calm, And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves 360 Under which the bright sea heaves; While each breathless interval In their whisperings musical The inspired soul supplies With its own deep melodies, And the love which heals all strife, Circling, like the breath of life, All things in that sweet abode With its own mild brotherhood. They, not it, would change; and soon 370 Every sprite beneath the moon Would repent its envy vain, And the earth grow young again. INVOCATION TO MISERY Published by Medwin, The Athenaeum, 1832. He wove about it a mystery of a lady who followed Shelley to Naples and there died in hopeless love for him. The tale has never been substantiated, but his various biographers take note of it, in connection with his depression at Naples, The poem itself is purely ideal, and such as he might have written at any time. COME, be happy ! sit near me, Shadow-vested Misery; Coy, unwilling, silent bride, Mourning in thy robe of pride, Desolation deified ! Come, be happy ! sit near me. Sad as I may seem to thee, I am happier far than thou, Lady, whose imperial brow Is eudiademed with woe. Ill Misery ! we have known each other, Like a sister and a brother Living in the same lone home, Many years we must live some Hours or ages yet to come. IV T is an evil lot, and yet Let us make the best of it; If love can live when pleasure dies, We two will love till in our eyea This heart's Hell seem Paradise. Come, be happy ! lie thee down On the fresh grass newly mown, Where the grasshopper doth sing Merrily one joyous thing In a world of sorrowing, There our tent shall be the willow, And mine arm shall be thy pillow; Sounds and odors, sorrowful Because they once were sweet, shall lull Us to slumber, deep and dull. VII Ha ! thy frozen pulses flutter With a love thou darest not utter. Thou art murmuring thou art weep ing Is thine icy bosom leaping While my burning heart lies sleeping ? VIII Kiss me; oh f thy lips are cold; Round my neck thine arms enfold They are soft, but chill and dead; And thy tears upon my head Burn like points of frozen lead. IX Hasten to the bridal bed Underneath the grave 'tis spread: In darkness may our love be hid, Oblivion be our coverlid We may rest, and none forbid. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818 363 Clasp me, till our hearts be grown Like two shadows into one; Till this dreadful transport may Like a vapor fade away In the'sleep that lasts alway. XI We may dream, in that long sleep, That we are not those who weep; E'en as Pleasure dreams of thee, Life-deserting Misery, Thou mayst dream of her with me. XII Let us laugh, and make our mirth, At the shadows of the earth, As dogs bay the moonlight clouds, Which, like spectres wrapped iu shrouds, Pass o'er night in multitudes. XIII All the wide world beside us Show like multitudinous Puppets passing from a scene; What but mockery can they mean, Where I am where thou hast been ? STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES This poem, in the same mood as the preced- ing, was composed in December, and published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright; Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent might; The breath of the moist earth is light Around its unexpanded buds; Like many a voice of one delight, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, The City's voice itself is soft like Soli- tude's. II I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple sea-weeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown; I sit upon the sands alone The lightning of the noontide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion. in Alas ! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found, And walked with inward glory crowned Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor lei- sure. Others I see whom these surround Smiling they live, and call life plea- sure ; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. IV Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last mo- notony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan; They might lament for I am one Whom men love not, and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. SONNET Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. LIFT not the painted veil which those who live Call Life ; though unreal shapes be pictured there, 3 6 4 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS And it but mimic all we would believe With colors idly spread, behind, lurk Fear And Hope, twin Destinies, who ever weave Their shadows o'er the chasm sightless and drear. I knew one who had lifted it he sought, For his lost heart was tender, things to love, But found them not, alas ! nor was there aught The world contains the which he could ap- prove. Through the unheeding many he did move, A splendor among shadows, a bright" blot Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove For truth, and like the Preacher found it not. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819 This was the year of the composition of Prometheus Unbound, The, Cenci, The Mask of Anarchy, and Peter Bell The Third. Its his- LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION Published by Medwin, The Athenaum, 1832. I CORPSES are cold in the tomb Stones on the pavement are dumb Abortions are dead in the womb, And their mothers look pale, like the death- white shore Of Albion, free no more. Her sons are as stones in the way They are masses of senseless clay They are trodden and move not away The abortion with which she travaileth Is Liberty, smitten to death ill Then trample and dance, thou Op- pressor ! For thy victim is no redresser Thou art sole lord and possessor Of her corpses, and clods, and abortions they pave Thy path to the grave. IV Hearest thou the festival din Of Death and Destruction and Sin, And Wealth crying, Havoc ! within ? 'Tis the Bacchanal triumph that makes truth dumb, Thine Epithalamium. tory has already been given with sufficient fulness under these titles, from Mrs. Shelley's notes. Ay, marry thy ghastly wife ! Let Fear and Disquiet and Strife Spread thy couch in the chamber of Life; Marry Ruin, thou Tyrant ! and Hell be thy guide To the bed of the bride ! SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND This poem, like all the group, is to be ascribed to Shelley's renewed political excitement ow- ing to the Manchester Massacre. It was pub- lished by Mrs. Shelley, in her first collected edition, 1831). MEN of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low ? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear ? Wherefore feed, and clothe', and save, From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who would Drain your sweat nay, drink your blood ? ill Wherefore, Bees of England, forge Many a weapon, chain, and scourge, That these stingless drones may spoil The forced produce of your toil ? POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819 365 IV Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, Shelter, food, love's gentle balm ? Or what is it ye buy so dear With your pain and with your fear ? The seed ye sow, auother reaps; The wealth ye find, another keeps; The robes ye weave, another wears; The arms ye forge, another bears. VI Sow seed, but let no tyrant reap ; Find wealth, let no impostor heap; Weave robes, let not the idle wear; Forge arras, in your defence to bear. VII Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells; In halls ye deck, another dwells. Why shake the chains ye wrought ? Ye see The steel ye tempered glance on ye. VIII With plough and spade, and hoe and loom, Trace your grave, and build your tomb, And weave your winding-sheet, till fair England be your sepulchre. TO SIDMOUTH AND CASTLE- REAGH Published by Medwin, The Athenaeum, 1832. I As from an ancestral oak Two empty ravens sound their clarion, Yell by yell, and croak by croak, When they scent the noonday smoke Of fresh human carrion: II As two gibbering night-birds flit From their bowers of deadly yew Through the night to frighten it, When the moon is in a fit, And the stars are none, or few: III As a shark and dog-fish wait, Under an Atlantic isle, For the negro-ship, whose freight Is the theme of their debate, Wrinkling their red gills the while - IV Are ye, two vultures sick for battle, Two scorpions under one wet stone, Two bloodless wolves whose dry throats rattle, Two crows perched on the murrained cat- tle, Two vipers tangled into one. ENGLAND IN 1819 This sonnet was sent by Shelley to Hunt, November 23, 1819, ' I don't expect you to publish it, but you may show it to whom you please.' It was published by Mrs. Shelley, in her first collected edition, 1839. AN old, mad, blind, despised and dying king; Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn mud from a muddy spring; Rulers, who neither see, nor feel, nor know, But leech-like to their fainting country cling, Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow; A people starved and stabbed in the un- tilled field; An army which liberticide and prey Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield ; Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay; Religion Christless, Godless a book sealed; A Senate Time's worst statute unrepealed, Are graves from which a glorious Phantom may Burst to illumine our tempestuous day. NATIONAL ANTHEM Published by Mrs. Shelley in her second col lected edition, 1839. GOD prosper, speed, and save, God raise from England's grave Her murdered Queen! 366 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Pave with swift victory The steps of Liberty, Whom Britons own to be Immortal Queen. See, she conies throned on high, On swift Eternity, God save the Queen ! Millions on millions wait Firm, rapid, and elate, On her majestic state ! God save the Queen ! in She is thine own pure soul Moulding the mighty whole, God save the Queen ! She is thine own deep love Rained down from heaven above, Wherever she rest or move, God save our Queen ! IV Wilder her enemies In their own dark disguise, God save our Queen ! All earthly things that dare Her sacred name to bear, Strip them, as kings are, bare; God save the Queen ! Be her eternal throne Built in our hearts alone, God save the Queen ! Let the oppressor hold Canopied seats of gold ; She sits enthroned of old O'er our hearts Queen. VI Lips touched by seraphim Breathe out the choral hymn, God save the Queen I Sweet as if angels sang, Loud as that trumpet's clang, Wakening the world's dead gang, God save the Queen ! ODE TO HEAVEN Composed as early as December, and pub- lished with Prometheus Unbound, 1820. Mrs. Shelley writes as follows : ' Shelley was a dis- ciple of the immaterial philosophy of Berkeley. This theory gave unity and grandeur to his ideas, while it opened a wide field for his imagination. The creation, such as it was perceived by his mind a unit in immensity, was slight and narrow compared with the in- terminable forms of thought that might exist beyond, to be perceived perhaps hereafter by his own mind ; all of which are perceptible to other minds that fill the universe, not of space in the material sense, but of infinity in the immaterial one. Such ideas are, in some de- gree, developed in his poem entitled Heaven : and when he makes one of the interlocutors exclaim, " Peace ! the abyss is wreathed in scorn Of thy presumption, atom-born " he expresses his despair of being able to con- ceive, far less express, all of variety, majesty, and beauty, which is veiled from our imperfect senses in the unknown realm, the mystery of which his poetic vision sought in vain to pene- trate.' CHORUS OF SPIRITS FIRST SPIRIT PALACE-ROOF of cloudless nights ! Paradise of golden lights ! Deep, immeasurable, vast, Which art now, and which wert then, Of the present and the past, Of the eternal where and when, Presence-chamber, temple, home, Ever-canopying dome Of acts and ages yet to come ! Glorious shapes have life in thee, Earth, and all earth's company; Living globes which ever throng Thy deep chasms and wildernesses; And green worlds that glide along; And swift stars with flashing tresses; And icy moons most cold and bright, And mighty suns beyond the night, Atoms of intensest light. Even thy name is as a god, Heaven ! for thou art the abode Of that power which is the glass Wherein man his nature sees. Generations as they pass Worship thee with bended knees. Their unremaining gods and they Like a river roll away; Thou remaiuest such alway. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819 367 SECOND SPIRIT Thou art but the mind's first chamber, Round which its young fancies clamber, Like weak insects in a cave, Lighted up by stalactites; But the portal of the grave, Where a world of new delights Will make thy best glories seem But a dim and noonday gleam From the shadow of a dream 1 THIRD SPIRIT Peace ! the abyss is wreathed with scorn At your presumption, atom-born ! What is heaven ? and what are ye Who its brief expanse inherit ? What are suns and spheres which flee With the instinct of that Spirit Of which ye are but a part ? Drops which Nature's mighty heart Drives through thinnest veins. Depart ! What is heaven ? a globe of dew, Filling in the morning new Some eyed flower whose young leaves waken On an unimagined world; Constellated suns unshaken, Orbits measureless, are furled In that frail and fading sphere, With ten millions gathered there, To tremble, gleam, and disappear. AN EXHORTATION Shelley writes to Mrs. Gisborne, May S, 1820, concerning 1 this poem : ' As an excuse for mine and Mary's incurable stupidity, I send a little tiling about poets, which is itself a kind of excuse for Wordsworth.' It was pub- lished with Prometheus Unbound, 1820. CHAMELEONS feed on light and air; Poets' food is love and fame; If in this wide world of care Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they, Would they ever change their hue As the light chameleons do, Suiting it to every ray Twenty times a day ? Poets are on this cold earth, As chameleons might be, Hidden from their early birth In a cave beneath the sea. Where light is, chameleons change; Where love is not, poets do; Fame is love disguised; if few Find either, never think it strange That poets range. Yet dare not stain with wealth or power A poet's free and heavenly mind. If bright chameleons should devour Any food but beams and wind, They would grow as earthly soon As their brother lizards are. Children of a sunnier star, Spirits from beyond the moon, Oh, refuse the boon ! ODE TO THE WEST WIND Shelley describes in a note the circumstances under which this ode was composed : ' This poem was conceived and chiefly written in a wood that skirts the Arno, near Florence, and on a day when that tempestuous wind, whose temperature is at once mild and animating 1 , was collecting 1 the vapors which pour down the autumnal rains. They began, as I foresaw, at sunset with a violent tempest of hail and rain, attended by that magnificent thunder and light- ning 1 peculiar to the Cisalpine regions. ' The phenomenon alluded to at the conclu- sion of the third stanza is well known to nat- uralists. The vegetation at the bottom of the sea, of rivers, and of lakes, sympathizes with that of the land in the change of seasons, and is consequently influenced by the winds which announce it.' It was published with Prome- theus Unbound, 1820. O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Au- tnmn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes : O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 3 68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odors plain and hill : Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere ; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear ! Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion, Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height, The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge ( Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might Of vapors, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear ! in Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flow- ers So sweet the sense faints picturing them I thou For whose path the Atlantic's level pow- ers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods whick wear The sapless foliage of the ocean know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves : oh, hear ! IV If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable ! If even I were as in my bdyhood, and could be The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skyey speed Scarce seemed a vision ; I would ne'er have striven As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : What if my leaves are falling like its own ! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among man- kind ! Be through my lips to unawakened earth POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819 369 The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far be- hind? AN ODE WRITTEN OCTOBER, 1 819, BEFORE THE SPANIARDS HAD RECOVERED THEIR LIBERTY Published with Prometheus Unbound, 1820. Mrs. Shelley's note exhibits the state of Shel- ley's mind in his efforts to arouse and agitate among the people : ' Shelley loved the people, and respected them as often more virtuous, as always more suffering, and, therefore, more de- serving of sympathy, than the great. He be- lieved that a clash between the two classes of society was inevitable, and he eagerly ranged himself on the people's side. He had an idea of publishing a series of poems adapted ex- pressly to commemorate their circumstances and wrongs he wrote a few, but in those days of prosecution for libel they could not be printed. They are not among the best of his productions, a writer being always shackled when he endeavors to write down to the com- prehension of those who could not understand or feel a highly imaginative style ; but they show his earnestness, and with what heartfelt compassion he went home to the direct point of injury that oppression is detestable, as being the parent of starvation, nakedness, and ignorance. Besides these outpourings of com- passion and indignation, he had meant to adorn the cause he loved with loftier poetry of glory and triumph such is the scope of the Ode to the Assertors of Liberty. He sketched also a new version of our national anthem, as addressed to Liberty.' ARISE, arise, arise ! There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread ! Be your wounds like eyes To weep for the dead, the dead, the dead. What other grief were it just to pay ? Your sons, your wives, your brethren, were they ! Who said they were slain on the battle- day ? Awaken, awaken, awaken ! The slave and the tyrant are twin-born foes. Be the cold chains shaken To the dust where your kindred repose, repose. Their bones in the grave will btart and move Wheu they hear the voices of those they love Most loud in the holy combat above. Wave, wave high the banner, Wheu Freedom is riding to conquest by! Though the slaves that fan her Be Famine and Toil, giving sigh for sigh. And ye who attend her imperial car, Lift not your hands in the banded war But in her defence whose children ye are. Glory, glory, glory, To those who have greatly suffered and done ! Never name in story Was greater than that which ye shall have won. Conquerors have conquered their foes alone, Whose revenge, pride, and power, they have overthrown. Ride ye, more victorious, over your own. Bind, bind every brow With crownals of violet, ivy, and pine ! Hide the blood-stains now With hues which sweet nature has made divine Green strength, azure hope, and eternity; But let not the pansy among them be Ye were injured, and that means memory. ON THE MEDUSA OF NARDO DA VINCI LEO- IN THE FLORENTINE GALLERY Composed at Florence, in the latter part of the year, and published by Mrs. Shelley, Post- humous Poems, 1824. IT lieth, gazing on the midnight sky, Upon the cloudy mountain peak supine; Below, far lands are seen tremblingly; Its horror and its beauty are divine. Upon its lips and eyelids seems to lie Loveliness like a shadow, from which shine, Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath, The agonies of anguish and of death. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Yet it is less the horror than the grace Which turns the gazer's spirit into stone, Whereon the lineaments of that dead face Are graven, till the characters be grown Into itself, and thought no more can trace; 'T is the melodious hue of beauty thrown Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain, Which humanize and harmonize the strain. Ill And from its head as from one body grow, As grass out of a watery rock, Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flow And their long tangles in each other lock, And with unending involutions show Their mailed radiance, as it were to mock The torture and the death within, and saw The solid air with many a ragged jaw. IV And, from a stone beside, a poisonous eft Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes; Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereft Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise Out of the cave this hideous light had cleft, And lie comes hastening like a moth that hies After a tapsr; and the midnight sky Flares, a light more dread than obscurity. T is the tempestuous loveliness of terror; For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare Kindled by that inextricable error, Which makes a thrilling vapor of the air Become a and ever-shifting mirror Of all the beauty and the terror there A woman's countenance, with serpent locks, Gazing in death on heaven from those wet rocks. THE INDIAN SERENADE This poem, erroneously said to have been composed for Mrs. Williams and ' adapted to the celebrated Persian air sung by the Knautch girls, Tazee tie tazee no be wo,' was given to Miss Sophia Stacey in 1819. Several versions of it exist. Browning's account of deciphering one of them is interesting : he writes to Hunt, Octo- ber 6, 1857 : ' Is it not strange that I should have transcribed for the first time last night the Indian Serenade that, together with some verses of Metaslasio, accompanied that book ? [the volume of Keats found in Shelley's pocket and burned with his body] that I should have been reserved to tell the present posses- sor of them, to whom they were given by Cap- tain Roberts, what the poem was, and that it had b< en published ? It is preserved religiously ; but the characters are all but illegible, and I needed a good magnifying-glass to be quite sure of such of them as remain. The end is that I have rescued three or four variations in the reading of that divine little poem as one reads it, at least, in the Posthumous Poems.' It was published by Hunt, The Liberal, 1822. I ARISE from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me who knows how ? To thy chamber window, sweet ! The wandering airs, they faint On the dark, the silent stream; The champak odors fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine, Oh, beloved as thou art ! Ill Oh, lift me from the grass ! I die ! I faint ! I fail ! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas 1 My heart beats loud and fast, Oh ! press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last. TO SOPHIA Mrs. Shelley describes the lady to whom these lines are addressed, in a letter to Mi's. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 Gisborne, December 1, 1819 : ' There are some ladies come to this house who knew Shelley's family : the younger one was entousiasmle to see him. . . . The younger lady was a ward of one of Shelley's uncles. She is lively and unaffected. She sings well for an English dibutante and, if she would learn the scales, would sing exceedingly well, for she has a sweet voice.' Miss Sophia Stacey was a ward of Mr. Parker, of Bath, an uncle by marriage of Shelley. The poem was published by Ros- setti, 1870. Tuou art fair, and few are fairer Of the nymphs of earth or ocean; They are robes that fit the wearer Those soft limbs of thine, whose mo- tion Ever falls and shifts and glances As the life within them dances. Thy deep eyes, a double Planet, Gaze the wisest into madness With soft clear fire; the winds that fan it Are those thoughts of tender gladness Which, like zephyrs on the billow, Make thy gentle soul their pillow. If, whatever face thou paintest In those eyes, grows pale with pleasure, If the fainting soul is faintest When it hears thy harp's wild measure, Wonder not that when thou speakest Of the weak rny heart is weakest. IV As dew beneath the wind of morning, As the sea which whirlwinds waken, As the birds at thunder's warning, As aught mute yet deeply shaken, As one who feels an unseen spirit, Is my heart when thine is near it. LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY Published by Hunt, The Indicator, 18ia I THE fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean ; The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle: Why not I with thine ? > II See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me ? POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 Mrs. Shelley gives in brief passages the ac- count of the various removals of this year, and of Shelley's general state : ' There was some- thing iu Florence that disagreed excessively with his health, and he suffered far more pain than usual ; so much so that we left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca, as to the cause of Shelley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man, could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief ; he enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave his complaint to nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this advice. Pain and ill-health followed him to the end, but the residence at Pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence we re- mained. . . . ' We spent the summer at the baths of San Giuliano. four miles from Pisa. These baths were of great use to Shelley in soothing his nervous irritability. We made several excur- sions in the neighborhood. The country around is fertile, and diversified and rendered pictur- esque by ranges of near hills and more distant mountains. The peasantry are a handsome, in- telligent race, and there was a gladsome sunny heaven spread over us, that rendered home and every scene we visited cheerful and bright. . . . ' We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter. The extreme mildness of the climate suited Shelley, and his solitude was enlivened by an intercourse with 372 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS several intimate friends. Chance cast us, strangely enough, ou this quiet, half-unpeopled town ; but its very peace suited Shelley, its river, the near mountains, and not distant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many delightful excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter climate, on account of our child ; our former bereavement inspiring us with terror. We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards; often, indeed, entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy, but still delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, I believe we should have wandered over the world, both being passionately fond of travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable necessities, is ruled by a thousand Liliputian ties, that shackle at the time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for their influence over our destiny.' THE SENSITIVE PLANT Composed at Pisa, as early as March, and published with Prometheus Unbound, 1820. Shelley afterward identified Mrs. Williams as ' the exact antitype of the lady I described in The Sensitive Plant, though this must have been a pure anticipated cognition, as it was written a year before I knew her.' PART FIRST A SENSITIVE Plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light, And closed them beneath the kisses of Night. And the Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest. But none ever trembled and panted with bliss In the garden, the field, or the wilderness, Like a doe in the noontide with love's sweet want, n As the companionless Sensitive Plant. The snowdrop, and then the violet, Arose from the ground with warm rain wet, And their breath was mixed with fresh odor, sent From the turf, like the voice and the in- strument. Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall, And narcissi, the fairest among them all, Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's re- cess Till they die of their own dear loveli- ness; 20 And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair, and passion so pale, That the light of its tremulous bells is seen Through their pavilions of tender green ; And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue, Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew Of music so delicate, soft, and intense, It was felt like an odor within the sense; And the rose like a nymph to the bath ad- dressed, Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, 30 Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air The soul of her beauty and love lay bare; And the wand-like lily, which lifted up, As a Msenad, its moonlight-colored cup, Till the fiery star, which is its eye, Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky; And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tube-rose, The sweetest flower for scent that blows ; And all rare blossoms from every clime Grew in that garden in perfect prime. 40 And on the stream whose inconstant bosom Was pranked, under boughs of embowering blossom, With golden and green light, slanting through Their heaven of many a tangled hue, POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 373 Broad water-lilies lay tremulously, And starry river-buds glimmered by, And around them the soft stream did glide and dance With a motion of sweet sound and radi- ance. And the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss, Which led through the garden along and across, 50 Some open at once to the sun and the breeze, Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees, Were all paved with daisies and delicate bells, As fair as the fabulous asphodels, And flowrets which, drooping as day drooped too, Fell into pavilions white, purple, and blue, To roof the glowworm from the evening dew. And from this undefiled Paradise The flowers (as an infant's awakening eyes Smile on its mother, whose singing sweet 60 Can first lull, and at last must awakeu it) When Heaven's blithe winds had unfolded them As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem, Shone smiling to Heaven, and every one Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun; For each one was interpenetrated With the light and the odor its neighbor shed, Like young lovers whom youth and love make dear, Wrapped and filled by their mutual atmo- sphere. But the Sensitive Plant, which could give small fruit 70 Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root, Received more than all, it loved more than ever, Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver; For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower; Radiance and odor are not its dower; It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, It desires what it has not, the beautiful ! The light winds which from unsustaimug wings Shed the music of many murmurings; The beams which dart from many a star 8c Of the flowers whose hues they bear afar; The plumed insects swift and free, Like golden boats on a sunny sea, Laden with light and odor, which pass Over the gleam of the living grass; The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie Like fire in the flowers till the sun rides high, Then wander like spirits among the spheres, Each cloud faint with the fragance it bears ; The quivering vapors of dim noontide, 90 Which like a sea o'er the warm earth glide, In which every sound, and odor, and beam, Move, as reeds in a single stream; Each and all like ministering angels were For the Sensitive Plant sweet joy to bear, Whilst the lagging hours of the day went by Like windless clouds o'er a tender sky. And when evening descended from heaven above, And the Earth was all rest, and the air was all love, And delight, though less bright, was far more deep, 100 And the day's veil fell from the world of sleep, And the beasts, and the birds, and the in- sects were drowned In an ocean of dreams without a sound, Whose waves never mark, though they ever impress The light sand which paves it, conscious- ness; (Only overhead the sweet nightingale Ever sang more sweet as the day might fail, 374 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS And snatches of its Elysian chant Were mixed with the dreams of the Sensi- tive Plant) ; The Sensitive Plant was the earliest no Upgathered into the bosom of rest; A sweet child weary of its delight, The feeblest and yet the favorite, Cradled within the embrace of night. PART SECOND 'There was a Power in this sweet place, An Eve in this Eden; a ruling grace Which to the flowers, did they wakeii or dream, Was as God is to the starry scheme. A Lady, the wonder of her kind, Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind Which, dilating, had moulded her mien and motion Like a sea-flower unfolded beneath the Tended the garden from morn to even; And the meteors of that sublunar heaven, Like the lamps of the air when Night walks forth, ii Laughed round her footsteps up from the Earth ! She had no companion of mortal race, But her tremulous breath and her flushing face Told, whilst the morn kissed the sleep from her eyes, That her dreams were less slumber than Paradise : As if some bright Spirit for her sweet sake Had deserted heaven while the stars were awake, As if yet around her he lingering were, Though the veil of daylight concealed him from her. I0 Her step seemed to pity the grass it pressed ; You might hear, by the heaving of her breast, That the coming and going of the wind Brought pleasure there and left passion behind. And wherever her airy footstep trod, Her trailing hair from the grassy sod Erased its light vestige, with shadowy sweep, Like a sunny storm o'er the dark green deep. I doubt not the flowers of that garden sweet Rejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet; 30 I doubt not they felt the spirit that came From her glowing fingers through all their frame. She sprinkled bright water from the stream On those that were faint with the sunny beam ; And out of the cups of the heavy flowers She emptied the rain of the thunder showers. She lifted their heads with her tender hands, And sustained them with rods and osier- bands; If the flowers had been her own infants, she Could never have nursed them more ten- derly. 4 o And all killing insects and gnawing worms, And things of obscene and unlovely forms, She bore in a basket of Indian woof, Into the rough woods far aloof, In a basket, of grasses and wild flowers full, The freshest her gentle hands could pull For the poor banished insects, whose in- tent, Although they did ill, was innocent. But the bee, and the beam-like ephemeris Whose path is the lightning's, and soft moths that kiss 50 The sweet lips of the flowers, and harm not, did she Make her attendant angels be. And many an antenatal tomb, Where butterflies dream of the life to come, She left clinging round the smooth and dark Edge of the odorous cedar bark. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 375 This fairest creature from earliest spring Thus moved through the garden miuister- iug All the sweet season of summer tide, And ere the first leaf looked browu she died ! 60 PART THIRD Three days the flowers of the garden fair, Like stars when the moon is awakened, were, Or the waves of Baise, ere luminous She floats up through the smoke of Vesu- vius. And on the fourth, the Sensitive Plant Felt the sound of the funeral chant, And the steps of the bearers, heavy and slow, And the sobs of the mourners, deep and low; The weary sound and the heavy breath, And the silent motions of passing death, 10 And the smell, cold, oppressive, and dank, Sent through the pores of the coffin plank. The dark grass, and the flowers among the grass, Were bright with tears as the crowd did pass; From their sighs the wind caught a mourn- ful tone, And sate in the pines, and gave groan for groan. The garden, once fair, became cold and foul, Like the corpse of her who had been its soul Which at first was lovely as if in sleep, Then slowly changed, till it grew a heap 20 To make men tremble who never weep. Swift summer into the autumn flowed, And frost in the mist of the morning rode, Though the noonday sun looked clear and bright, Mocking the spoil of the secret night. The rose leaves, like flakes of crimson snow, Paved the turf and the moss below. The lilies were drooping, and white, and wan, Like the head and the skin of a dying man. And Indian plants, of scent and hue 30 The sweetest that ever were fed on dew, Leaf by leaf, day after day, Were massed into the common clay. And the leaves, brown, yellow, and gray, and red, And white with the whiteness of what is dead, Like troops of ghosts on the dry wind passed ; Their whistling noise made the birds aghast. And the gusty winds waked the winged seeds Out of their birthplace of ugly weeds, Till they clung round many a sweet flower's stem, 40 Which rotted into the earth with them. The water-blooms under the rivulet Fell from the stalks on which they were set; And the eddies drove them here and there, As the winds did those of the upper air. Then the rain came down, and the broken stalks Were bent and tangled across the walks; And the leafless network of parasite bow- ers Massed into ruin, and all sweet flowers. Between the time of the wind and the snow 50 All loathliest weeds began to grow, Whose coarse leaves were splashed with many a speck, Like the water-snake's belly and the toad's back. And thistles, and nettles, and darnels rank. And the dock, and henbane, and hemlock dank, Stretched out its long and hollow shank, And stifled the air till the dead wind stank. And plants, at whose names the verse feels loath, Filled the place with a monstrous under- growth, 376 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Prickly, and pulpous, and blistering, and blue, 60 Livid, and starred with a lurid dew. And agarics and fungi, with mildew and mould, Started like mist from the wet ground cold; Pale, fleshy, as if the decaying dead With a spirit of growth had been animated ! Spawn, weeds, and filth, a leprous scum, Made the running rivulet thick and dumb, And at its outlet flags huge as stakes Dammed it up with roots knotted like wa- ter-snakes. And hour by hour, when the air was still, 70 The vapors arose which have strength to kill; At morn they were seen, at noon they were felt, At night they were darkness no star could melt. And unctuous meteors from spray to spray Crept and flitted in broad noonday Unseen; every branch on which they alit By a venomous blight was burned and bit. The Sensitive Plant, like one forbid, Wept, and the tears within each lid 79 Of its folded leaves, which together grew, Were changed to a blight of frozen glue. * For the leaves soon fell, and the branches soon By the heavy axe of the blast were hewn; The sap shrank to the root through every pore, As blood to a heart that will beat no more. For Winter came; the wind was his whip; One choppy finger was on his lip; He had torn the cataracts from the hills And they clanked at his girdle like mana- cles; His breath was a chain which without a sound 90 The earth, and the air, and the water bound ; He came, fiercely driven, in his chariot- throne, By the tenfold blasts of the Arctic zone. Then the weeds which were forms of living death Fled from the frost to the earth beneath. Their decay and sudden flight from frost Was but like the vanishing of a ghost ! And under the roots of the Sensitive Plant The moles and the dormice died for want; The birds dropped stiff from the frozen air And were caught in the branches naked and bare. 101 First there came down a thawing rain, And its dull drops froze on the boughs again; Then there steamed up a freezing dew Which to the drops of the thaw-rain grew; And a northern whirlwind, wandering about Like a wolf that had smelt a dead child out, Shook the boughs thus laden and heavy and stiff, And snapped them off with his rigid griff. When Winter had gone and Spring came back, 1 10 The Sensitive Plant was a leafless wreck ; But the mandrakes, and toadstools, and docks, and darnels, Rose like the dead from their ruined char- nels. CONCLUSION Whether the Sensitive Plant, or that Which within its boughs like a spirit satj Ere its outward form had known decay, Now felt this change, I cannot say. Whether that lady's gentle mind, No longer with the form combined Which scattered love, as stars do light, 120 Found sadness where it left delight, I dare not guess; but in this life Of error, ignorance and strife, Where nothing is, but all things seem, And we the shadows of the dream, It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant, if one considers it, To own that death itself must be. Like all the rest, a mockery. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 377 That garden sweet, that lady fair, 130 And all sweet shapes and odors there, In truth have never passed away : 'T is we, 't is ours, are changed; not they. For love, and beauty, and delight, There is no death nor change : their might Exceeds our organs, which endure No light, being themselves obscure. A VISION OF THE SEA Composed at Pisa as early as April, and pub- lished with Prometheus Unbound, 1820. 'Tis the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail Are flickering in ribbons within the fierce gale; From the stark night of vapors the dim rain is driven, And, when lightning is loosed, like a deluge from heaven, She sees the black trunks of the water- spouts spin And bend, as if heaven was ruining in, Which they seemed to sustain with their terrible mass As if ocean had sunk from beneath them; they pass To their graves in the deep with an earth- quake of sound, And the waves and the thunders, made silent around, 10 Leave the wind to its echo. The vessel, now tossed Through the low trailing rack of the tem- pest, is lost In the skirts of the thundercloud; now down the sweep Of the wind-cloven wave to the chasm of the deep It sinks, and the walls of the watery vale Whose depths of dread calm are unmoved by the gale, Dim mirrors of ruin, hang gleaming about; While the surf, like a chaos of stars, like a rout Of death-flames, like whirlpools of fire- flowing iron, With splendor and terror the black ship environ, 20 Or, like sulphur-flakes hurled from a mine of pale fire, In fountains spout o'er it. In many a spire The pyramid-billows, with white points of brine, In the cope of the lightning inconstantly shine, As piercing the sky from the floor of the sea. The great ship seems splitting ! it cracks as a tree, While an earthquake is splintering its root, ere the blast Of the whirlwind that stripped it of branches has passed. The intense thunder-balls which are rain- ing from heaven Have shattered its mast, and it stands black and riven. 30 The chinks suck destruction. The heavy dead hulk On the living sea rolls an inanimate bulk, Like a corpse on the clay which is hunger- ing to fold Its corruption around it. Meanwhile, from the hold, One deck is burst up by the waters be- low, And it splits like the ice when the thaw- breezes blow O'er the lakes of the desert ! Who sit on the other ? Is that all the crew that lie burying each other, Like the dead in a breach, round the fore- mast ? Are those Twin tigers who burst, when the waters arose, 40 In the agony of terror, their chains in the hold, (What now makes them tame is what then made them bold) Who crouch, side by side, and have driven, like a crank, The deep grip of their claws through the vibrating plank, Are these all ? Nine weeks the tall vessel had lain On the windless expanse of the watery plain, Where the death-darting sun cast no shadow at noon, And there seemed to be fire in the beams of the moon, Till a lead-colored fog gathered up from- the deep, Whose breath was quick pestilence; then, the cold sleep so 378 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Crept, like blight through the ears of a thick field of corn, O'er the populous vessel. And even and morn, With their hammocks for coffins, the sea- men aghast Like dead men the dead limbs of their comrades cast Down the deep, which closed on them above and around, And the sharks and the dogfish their grave- clothes unbound, And were glutted like Jews with this manna rained down From God on their wilderness. One after one The mariners died; on the eve of this day, When the tempest was gathering in cloudy array, 60 But seven remained. Six the thunder has smitten, And they lie black as mummies on which Time has written His scorn of the embalmer; the seventh, from the deck An oak-splinter pierced through his breast and his back, And hung out to the tempest, a wreck on the wreck. No more ? At the helm sits a woman more fair Than heaven when, unbinding its star- braided hair, It sinks with the sun on the earth and the sea. She clasps a bright child on her upgathered knee; It laughs at the lightning, it mocks the mixed thunder 70 Of the air and the sea; with desire and with wonder It is beckoning the tigers to rise and come near; It would play with those eyes where the radiance of fear Is outshining the meteors; its bosom beats high, The heart-fireof pleasure haskindleditseye, Whilst its mother's is lustreless: 'Smile not, my child, But sleep deeply and sweetly, and so be beguiled Of the pang that awaits us, whatever that be, So dreadful since thou must divide it with me ! Dream, sleep ! This pale bosom, thy cra- dle and bed, g a Will it rock thee not, infant ? 'T is beat- ing with dread ! Alas ! what is life, what is death, what are we, That when the ship sinks we no longer may be ? What ! to see thee no more, and to feel thee no more ? To be after life what we have been before ? Not to touch those sweet hands, not to look on those eyes, Those lips, and that hair, all that smiling disguise Thou yet wearest, sweet spirit, which I, day by day, Have so long called my child, but which now fades away Like a rainbow, and I the fallen shower ? ' Lo ! the ship 90 Is settling, it topples, the leeward ports dip; The tigers leap up when they feel the slow brine Crawling inch by inch on them ; hair, ears, limbs, and eyne Stand rigid with horror; a loud, long, hoarse cry Bursts at once from their vitals tremen- dously, And 't is borne down the mountainous vale of the wave, Rebounding, like thunder, from crag to cave, Mixed with the clash of the lashing rain, Hurried on by the might of the hurricane. The hurricane came from the west, and passed on 100 By the path of the gate of the eastern sun, Transversely dividing the stream of the storm ; As an arrowy serpent, pursuing the form Of an elephant, bursts through the brakes of the waste. Black as a cormorant the screaming blast, Between ocean and heaven, like an ocean, passed, Till it came to the clouds on the verge of the world Which, based on the sea and to heaven up- curled, Like columns and walls did surround and sustain The dome of the tempest; it rent them in twain, MO POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 379 As a flood rends its barriers of mountain- ous crag; And the dense clouds in many a ruin and rag, Like the stones of a temple ere earthquake has passed, Like the dust of its fall, on the whirlwind are cast; They are scattered like foam on the tor- rent; and where The wind has burst out through the chasm, from the air Of clear morning the beams of the sunrise flow in, Unimpeded, keen, golden, and crystalline, Banded armies of light and of air; at one gate They encounter, but interpenetrate. 120 And that breach in the tempest is widening away, And the caverns of cloud are torn up by the day, And the fierce winds are sinking with weary wings, Lulled by the motion and murmurings And the long glassy heave of the rocking sea, And overhead glorious, but dreadful to see, The wrecks of the tempest, like vapors of gold, Are consuming in sunrise. The heaped waves behold The deep calm of blue heaven dilating above, And, like passions made still by the pre- sence of Love, 130 Beneath the clear surface reflecting it slide Tremulous with soft influence; extending its tide From the Andes to Atlas, round mountain and isle, Round sea-birds and wrecks, paved with heaven's azure smile, The wide world of waters is vibrating. Where Is the ship ? On the verge of the wave where it lay One tiger is mingled in ghastly affray With a sea-snake. The foam and the smoke of the battle Stain the clear air with sunbows. The jar, and the rattle 139 Of solid bones crushed by the infinite stress Of the snake's adamantine voltiininousness; And the hum of the hot blood that spouts and rains Where the gripe of the tiger has wounded the veins, Swollen with rage, strength, and effort; the whirl and the spins h As of some hideous engine whose brazen teeth smash The thin winds and soft waves into thun- der; the screams And hissings, crawl fast o'er the smooth ocean-streams, Each sound like a centipede. Near this commotion A blue shark is hanging within the blue ocean, The fin-winged tomb of the victor. The other 150 Is winning his way from the fate of his brother, To his own with the speed of despair. Lo ! a boat Advances; twelve rowers with the impulse of thought Urge on the keen keel, the brine foams. At the stern Three marksmen stand levelling. Hot bullets burn In the breast of the tiger, which yet bears him on To his refuge and ruin. One fragment alone 'T is dwindling and sinking, 't is now almost gone Of the wreck of the vessel peers out of the sea. With her left hand she grasps it impetu- ously, 1 60 With her right hand she sustains her fair infant. Death, Fear, Love, Beauty, are mixed in the atmo- sphere, Which trembles and burns with the fervor of dread Around her wild eyes, her bright hand, and her head, Like a meteor of light o'er the waters ! her child Is yet smiling, and playing, and murmur- ing; so smiled The false deep ere the storm. Like a sis- ter and brother The child and the ocean still smile on each other, Whilst 3 8o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the Moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, 5 o May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these. I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ; The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, 61 When tbe whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch, through which I march, With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-colored bow; 70 The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when with never a stain The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, 8c I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, THE CLOUD Published with Prometheus Unbound, 1820. I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances .about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, 10 And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 't is my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skyey bow- ers, Lightning my pilot sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits; 20 Over earth and ocean with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The Spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. 30 The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, When the morning star shines dead; As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love, 40 And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaveu above, POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. TO A SKYLARK Composed at Leghorn, and published with Prometheus Unbound, 1820. The occasion is described by Mrs. Shelley : ' In the spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house of some friends, who were absent on a journey to England. It was on a beautiful summer evening while wandering among the lanes, whose myrtle hedges were the bowers of the fireflies, that we heard the carolling of the skylark, which inspired one of the most beautiful of his poems.' HAIL to thee, blithe Spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever siugest. 10 In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run; Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, 20 Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see we feel that it is there; All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As when Night is bare From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed. 30 What thou art we know not; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a Poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : 40 Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which over- flows her bower : Like a glowworm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view : 50 Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous and clear and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 6c Teach us, Sprite or Bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 382 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Chorus Hymeneal, Or triumphal chant, Matched with thine, would be all But an empty vaunt, A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 70 What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields or waves or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what igno- rance of pain ? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 80 Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream Or how could thy notes flow in such a crys- tal stream ? We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught: Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 90 Yet if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear; If we were things born Not tc shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scoruer of the ground ! 100 Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then as I am listening now. ODE TO LIBERTY Published with Prometheus Unbound, 1820 Shelley sent it to Peacock with permission tc insert asterisks in stanzas fifteen and sixteen in case his publisher objected to the expressions there used. Tec Freedom, yet, thy banner torn but flying Streams like a thuuder-storin against the wind. BYBOH. A GLORIOUS people vibrated again The lightning of the Nations; Liberty, From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er Spain, Scattering contagious fire into the sky, Gleamed. My soul spurned the chains of its dismay, And in the rapid plumes of song Clothed itself, sublime and strong; As a young eagle soars the morning clouds among, Hovering in verse o'er its accustomed prey; Till from its station in the Heaven of fame The Spirit's whirlwind rapt it, and the ray Of the remotest sphere of living flame Which paves the void was from behind it flung, As foam from a ship's swiftness, when there came A voice out of the deep: I will record the same. The Sun and the serenest Moon sprang forth ; The burning stars of the abyss were hurled Into the depths of heaven. The daedal earth, That island in the ocean of the world, Hung in its cloud of all-sustaining air; But this divinest universe Was yet a chaos and a curse, For thou wert not; but power from worst producing worse, The spirit of the beasts was kindled there, And of the birds, and of the watery forms, And there was war among them, and despair Within them, raging without truce or terms. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 383 The bosom of their violated nurse Groaned, for beasts warred on beasts, and worms on worms, And men on men ; each heart was as a hell of storms. Ill Man, the imperial shape, then multiplied His generations under the pavilion Of the Sun's throne; palace and pyramid, Temple and prison, to many a swarming million Were as to mountain wolves their ragged caves. This human living multitude Was savage, cunning, blind, and rude, For thou wert not; but o'er the populous solitude, Like one fierce cloud over a waste of waves, Hung Tyranny; beneath, sate deified The sister-pest, congregator of slaves; Into the shadow of her pinions wide Anarchs and priests who feed on gold and blood Till with the stain their inmost souls are dyed, Drove the astonished 'herds of men from every side. IV The nodding promontories, and blue isles, And cloud-like mountains, and dividuous waves Of Greece, basked glorious in the open smiles Of favoring heaven; from their en- chanted caves Prophetic echoes flung dim melody. On the unapprehensive wild The vine, the corn, the olive mild, Grew savage yet, to human use unrecon- ciled ; And, like unfolded flowers beneath the sea, Like the man's thought dark in the in- fant's brain, Like aught that is which wraps what is to be, Art's deathless dreams lay veiled by many a vein Of Parian stone; and, yet a speechless child, Verse murmured, and Philosophy did strain Her lidless eyes for thee ; when o'er the JEgean main Athens arose; a city such as vision Builds from the purple crags and silver towers Of battlemented cloud, as in derision Of kingliest masonry: the ocean floors Pave it; the evening sky pavilions it; Its portals are inhabited By thunder-zoned winds, each head Within its cloudy wings with sun-fire gar- landed, A divine work ! Athens, diviner yet, Gleamed with its crest of columns, on the will Of man, as on a mount of diamond, set; For thou wert, and thine all-creative skill Peopled, with forms that mock the eternal dead In marble immortality, that hill Which was thine earliest throne and lat- est oracle. VI Within the surface of Time's fleeting river Its wrinkled image lies, as then it lay Immovably unquiet, and forever It trembles, but it cannot pass away ! The voices of thy bards and sages thunder With an earth-awakening blast Through the caverns of the past; Religion veils her eyes; Oppression shrinks aghast. A winged sound of joy, and love, and wonder, Which soars where Expectation never flew, Rending the veil of space and time asun- der ! One ocean feeds the clouds, and streams, and dew; One sun illumines heaven ; one spirit vast With life and love makes chaos ever new, As Athens doth the world with thy de- light renew. VII Then Rome was, and from thy deep bosom fairest, Like a wolf-cub from a Cad mean Msenad, She drew the milk of greatness, though thy dearest From that Elysian food was yet un weaned; 384 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS And many a deed of terrible uprightness By thy sweet love was sanctified; And in thy smile, and by thy side, Saintly Camillus lived, and firm Atilius died. But when tears stained thy robe of vestal whiteness, And gold profaned thy Capitolian throne, Thou didst desert, with spirit-winged lightness, The senate of the tyrants: they sunk prone Slaves of one tyrant. Palatinns sighed Faint echoes of Ionian song; that tone Thou didst delay to hear, lamenting to disown. VIII From what Hyrcanian glen or frozen hill, Or piny promontory of the Arctic main, Or utmost islet inaccessible, Didst thou lament the ruin of thy reign, Teaching the woods and waves, and desert rocks, And every Naiad's ice-cold urn, To talk in echoes sad and stern, Of that sublimest lore which man had dared unlearn ? For neither didst thou watch the wizard flocks Of the Scald's dreams, nor haunt the Druid's sleep. What if the tears rained through thy shattered locks Were quickly dried ? for thou didst groan, not weep, When from its sea of death, to kill and burn, The Galilean serpent forth did creep, And made thy world an undistinguishable heap. IX A thousand years the Earth cried, Where art thou ? And then the shadow of thy coming fell On Saxon Alfred's olive-cinctured brow; And many a warrior-peopled citadel, Like rocks which fire lifts out of the flat deep, Arose in sacred Italy, Frowning o'er the tempestuous sea Of kings, and priests, and slaves, in tower- crowned majesty; That multitudinous anarchy did sweep And burst around their walls, like idle foam, Whilst from the human spirit's deepest deep, Strange melody with love and awe struck dumb Dissonant arms; and Art, which cannot die, With divine wand traced on our earthly home Fit imagery to pave heaven's everlasting dome. Thou huntress swifter than the Moon ! thou terror Of the world's wolves ! thou bearer of the quiver, Whose sun-like shafts pierce tempest' winged Error, As light may pierce the clouds when they dissever In the calm regions of the orient day ! Luther caught thy wakening glance; Like lightning, from his leaden lance Reflected, it dissolved the visions of the trance In which, as in a tomb, the nations lay; And England's prophets hailed thee as their queen, In songs whose music cannot pass away, Though it must flow forever; not un- seen Before the spirit-sighted countenance Of Milton didst thou pass, from the sad scene Beyond whose night he saw, with a de- jected mien. XI The eager hours and unreluctant years As on a dawn-illumined mountain stood, Trampling to silence their loud hopes and fears, Darkening each other with their multi- tude, And cried aloud, Liberty ! Indignation Answered Pity from her cave; Death grew pale within the grave, And Desolation howled to the destroyer, Save ! When, like heaven's sun girt by the ex- halation Of its own glorious light, thou didfit arise. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 385 Chasing thy foes from nation unto nation Like shadows: as if day had cloven the skies At dreaming midnight o'er the western wave, Men started, staggering with a glad sur- prise, Under the lightnings of thine unfamiliar eyes. XII Thou heaven of earth ! what spells could pall thee then, In ominous eclipse ? a thousand years, Bred from the slims of deep oppression's den, Dyed all thy liquid light with blood and tears, Till thy sweet stars could weep the stain away; How like Bacchanals of blood Round France, the ghastly vintage, stood Destruction's sceptred slaves, and Folly's mitred brood ! When one, like them, but mightier far than they, The Anarch of thine own bewildered powers, Rose; armies mingled in obscure array, Like clouds with clouds, darkening the sacred bowers Of serene heaven. He, by the past pur- sued, Rests with those dead but unforgotten hours, Whose ghosts scare victor kings in their ancestral towers. XIII England yet sleeps: was she not called of old? Spain calls her now, as with its thrilling thunder Vesuvius wakens JEtna, and the cold Snow-crags by its reply are cloven in sunder; O'er the lit waves every ^Eoliau isle From Pithecusa to Pelorns Howls, and leaps, and glares in chorus; They cry, Be dim, ye lamps of heaven suspended o'er us ! Her chains are threads of gold, she need but smile And they dissolve; but Spain's were links of steel, Till bit to dust by virtue's keenest file. Twins of a single destiny ! appeal To the eternal years enthroned before us In the dim West; impress us from a seal, All ye have thought and done ! Time cannot dare conceal. XIV Tomb of Arminius ! render up thy dead Till, like a standard from a watch-tower's staff, His soul may stream over the tyrant's head ; Thy victory shall be his epitaph, Wild Bacchanal of truth's mysterious wine, King-deluded Germany, His dead spirit lives in thee. Why do we fear or hope ? thou art already free ! And thou, lost Paradise of this divine And glorious world ! thou flowery wilderness ! Thou island of eternity ! thou shrine Where desolation clothed with loveli- ness Worships the thing thou wert ! O Italy, Gather thy blood into thy heart; repress The beasts who make their dens thy sacred palaces. XV Oh, that the free would stamp the impious name Of King into the dust ! or write it there, So that this blot upon the page of fame Were as a serpent's path, which the light air Erases, and the flat sands close behind ! Ye the oracle have heard.. Lift the victory-flashing sword, And cut the snaky knots of this foul gor- dian word, Which, weak itself as stubble, yet can bind Into a mass, irrefragably firm, The axes and the rods which awe man- kind ; The sound has poison in it, 't is the sperm Of what makes life foul, cankerous, and abhorred ; Disdain not thou, at thine appointed term, To set thine armed heel on this reluctant 386 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS XVI Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle Such lamps within the dome of this dim world, That the pale name of Priest might shrink and dwindle Into the hell from which it first was hurled, A scoff of impious pride from fiends im- pure ; Till human thoughts might kneel alone, Each before the judgment-throne Of its own aweless soul, or of the power unknown ! Oh, that the words which make the thoughts obscure From which they spring, as clouds of glimmering dew From a white lake blot heaven's blue portraiture, Were stripped of their thin masks and various hue And frowns and smiles and splendors not their own, Till in the nakedness of false and true They stand before their Lord, each to re- ceive its due. XVII He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever Can be between the cradle and the grave Crowned him the King of Life. Oh, vain endeavor ! If on his own high will, a willing slave, He has enthroned the oppression and the oppressor. What if earth can clothe and feed Amplest millions at their need, And power in thought be as the tree within the seed ? Oh, what if Art, an ardent intercessor, Driving on fiery wings to Nature's throne, Checks the great mother stooping to ca- ress her And cries: ' Give me, thy child, domin- ion Over all height and depth?' if Life can breed New wants, and wealth from those who toil and groan Rend of thy gifts and hers a thousand- fold for one. XVIII Come thou, but lead out of the inmost cave Of man's deep spirit, as the morniug- star Beckons the sun from the Eoan wave, Wisdom. I hear the pennons of her car Self -moving, like cloud charioted by flame ; Comes she not, and come ye not, Rulers of eternal thought, To judge with solemn truth life's ill-appor- tioned lot ? Blind Love, and equal Justice, and the Fame Of what has been, the Hope of what will be ? O Liberty ! if such could be thy name Wert thou disjoined from these, or they from thee If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought By blood or tears, have not the wise and free Wept tears, and blood like tears ? The solemn harmony XIX Paused, and the Spirit of that mighty sing- ing To its abyss was suddenly withdrawn; Then as a wild swan, when sublimely wing- ing Its path athwart the thunder-smoke of dawn, Sinks headlong through the aerial golden light On the heavy sounding plain, When the bolt has pierced its brain ; As summer clouds dissolve unburdened of their rain ; As a far taper fades with fading night, As a brief insect dies with dying day, My song,"its pinions disarrayed of might, Drooped ; o'er it closed the echoes far away Of the great voice which did its flight sus- tain, As waves which lately paved his watery way Hiss round a drowner's head in their tempestuous play. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 387 TO Published by Mra. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. I FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden, Thou ueedest not fear mine; My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burden thine. I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion, Thou needast not fear mine; Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine. ARETHUSA Composed at Pisa, and published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. ARETHUSA arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains, From cloud and from crag, With many a jag, Shepherding her bright fountains. She leapt down the rocks, With her rainbow locks Streaming among the streams; Her steps paved with green The downward ravine Which slopes to the western gleams; And gliding and springing, She went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep; The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep. Then Alpheus bold, On his glacier cold, With his trident the mountains strook; And opened a chasm In the rocks with the spasm All Erymanthtis shook. And the black south wind It unsealed behind The urns of the silent snow, And earthquake and thunder Did rend in sunder The bars of the springs below. The beard and the hair Of the River-god were Seen through the torrent's sweep, As he followed the light Of the fleet nymph's flight To the brink of the Dorian deep. in 'Oh, save me ! Oh, guide me, And bid the deep hide me, For he grasps me now by the hair I ' The loud Ocean heard, To its blue depth stirred, And divided at her prayer; And under the water The Earth's white daughter Fled like a sunny beam; Behind her descended Her billows, unblended With the brackish Dorian stream. Like a gloomy stain On the emerald main Alpheus rushed behind, As an eagle pursuing A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind. IV Under the bowers Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearled thrones; Through the coral woods Of the weltering floods, Over heaps of unvalued stones; Through the dim beams Which amid the streams Weave a network of colored light; And under the caves, Where the shadowy waves Are as green as the forest's night; Outspeeding the shark, And the sword fish dark, Under the ocean foam, And up through the rifta Of the mountain clifts They passed to their Dorian home. And now from their fountains In Enna's mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks Like friends once parted Grown single-hearted, They ply their watery tasks. 388 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS At sunrise they leap From their cradles steep In the cave of the shelving hill; At noontide they flow Through the woods below And the meadows of asphodel; And at night they sleep In the rocking deep Beneath the Ortygian shore, Like spirits that lie In the azure sky When they love but live no more. SONG OF PROSERPINE WHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF ENNA Published by Mrs. Shelley, in her first col- lected edition, 1839. SACRED Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom Gods, and men, and beasts have birth, Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine. If with mists of evening dew Thou dost nourish these young flowers Till they grow, in scent and hue, Fairest children of the hours, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine. HYMN OF APOLLO This and the following poem were com- posed for insertion in a projected drama of Williams, Midas. It was published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. THE sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie, Curtained with star-inwoven tapestries From the broad moonlight of the sky, Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes, Waken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn, Islls them that dreams and that the moon is gone. Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome, I walk over the mountains and the waves, Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam; My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the caves Are filled with my bright presence, and the air Leaves the green earth to my embraces bare. ill The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill Deceit, that loves the night and fears the day; All men who do or even imagine ill Fly me, and from the glory of my ray Good minds and open actions take new might, Until diminished by the reign of night. IV I feed the clouds, the rainbows and the flowers With their ethereal colors; the moon's globe And the pure stars in their eternal bowers Are cinctured with my power as with a robe; Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine Are portions of one power, which is mine. I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven, Then with unwilling steps I wander down Into the clouds of the Atlantic even; For grief that I depart they weep and frown. What look is more delightful than the smile With which I soothe them from the western isle? VI I am the eye with which the Universe Beholds itself, and knows itself divine; All harmony of instrument or verse, All prophecy, all medicine are mine, All light of Art or Nature; to my song Victory and praise in its own right be- long. POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820 389 HYMN OF PAN Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. FROM the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes, The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, Listening my sweet pipings. Liquid Peneus was flowing, And all dark Tempe lay In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing The light of the dying day, Speeded by my sweet pipings. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns, And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, With envy of my sweet pipings. Ill I sang of the dancing stars, I sang of the dsedal Earth, And of Heaven and the giant wars, And Love, and Death, and Birth ; And then I changed my pipings, Singing how down the vale of Mtenalus I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed. Gods and men, we are all deluded thus ! It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed. All wept, as I think both ye now would If envy or age had not frozen your blood, At the sorrow of my sweet pipings. THE QUESTION Published by Hunt, The Literary Pocket- Book, 1822. I I DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way, Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, And gentle odors led my steps astray, Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the bosom of the stream , But kissed it and then fled, as thou might- est in dream. There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets; Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets (Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth) Its mother's face with heaven - collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. ill And in the warm hedge grew lush eglan- tine, Green cowbind and the moonlight-colored May, And cherry blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drained not by the day, And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, With its dark buds and leaves, wander- ing astray; And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. IV And nearer to the river's trembling edge There grew broad flag-flowers, purple pranked with white; And starry river buds among the sedge; And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; And bulrushes and reeds, of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 39 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours Within my hand, and then, elate and g a y I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it ! Oh, to whom ? THE TWO SPIRITS AN ALLEGORY Publisher! by Mrs. Shelley, Poems, 1824. Posthumous FIRST 8PIKIT THOU, who plumed with strong desire Wouldst float above the earth, beware ! A Shadow tracks thy flight of fire Night is coming ! Bright are the regions of the air, And among the winds and beams It were delight to wander there Night is coming ! SECOND SPIRIT The deathless stars are bright above; If I would cross the shade of night, Within my heart is the lamp of love, And that is day ! And the moon will smile with gentle light On my golden plumes where'er they move; The meteors will linger round my flight, And make night day. FIRST SPIRIT But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken Hail, and lightning, and stormy rain ? See, the bounds of the air are shaken Night is coming ! The red swift clouds of the hurricane Yon declining sun have overtaken; The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain Night is coming ! SECOND SPIRIT 1 see the light, and I hear the sound; I '11 sail on the flood of the tempest dark, With the calm within and the light around Which makes night day; And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark, Look from thy dull earth, slumber- bound; My moon-like flight thou then mayst mark On high, far away. Some say there is a precipice Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin O'er piles of snow and chasms of ice Mid Alpine mountains; And that the languid storm pursuing That winged shape forever flies Round those hoar branches, aye renewing Its aery fountains. Some say when nights are dry and clear, And the death-dews sleep on the mo- rass, Sweet whispers are heard by the travel- ler, 'Which make night day; And a silver shape like his early love doth pass, Upborne by her wild and glittering hair, And, when he awakes on the fragrant grass, He finds night day. LETTER TO MARIA GISBORNE This letter -was written from the house of Mrs. Gisborne, where Shelley had turned the workshop of her son, Mr. lieveley, an engineer, into a study. 'Mrs. Gisborne,' writes Mrs. Shelley, ' had been a friend of my father in her younger days. She was a lady of great accom- plishments, and charming from her frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love of knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved freshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a favorite friend of my father we had sought her with eagerness, and the most open and cordial friendship was established between us.' Shel- ley also describes her : ' Mrs. Gisborne is a suffi- ciently amiable and very accomplished woman ; [she is Sij/jLOKpariKij and aOtri how far she may be i\avBp