I thought of thee, fair Celandine,
As of a flower aery blue
Yet small—thy leaves methought were wet
With the light of morning dew;
5In the same glen thy star did shine
As the primrose and the violet,
And the wild briar bent over thee
And the woodland brook danced under thee.
Lovely thou wert in thine own glen
10 Ere thou didst dwell in song or story,
Ere the moonlight of a Poet’s mind
Had arrayed thee with the glory
Whose fountains are the hearts of men—
Many a thing of vital kind
15Had fed and sheltered under thee,
Had nourished their thoughts near to thee.
Yes, gentle flower, in thy recess
None might a sweeter aspect wear:
Thy young bud drooped so gracefully,
20 Thou wert so very fair—
Among the fairest ere the stress
Of exile, death and injury
Thus withering and deforming thee
Had made a mournful type of thee;
25A type of that whence I and thou
Are thus familiar, Celandine—
A deathless Poet whose young prime
Was as serene as thine,
But he is changed and withered now,
30Fallen on a cold and evil time;
His heart is gone—his fame is dim
And Infamy sits mocking him.
Celandine! Thou art pale and dead,
Changed from thy fresh and woodland state.
35Oh! that thy bard were cold, but he
Would he were in an honoured grave,
But that, men say, now must not be
Since he for impious gold could sell
40The love of those who loved him well.
That he, with all hope else of good,
Should be thus transitory
I marvel not—but that his lays
Have spared not their own glory,
45That blood, even the foul god of blood,
With most inexpiable praise,
Freedom and truth left desolate,
He has been bought to celebrate!
They were his hopes which he doth scorn,
50 They were his foes the fight that won;
That sanction and that condemnation
Are now forever gone.
They need them not! Truth may not mourn
That with a liar’s inspiration
55Her majesty he did disown
Ere he could overlive his own.
They need them not, for Liberty,
Justice and philosophic truth
From his divine and simple song
60 Shall draw immortal youth
When he and thou shall cease to be,
Or be some other thing, so long
As men may breathe or flowers may blossom
O’er the wide Earth’s maternal bosom.
65The stem whence thou wert disunited
Since thy poor self was banished hither,
Now by that priest of Nature’s care
Who sent thee forth to wither
His window with its blooms has lighted,
70And I shall see thy brethren there,
And each like thee will aye betoken
Love sold, hope dead, and honour broken.
The awful shadow of some unseen Power
Floats tho’ unseen amongst us,—visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to flower.—
5Like 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,—
10 Like memory of music fled,—
Like aught that for its grace may be
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.
Spirit of BEAUTY, that doth consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon
15 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,
20Why aught should fail and fade that once is shewn,
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?
25No voice from some sublimer world hath ever
To sage or poet these responses given—
Therefore the name of God and ghosts, and Heaven,
Remain the records of their vain endeavour,
Frail spells—whose uttered charm might not avail to sever,
30 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
Thro’ strings of some still instrument,
35 Or moonlight on a midnight stream,
Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds depart
And come, for some uncertain moments lent.
Man were immortal, and omnipotent,
40Didst 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 nourishment,
45 Like darkness to a dying flame!
Depart not as thy shadow came,
Depart not—lest the grave should be,
While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped
50 Thro’ 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—
55 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 buds and blossoming,—
Sudden, thy shadow fell on me;
60I shrieked, and clasped my hands in extacy!
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
65Each 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
70 This world from its dark slavery,
That thou—O awful LOVELINESS,
Wouldst give whate’er these words cannot express.
The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past—there is a harmony
75 In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which thro’ 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
80Descended, 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 human kind.
The Lovely shadow of some awful Power
Walks though unseen amongst us, visiting
This peopled world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to flower,
5Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower
It visits with a wavering glance
Each human heart & countenance;—
Like hues and harmonies of evening—
Like clouds in starlight widely spread
10 Like memory of music fled
Like aught that for its grace might be
Dear, & yet dearer for its mystery.
Shadow of Beauty!—that doth consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost fall upon
15 Of human thought or form, Where art thou gone
Why dost thou pass away & leave our state
A dark deep vale of tears, vacant & desolate?
Ask why the sun light not forever
Weaves rainbows o’er yon mountain river
20Ask why aught fades away that once is shewn
Ask wherefore dream & death & birth
Cast on the daylight of this earth
Such gloom,—why man has such a scope
For love & joy despondency & hope.
25No voice from some sublimer world hath ever
To wisest poets these responses given
Therefore the name of God & Ghosts & Heaven
Remain yet records of their vain Endeavour—
Frail spells, whose uttered charm might not avail to sever
30 From what we feel & what we see
Doubt, Chance & mutability.
Thy shade alone like mists o’er mountains driven
Or Music by the night-wind sent
Thro’ strings of some mute instrument
35Or Moonlight on a forest stream
Gives truth & grace to life’s tumultuous dream
Love, hope & self-esteem like clouds depart—
And come, for some uncertain moments lent.—
Man were immortal & omnipotent
40Didst thou, unknown & awful as thou art
Keep with this glorious train firm state within his heart.
Thou messenger of sympathies
That wax & wane in lovers’ eyes
Thou that to the poets thought art nourishment
45 As darkness to a dying flame
Depart not as thy shadow came!
Depart not!—lest the grave should be
Like life & fear a dark reality
While yet a boy I sought for Ghosts, & sped
50 Thro’ many a lonely chamber, vault & ruin
And starlight wood, with fearful step pursuing
Hopes of strange converse with the storied dead
I called on that false name with which our youth is fed
He heard me not—I saw them not—
55 When musing deeply on the lot
Of Life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing
All vocal things that live to bring
News of buds & blossoming—
Sudden thy shadow fell on me
60I shrieked & clasped my hands in extasy.
I vowed that I would dedicate my powers
To thee & thine—have I not kept the vow?
With streaming eyes & panting heart even now
I call the spectres of a thousand hours
65Each from his voiceless grave, who have in visioned bowers
Of studious zeal or love’s delight
Outwatched with me the waning night
To tell that never joy illumed my brow
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free
70 This world from its dark slavery
That thou, O, awful Loveliness!
Would give whate’er these words cannot express.
The day becomes more solemn & serene
When Noon is past—there is a harmony
75 In Autumn & a lustre in the sky
Which thro’ the summer is not heard or seen
As if it could not be—as if it had not been—
Thus let thy shade—which like the truth
Of Nature on my passive youth
80Descended, to my onward life supply
Its hues, to one that worships thee
And every form containing thee
Whom fleeting power! thy spells did bind
To fear himself & love all human Kind.
The everlasting universe of things
Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,
Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—
Now lending splendour, where from secret springs
5The 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 for ever,
10Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river
Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.
Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine—
Thou many-coloured, many-voiced vale,
Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail
15Fast cloud shadows and sunbeams: awful scene,
Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down
From the ice gulphs that gird his secret throne,
Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame
Of lightning thro’ the tempest;—thou dost lie,
20Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,
Children of elder time, in whose devotion
The chainless winds still come and ever came
To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging
To hear—an old and solemn harmony;
25Thine 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 desart fail
Wraps all in its own deep eternity;—
30Thy caverns echoing to the Arve’s commotion,
A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;
Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,
Thou art the path of that unresting sound—
Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee
35I seem as in a trance sublime and strange
To muse on my own separate phantasy,
My own, my human mind, which passively
Now renders and receives fast influencings,
Holding an unremitting interchange
40With the clear universe of things around;
One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings
Now float above thy darkness, and now rest
Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,
In the still cave of the witch Poesy,
45Seeking 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!
Some say that gleams of a remoter world
50Visit the soul in sleep,—that death is slumber,
And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber
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
55In 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!
60Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,
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,
65Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread
And wind among the accumulated steeps;
A desart peopled by the storms alone,
Save when the eagle brings some hunter’s bone,
And the wolf tracts her there—how hideously
70Its shapes are heaped around! rude, bare, and high,
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, envelope once this silent snow?
75None 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;
80Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal
Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood
By all, but which the wise, and great, and good
Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.
The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams,
85Ocean, and all the living things that dwell
Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain,
Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane,
The torpor of the year when feeble dreams
Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep
90Holds every future leaf and flower;—the bound
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 may be;
All things that move and breathe with toil and sound
95Are 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 primaeval mountains
100Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep
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,
105A 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
110Its destined path, or in the mangled soil
Branchless and shattered stand; the rocks, drawn down
From yon remotest waste, have overthrown
The limits of the dead and living world,
Never to be reclaimed. The dwelling-place
115Of insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil;
Their food and their retreat for ever 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,
120And their place is not known. Below, vast caves
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
125Rolls its loud waters to the ocean waves,
Breathes its swift vapours 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.
130In the calm darkness of the moonless nights,
In the lone glare of day, the snows descend
Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there,
Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,
Or the star-beams dart through them:—Winds contend
135Silently there, and heap the snow with breath
Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home
The voiceless lightning in these solitudes
Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods
Over the snow. The secret strength of things
140Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome
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?
In day the eternal universe of things
Flows through the mind, & rolls its rapid waves
Now dark, now glittering; now reflecting gloom
Now lending splendour, where, from secret caves
5The source of human thought its tribute brings
Of waters, with a sound not all it’s own:
Such as a feeble brook will oft assume
In the wild woods among the mountains lone
Where waterfalls around it leap forever
10Where winds & woods contend, & a vast river
Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves
Thus thou Ravine of Arve, dark deep ravine,
Thou many coloured, many voiced vale!
Over whose rocks & pines & caverns sail
15Fast cloud shadows & sunbeams—awful scene,
Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down
From the ice gulphs that gird his secret throne
Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame
Of lightning thro the tempest—thou dost lie
20Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging
Children of elder time, in whose devotion
The charmed winds still come, & ever came
To drink thier odours, & thier mighty swinging
To hear, an old and solemn harmony;
25Thine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep
Of the aerial waterfall, whose veil
Robes some unsculptured image; even the sleep
The sudden pause that does inhabit thee
Which when the voices of the desart fail
30And its hues wane, doth blend them all & steep
Thier periods in its own eternity;
Thy caverns echoing to the Arve’s commotion
A loud lone sound no other sound can tame:
Thou art pervaded with such ceaseless motion
35Thou art the path of that unresting sound
Ravine of Arve! & when I gaze on thee
I seem as in a vision deep & strange
To muse on my own various phantasy
My own, my human mind . . which passively
40Now renders & recieves fast influencings
Holding an unforeseeing interchange
With the clear universe of things around:
A legion of swift thoughts, whose wandering wings
Now float above thy darkness, & now rest
45Near the still cave of the witch Poesy
Seeking among the shadows that pass by,
Ghosts of the things that are, some form like thee,
Some spectre, some faint image; till the breast
From which they fled recalls them—thou art there
50Some say that gleams of a remoter world
Visit the soul in sleep—that death is slumber
And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber
Of those who wake & live. I look on high
Has some unknown omnipotence unfurled
55The vail of life & death? or do I lie
In dream, & does the mightier world of sleep
Spread far around, & inaccessibly
Its circles?—for the very spirit fails
Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep
60That vanishes among the viewless gales.—
Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky
Mont Blanc appears, still, snowy & serene,
Its subject mountains thier unearthly forms
Pile round it—ice & rock—broad chasms between
65Of frozen waves, unfathomable deeps
Blue as the overhanging Heaven, that spread
And wind among the accumulated steeps,
Vast desarts, peopled by the storms alone
Save when the eagle brings some hunter’s bone
70And the wolf watches her—how hideously
Its rocks are heaped around, rude bare & high
Ghastly & scarred & riven!—is this the scene
Where the old Earthquake demon taught her young
Ruin? were these thier toys? or did a sea
75Of fire envelope once this silent snow?
None can reply—all seems eternal now.
This wilderness has a mysterious tongue
Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild
So simple, so serene that man may be
80In such a faith with Nature reconciled.
Ye have a doctrine Mountains to repeal
Large codes of fraud & woe—not understood
By all, but which the wise & great & good
Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.
85The fields, the lakes, the forests & the streams
Ocean, & all the living things that dwell
Within the dædal Earth, lightning & rain,
Earthquake & lava flood & hurricane—
The torpor of the year, when feeble dreams
90Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep
Holds every future leaf & flower—the bound
With which from that detested trance they leap;
The works & ways of man, thier death & birth
And that of him, & all that his may be,
95All things that move & breathe with toil & sound
Are born & die, revolve subside & swell—
Power dwells apart in deep tranquillity,
Remote, sublime, & inaccessible,
And this, the naked countenance of Earth
100On which I gaze—even these primæval mountains
Teach the adverting mind.—the Glaciers creep
Like snakes that watch thier prey, from thier far fountains
Slow rolling on:—there, many a precipice
Frost & the Sun in scorn of human power
105Have piled: dome, pyramid & pinnacle
A city of death, distinct with many a tower
And wall impregnable of shining ice … .
A city’s phantom … but a flood of ruin
Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky
110Rolls its eternal stream . . vast pines are strewing
Its destined path, or in the mangled soil
Branchless & shattered stand—the rocks drawn down
From yon remotest waste have overthrown
The limits of the dead & living world
115Never to be reclaimed—the dwelling place
Of insects beasts & birds becomes its spoil,
Thier food & thier retreat for ever gone
So much of life & joy is lost—the race
Of man flies far in dread. his work & dwelling
120Vanish like smoke before the tempests stream
And thier place is not known:—below, vast caves
Shine in the gushing torrents’ restless gleam
Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling
Meet in the vale—& one majestic river
125The breath & blood of distant lands, forever
Rolls its loud waters to the Ocean waves
Breathes its swift vapours to the circling air.
Mont Blanc yet gleams on high—the Power is there
The still & solemn Power of many sights
130And many sounds, & much of life & death.
In the calm darkness of the moonless nights
Or the lone light of day the snows descend
Upon that mountain—none beholds them there—
Nor when the sunset wraps thier flakes in fire
135Or the starbeams dart thro them—winds contend
Silently there, & heap the snows, with breath
Blasting & swift—but silently—its home
The voiceless lightning in these solitudes
Keeps innocently, & like vapour broods
140Over the snow. the secret strength of things
Which governs thought, & to the infinite dome
Of Heaven is as a collumn, rests on thee,
And what were thou & Earth & Stars & Sea
If to the human minds imaginings
145Silence and solitude were Vacancy
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 ——— ——–
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 Faëry,
Earning bright spoils for her inchanted dome;
5Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame become
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.
10The 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,
15Water-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.
Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear Friend, when first
20The 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
25From the near school-room, voices, that, alas!
Were but one echo from a world of woes—
The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.
And then I clasped my hands and looked around—
But none was near to mock my streaming eyes,
30Which 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 tyrannise
35Without reproach or check.’ I then controuled
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
40I cared to learn, but from that secret store
Wrought linked armour for my soul, before
It might walk forth to war among mankind;
Thus power and hope were strengthened more and more
Within me, till there came upon my mind
45A sense of loneliness, a thirst with which I pined.
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
50Over 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.
55Thou Friend, whose presence on my wintry heart
Fell, like bright Spring upon some herbless plain;
How beautiful and calm and free thou wert
In thy young wisdom, when the mortal chain
Of Custom thou didst burst and rend in twain,
60And 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.
No more alone through the world’s wilderness,
65Although I trod the paths of high intent,
I journeyed now: no more companionless,
Where solitude is like despair, I went.—
There is the wisdom of a stern content
When Poverty can blight the just and good,
70When Infamy dares mock the innocent,
And cherished friends turn with the multitude
To trample: this was ours, and we unshaken stood!
Now has descended a serener hour,
And with inconstant fortune, friends return;
75Tho’ 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 morn;
80And these delights, and thou, have been to me
The 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 lingers
85Soon pause in silence, ne’er to sound again,
Tho’ it might shake the Anarch Custom’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,
90And Death and Love are yet contending for their prey.
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,
95And in thy sweetest smiles, and in thy tears,
And in thy gentle speech, a prophecy
Is whispered, to subdue my fondest fears:
And thro’ thine eyes, even in thy soul I see
A lamp of vestal fire burning internally.
100They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth,
Of glorious parents, thou aspiring Child.
I wonder not—for One then left this earth
Whose life was like a setting planet mild,
Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled
105Of its departing glory; still her fame
Shines on thee, thro’ the tempests dark and wild
Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim
The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name.
One voice came forth from many a mighty spirit,
110Which was the echo of three thousand years;
And the tumultuous world stood mute to hear it,
As some lone man who in a desart hears
The music of his home:—unwonted fears
Fell on the pale oppressors of our race,
115And Faith, and Custom, and low-thoughted cares,
Like thunder-stricken dragons, for a space
Left the torn human heart, their food and dwelling-place.
Truth’s deathless voice pauses among mankind!
If there must be no response to my cry—
120If men must rise and stamp with fury blind
On his pure name who loves them,—thou and I,
Sweet Friend! can look from our tranquillity
Like lamps into the world’s tempestuous night,—
Two tranquil stars, while clouds are passing by
125Which wrap them from the foundering seaman’s sight,
That burn from year to year with unextinguished light.
Thy voice, slow rising like a spirit, lingers
O’er-shadowing me with soft and lulling wings;
The blood and life within thy snowy fingers
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings.
5 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;
10As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies,
I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies.
I have no life, Constantia, but in thee;
Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song
Flows on, and fills all things with melody:
15Now is thy voice a tempest, swift and strong,
On which, as one in trance upborne,
Secure o’er woods and waves I sweep
Rejoicing, like a cloud of morn:
Now ’tis the breath of summer’s night
20 Which, where the starry waters sleep
Round western isles with incense blossoms bright,
Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.
A deep and breathless awe, like the swift change
Of dreams unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers;
25Wild, sweet, yet incommunicably strange,
Thou breathest now, in fast ascending numbers:
The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven
By the enchantment of thy strain,
And o’er my shoulders wings are woven
30 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 past, and disappear.
Cease, cease—for such wild lessons madmen learn:
35Long thus to sink—thus to be lost and die
Perhaps is death indeed—Constantia turn!
Yes! in thine eyes a power like light doth lie,
Even though the sounds its voice that were
Between thy lips are laid to sleep—
40 Within thy breath and on thy hair
Like odour it is lingering yet—
And from thy touch like fire doth leap:
Even while I write my burning cheeks are wet—
Such things the heart can feel and learn, but not forget!
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—‘Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart … Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
5And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
10“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,
Look on my Works ye Mighty, and despair!”
No thing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’—
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
5Day 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,
10Big with clouds, hangs heavily,
And behind the tempest fleet
Hurries on with lightning feet,
Riving sail, and cord, and plank,
Till the ship has almost drank
15Death 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
20Of a dark and distant shore
Still recedes, as ever still
Longing with divided will,
But no power to seek or shun,
He is ever drifted on
25O’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;
30Wander wheresoe’er he may,
Can he dream before that day
To find refuge from distress
In friendship’s smile, in love’s caress?
Then ’twill wreak him little woe
35Whether 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;
40Every little living nerve
That from bitter words did swerve
Round the tortured lips and brow,
Are like sapless leaflets now
Frozen upon December’s bough.
45On the beach of a northern sea
Which tempests shake eternally,
As once the wretch there lay to sleep,
Lies a solitary heap,
One white skull and seven dry bones,
50On the margin of the stones,
Where a few grey rushes stand,
Boundaries of the sea and land:
Nor is heard one voice of wail
But the sea-mews, as they sail
55O’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:
60Those unburied bones around
There is many a mournful sound;
There is no lament for him,
Like a sunless vapour dim
Who once clothed with life and thought
65What now moves nor murmurs not.
Aye, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony:
To such a one this morn was led
My bark by soft winds piloted—
70’Mid the mountains Euganean
I stood listening to the paean
With which the legioned rooks did hail
The sun’s uprise majestical;
Gathering round with wings all hoar,
75Thro’ the dewy mist they soar
Like grey shades, till th’ eastern heaven
Bursts, and then, as clouds of even
Flecked with fire and azure lie
In the unfathomable sky,
80So their plumes of purple grain,
Starred with drops of golden rain,
Gleam above the sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning’s fitful gale
85Thro’ the broken mist they sail,
And the vapours cloven and gleaming
Follow down the dark steep streaming,
Till all is bright, and clear, and still,
Round the solitary hill.
90Beneath is spread like a green sea
The waveless plain of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air,
Islanded by cities fair;
Underneath day’s azure eyes
95Ocean’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.
100Lo! the sun upsprings behind,
Broad, red, radiant, half reclined
On the level quivering line
Of the waters chrystalline;
And before that chasm of light,
105As 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
110To the sapphire-tinted skies;
As the flames of sacrifice
From the marble shrines did rise,
As to pierce the dome of gold
Where Apollo spoke of old.
115Sun-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
120Hallow so thy watery bier.
A less drear ruin then than now,
With thy conquest-branded brow
Stooping to the slave of slaves
From thy throne, among the waves
125Wilt thou be, when the sea-mew
Flies, as once before it flew,
O’er thine isles depopulate,
And all is in its antient state,
Save where many a palace gate
130With green sea-flowers overgrown
Topples o’er the abandoned sea
As the tides change sullenly.
The fisher on his watery way,
135Wandering 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,
140Lead a rapid masque of death
O’er the waters of his path.
Those who alone thy towers behold
Quivering through aerial gold,
As I now behold them here,
145Would imagine not they were
Sepulchres, where human forms,
Like pollution-nourished worms
To the corpse of greatness cling,
Murdered, and now mouldering:
150But if Freedom should awake
In her omnipotence, and shake
From the Celtic Anarch’s hold
All the keys of dungeons cold,
Where a hundred cities lie
155Chained like thee, ingloriously,
Thou and all thy sister band
Might adorn this sunny land,
Twining memories of old time
With new virtues more sublime;
160If not, perish thou and they!—
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,
165From your dust new nations spring
With more kindly blossoming.
Perish—let there only be
Floating o’er thy hearthless sea
As the garment of the sky
170Clothes the world immortally,
Than the tattered pall of time
Which scarce hides thy visage wan;—
That a tempest-cleaving Swan
175Of 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
180That its joy grew his, and sprung
From his lips like music flung
O’er a mighty thunder-fit,
Chastening terror:—what though yet
Poesy’s unfailing River,
185Which thro’ Albion winds forever
Lashing with melodious wave
Many a sacred Poet’s grave,
Mourn its latest nursling fled?
What though thou with all thy dead
190Scarce can for this fame repay
Aught thine own? oh, rather say
Though thy sins and slaveries foul
Overcloud a sunlike soul?
As the ghost of Homer clings
195Round Scamander’s wasting springs;
As divinest Shakespeare’s might
Fills Avon and the world with light
Like Omniscient power which he
Imaged ’mid mortality;
200As the love from Petrarch’s urn
Yet amid yon hills doth burn,
A quenchless lamp by which the heart
Sees things unearthly;—so thou art,
Mighty Spirit—so shall be
205The 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;
210From the sea a mist has spread,
And the beams of morn lie dead
Like its glory long ago.
By the skirts of that grey cloud
215Many-domed Padua proud
Stands, a peopled solitude,
’Mid the harvest-shining plain,
Where the peasant heaps his grain
In the garner of his foe,
220And the milk-white oxen slow
With the purple vintage strain,
Heaped upon the creaking wain,
That the brutal Celt may swill
Drunken sleep with savage will;
225And the sickle to the sword
Lies unchanged, though many a lord,
Like a weed whose shade is poison,
Overgrows this region’s foizon,
Sheaves of whom are ripe to come
230To destruction’s harvest home:
Men must reap the things they sow,
Force from force must ever flow,
Or worse; but ’tis a bitter woe
That love or reason cannot change
235The despot’s rage, the slave’s revenge.
Padua, thou within whose walls
Those mute guests at festivals,
Son and Mother, Death and Sin,
Played at dice for Ezzelin,
240Till Death cried, ‘I win, I win!’
And Sin cursed to lose the wager,
But Death promised, to assuage her,
That he would petition for
Her to be made Vice-Emperor,
245When 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,
250And since that time, aye, long before,
Both have ruled from shore to shore,
That incestuous pair, who follow
Tyrants as the sun the swallow,
As Repentance follows Crime,
255And 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,
260It gleams betrayed and to betray:
Once remotest nations came
To adore that sacred flame,
When it lit not many a hearth
On this cold and gloomy earth:
265Now 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,
270In the depth of piny dells,
One light flame among the brakes,
While the boundless forest shakes,
And its mighty trunks are torn
By the fire thus lowly born:
275The spark beneath his feet is dead,
He starts to see the flames it fed
Howling through the darkened sky
With a myriad tongues victoriously,
And sinks down in fear: so thou,
280O tyranny, beholdest now
Light around thee, and thou hearest
The loud flames ascend, and fearest:
Grovel on the earth: aye, hide
In the dust thy purple pride!
285Noon descends around me now:
’Tis the noon of autumn’s glow,
When a soft and purple mist
Like a vaporous amethyst,
290Mingling light and fragrance, far
From the curved horizon’s bound
To the point of heaven’s profound,
And the plains that silent lie
295Underneath, 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,
300Piercing with their trellised lines
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness;
The dun and bladed grass no less,
Pointing from this hoary tower
In the windless air; the flower
305Glimmering 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;
310And of living things each one;
And my spirit which so long
Darkened this swift stream of song,
Interpenetrated lie
By the glory of the sky:
315Be it love, light, harmony,
Odour, or the soul of all
Which from heaven like dew doth fall,
Or the mind which feeds this verse
Peopling the lone universe.
320Noon descends, and after noon
Autumn’s evening meets me soon,
Leading the infantine moon,
And that one star, which to her
Almost seems to minister
325Half 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
330’Mid remembered agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being)
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing,
And its antient pilot, Pain,
Sits beside the helm again.
335Other flowering isles must be
In the sea of life and agony:
Other spirits float and flee
O’er that gulph: even now, perhaps,
On some rock the wild wave wraps,
340With folded wings they waiting sit
For my bark, to pilot it
To some calm and blooming cove,
Where for me, and those I love,
May a windless bower be built,
345Far 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,
350And the light and smell divine
Of all flowers that breathe and shine:
We may live so happy there,
That the spirits of the air,
Envying us, may even entice
355To 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
360On the uplifted soul, and leaves
Under which the bright sea heaves;
While each breathless interval
In their whisperings musical
The inspired soul supplies
365With 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:
370They, not it, would change; and soon
Every sprite beneath the moon
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again.