Three random poems from PoetryDB
PART 1. There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel, Had grown quite weak and gray before his time; Nor any could the restless griefs unravel Which burned within him, withering up his prime And goading him, like fiends, from land to land. Not his the load of any secret crime, For nought of ill his heart could understand, But pity and wild sorrow for the same;-- Not his the thirst for glory or command, Baffled with blast of hope-consuming shame; Nor evil joys which fire the vulgar breast, And quench in speedy smoke its feeble flame, Had left within his soul their dark unrest: Nor what religion fables of the grave Feared he,--Philosophy's accepted guest. For none than he a purer heart could have, Or that loved good more for itself alone; Of nought in heaven or earth was he the slave. What sorrow, strange, and shadowy, and unknown, Sent him, a hopeless wanderer, through mankind?-- If with a human sadness he did groan, He had a gentle yet aspiring mind; Just, innocent, with varied learning fed; And such a glorious consolation find In others' joy, when all their own is dead: He loved, and laboured for his kind in grief, And yet, unlike all others, it is said That from such toil he never found relief. Although a child of fortune and of power, Of an ancestral name the orphan chief, His soul had wedded Wisdom, and her dower Is love and justice, clothed in which he sate Apart from men, as in a lonely tower, Pitying the tumult of their dark estate.-- Yet even in youth did he not e'er abuse The strength of wealth or thought, to consecrate Those false opinions which the harsh rich use To blind the world they famish for their pride; Nor did he hold from any man his dues, But, like a steward in honest dealings tried, With those who toiled and wept, the poor and wise, His riches and his cares he did divide. Fearless he was, and scorning all disguise, What he dared do or think, though men might start, He spoke with mild yet unaverted eyes; Liberal he was of soul, and frank of heart, And to his many friends--all loved him well-- Whate'er he knew or felt he would impart, If words he found those inmost thoughts to tell; If not, he smiled or wept; and his weak foes He neither spurned nor hated--though with fell And mortal hate their thousand voices rose, They passed like aimless arrows from his ear-- Nor did his heart or mind its portal close To those, or them, or any, whom life's sphere May comprehend within its wide array. What sadness made that vernal spirit sere?-- He knew not. Though his life, day after day, Was failing like an unreplenished stream, Though in his eyes a cloud and burthen lay, Through which his soul, like Vesper's serene beam Piercing the chasms of ever rising clouds, Shone, softly burning; though his lips did seem Like reeds which quiver in impetuous floods; And through his sleep, and o'er each waking hour, Thoughts after thoughts, unresting multitudes, Were driven within him by some secret power, Which bade them blaze, and live, and roll afar, Like lights and sounds, from haunted tower to tower O'er castled mountains borne, when tempest's war Is levied by the night-contending winds, And the pale dalesmen watch with eager ear;-- Though such were in his spirit, as the fiends Which wake and feed an everliving woe,-- What was this grief, which ne'er in other minds A mirror found,--he knew not--none could know; But on whoe'er might question him he turned The light of his frank eyes, as if to show He knew not of the grief within that burned, But asked forbearance with a mournful look; Or spoke in words from which none ever learned The cause of his disquietude; or shook With spasms of silent passion; or turned pale: So that his friends soon rarely undertook To stir his secret pain without avail;-- For all who knew and loved him then perceived That there was drawn an adamantine veil Between his heart and mind,--both unrelieved Wrought in his brain and bosom separate strife. Some said that he was mad, others believed That memories of an antenatal life Made this, where now he dwelt, a penal hell; And others said that such mysterious grief From God's displeasure, like a darkness, fell On souls like his, which owned no higher law Than love; love calm, steadfast, invincible By mortal fear or supernatural awe; And others,--''Tis the shadow of a dream Which the veiled eye of Memory never saw, 'But through the soul's abyss, like some dark stream Through shattered mines and caverns underground, Rolls, shaking its foundations; and no beam 'Of joy may rise, but it is quenched and drowned In the dim whirlpools of this dream obscure; Soon its exhausted waters will have found 'A lair of rest beneath thy spirit pure, O Athanase!--in one so good and great, Evil or tumult cannot long endure. So spake they: idly of another's state Babbling vain words and fond philosophy; This was their consolation; such debate Men held with one another; nor did he, Like one who labours with a human woe, Decline this talk: as if its theme might be Another, not himself, he to and fro Questioned and canvassed it with subtlest wit; And none but those who loved him best could know That which he knew not, how it galled and bit His weary mind, this converse vain and cold; For like an eyeless nightmare grief did sit Upon his being; a snake which fold by fold Pressed out the life of life, a clinging fiend Which clenched him if he stirred with deadlier hold;-- And so his grief remained--let it remain--untold. [1] PART 2. FRAGMENT 1. Prince Athanase had one beloved friend, An old, old man, with hair of silver white, And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds. He was the last whom superstition's blight Had spared in Greece--the blight that cramps and blinds,-- And in his olive bower at Oenoe Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds A fertile island in the barren sea, One mariner who has survived his mates Many a drear month in a great ship--so he With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates Of ancient lore, there fed his lonely being:-- 'The mind becomes that which it contemplates,'-- And thus Zonoras, by for ever seeing Their bright creations, grew like wisest men; And when he heard the crash of nations fleeing A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then, O sacred Hellas! many weary years He wandered, till the path of Laian's glen Was grass-grown--and the unremembered tears Were dry in Laian for their honoured chief, Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears:-- And as the lady looked with faithful grief From her high lattice o'er the rugged path, Where she once saw that horseman toil, with brief And blighting hope, who with the news of death Struck body and soul as with a mortal blight, She saw between the chestnuts, far beneath, An old man toiling up, a weary wight; And soon within her hospitable hall She saw his white hairs glittering in the light Of the wood fire, and round his shoulders fall; And his wan visage and his withered mien, Yet calm and gentle and majestical. And Athanase, her child, who must have been Then three years old, sate opposite and gazed In patient silence. FRAGMENT 2. Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds One amaranth glittering on the path of frost, When autumn nights have nipped all weaker kinds, Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tossed, Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost, The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child, With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild. And sweet and subtle talk they evermore, The pupil and the master, shared; until, Sharing that undiminishable store, The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran His teacher, and did teach with native skill Strange truths and new to that experienced man; Still they were friends, as few have ever been Who mark the extremes of life's discordant span. So in the caverns of the forest green, Or on the rocks of echoing ocean hoar, Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen By summer woodmen; and when winter's roar Sounded o'er earth and sea its blast of war, The Balearic fisher, driven from shore, Hanging upon the peaked wave afar, Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam, Piercing the stormy darkness, like a star Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam, Whilst all the constellations of the sky Seemed reeling through the storm...They did but seem-- For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, And far o'er southern waves, immovably Belted Orion hangs--warm light is flowing From the young moon into the sunset's chasm.-- 'O, summer eve! with power divine, bestowing 'On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm 'Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness, Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale,-- And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness,-- 'And the far sighings of yon piny dale Made vocal by some wind we feel not here.-- I bear alone what nothing may avail 'To lighten--a strange load!'--No human ear Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan Of Athanase, a ruffling atmosphere Of dark emotion, a swift shadow, ran, Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake, Glassy and dark.--And that divine old man Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake, Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest-- And with a calm and measured voice he spake, And, with a soft and equal pressure, pressed That cold lean hand:--'Dost thou remember yet When the curved moon then lingering in the west 'Paused, in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea? 'Tis just one year--sure thou dost not forget-- 'Then Plato's words of light in thee and me Lingered like moonlight in the moonless east, For we had just then read--thy memory 'Is faithful now--the story of the feast; And Agathon and Diotima seemed From death and dark forgetfulness released...' FRAGMENT 3. And when the old man saw that on the green Leaves of his opening ... a blight had lighted He said: 'My friend, one grief alone can wean A gentle mind from all that once delighted:-- Thou lovest, and thy secret heart is laden With feelings which should not be unrequited.' And Athanase ... then smiled, as one o'erladen With iron chains might smile to talk (?) of bands Twined round her lover's neck by some blithe maiden, And said... FRAGMENT 4. 'Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber, as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings, Stands up before its mother bright and mild, Of whose soft voice the air expectant seems-- So stood before the sun, which shone and smiled To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams, The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove Waxed green--and flowers burst forth like starry beams;-- The grass in the warm sun did start and move, And sea-buds burst under the waves serene:-- How many a one, though none be near to love, Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen In any mirror--or the spring's young minions, The winged leaves amid the copses green;-- How many a spirit then puts on the pinions Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast, And his own steps--and over wide dominions Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, More fleet than storms--the wide world shrinks below, When winter and despondency are past. FRAGMENT 5. 'Twas at this season that Prince Athanase Passed the white Alps--those eagle-baffling mountains Slept in their shrouds of snow;--beside the ways The waterfalls were voiceless--for their fountains Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now, Or by the curdling winds--like brazen wings Which clanged along the mountain's marble brow-- Warped into adamantine fretwork, hung And filled with frozen light the chasms below. Vexed by the blast, the great pines groaned and swung Under their load of -- ... ... Such as the eagle sees, when he dives down From the gray deserts of wide air, Athanase; and o'er his mien (?) was thrown The shadow of that scene, field after field, Purple and dim and wide... FRAGMENT 6. Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all We can desire, O Love! and happy souls, Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall, Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls Thousands who thirst for thine ambrosial dew;-- Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls Investeth it; and when the heavens are blue Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair The shadow of thy moving wings imbue Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear Beauty like some light robe;--thou ever soarest Among the towers of men, and as soft air In spring, which moves the unawakened forest, Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak, Thou floatest among men; and aye implorest That which from thee they should implore:--the weak Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts The strong have broken--yet where shall any seek A garment whom thou clothest not? the darts Of the keen winter storm, barbed with frost, Which, from the everlasting snow that parts The Alps from Heaven, pierce some traveller lost In the wide waved interminable snow Ungarmented,... ANOTHER FRAGMENT (A) Yes, often when the eyes are cold and dry, And the lips calm, the Spirit weeps within Tears bitterer than the blood of agony Trembling in drops on the discoloured skin Of those who love their kind and therefore perish In ghastly torture--a sweet medicine Of peace and sleep are tears, and quietly Them soothe from whose uplifted eyes they fall But... ANOTHER FRAGMENT (B) Her hair was brown, her sphered eyes were brown, And in their dark and liquid moisture swam, Like the dim orb of the eclipsed moon; Yet when the spirit flashed beneath, there came The light from them, as when tears of delight Double the western planet's serene flame.
All the names I know from nurse: Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse, Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock, And the Lady Hollyhock. Fairy places, fairy things, Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, Tiny trees for tiny dames-- These must all be fairy names! Tiny woods below whose boughs Shady fairies weave a house; Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme, Where the braver fairies climb! Fair are grown-up people's trees, But the fairest woods are these; Where, if I were not so tall, I should live for good and all.
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory and of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, and the mask Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth-- The smokeless altars of the mountain snows Flamed above crimson clouds, and at the birth Of light, the Ocean's orison arose, To which the birds tempered their matin lay. All flowers in field or forest which unclose Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day, Swinging their censers in the element, With orient incense lit by the new ray Burned slow and inconsumably, and sent Their odorous sighs up to the smiling air; And, in succession due, did continent, Isle, ocean, and all things that in them wear The form and character of mortal mould, Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear Their portion of the toil, which he of old Took as his own, and then imposed on them: But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem The cone of night, now they were laid asleep Stretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep Of a green Apennine: before me fled The night; behind me rose the day; the deep Was at my feet, and Heaven above my head,-- When a strange trance over my fancy grew Which was not slumber, for the shade it spread Was so transparent, that the scene came through As clear as when a veil of light is drawn O'er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew That I had felt the freshness of that dawn Bathe in the same cold dew my brow and hair, And sate as thus upon that slope of lawn Under the self-same bough, and heard as there The birds, the fountains and the ocean hold Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air, And then a vision on my train was rolled. ... As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay, This was the tenour of my waking dream:-- Methought I sate beside a public way Thick strewn with summer dust, and a great stream Of people there was hurrying to and fro, Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam, All hastening onward, yet none seemed to know Whither he went, or whence he came, or why He made one of the multitude, and so Was borne amid the crowd, as through the sky One of the million leaves of summer's bier; Old age and youth, manhood and infancy, Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, Some flying from the thing they feared, and some Seeking the object of another's fear; And others, as with steps towards the tomb, Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath, And others mournfully within the gloom Of their own shadow walked, and called it death; And some fled from it as it were a ghost, Half fainting in the affliction of vain breath: But more, with motions which each other crossed, Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw, Or birds within the noonday aether lost, Upon that path where flowers never grew,-- And, weary with vain toil and faint for thirst, Heard not the fountains, whose melodious dew Out of their mossy cells forever burst; Nor felt the breeze which from the forest told Of grassy paths and wood-lawns interspersed With overarching elms and caverns cold, And violet banks where sweet dreams brood, but they Pursued their serious folly as of old. And as I gazed, methought that in the way The throng grew wilder, as the woods of June When the south wind shakes the extinguished day, And a cold glare, intenser than the noon, But icy cold, obscured with blinding light The sun, as he the stars. Like the young moon-- When on the sunlit limits of the night Her white shell trembles amid crimson air, And whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might-- Doth, as the herald of its coming, bear The ghost of its dead mother, whose dim form Bends in dark aether from her infant's chair,-- So came a chariot on the silent storm Of its own rushing splendour, and a Shape So sate within, as one whom years deform, Beneath a dusky hood and double cape, Crouching within the shadow of a tomb; And o'er what seemed the head a cloud-like crape Was bent, a dun and faint aethereal gloom Tempering the light. Upon the chariot-beam A Janus-visaged Shadow did assume The guidance of that wonder-winged team; The shapes which drew it in thick lightenings Were lost:--I heard alone on the air's soft stream The music of their ever-moving wings. All the four faces of that Charioteer Had their eyes banded; little profit brings Speed in the van and blindness in the rear, Nor then avail the beams that quench the sun,-- Or that with banded eyes could pierce the sphere Of all that is, has been or will be done; So ill was the car guided--but it passed With solemn speed majestically on. The crowd gave way, and I arose aghast, Or seemed to rise, so mighty was the trance, And saw, like clouds upon the thunder-blast, The million with fierce song and maniac dance Raging around--such seemed the jubilee As when to greet some conqueror's advance Imperial Rome poured forth her living sea From senate-house, and forum, and theatre, When ... upon the free Had bound a yoke, which soon they stooped to bear. Nor wanted here the just similitude Of a triumphal pageant, for where'er The chariot rolled, a captive multitude Was driven;--all those who had grown old in power Or misery,--all who had their age subdued By action or by suffering, and whose hour Was drained to its last sand in weal or woe, So that the trunk survived both fruit and flower;-- All those whose fame or infamy must grow Till the great winter lay the form and name Of this green earth with them for ever low;-- All but the sacred few who could not tame Their spirits to the conquerors--but as soon As they had touched the world with living flame, Fled back like eagles to their native noon, Or those who put aside the diadem Of earthly thrones or gems... Were there, of Athens or Jerusalem. Were neither mid the mighty captives seen, Nor mid the ribald crowd that followed them, Nor those who went before fierce and obscene. The wild dance maddens in the van, and those Who lead it--fleet as shadows on the green, Outspeed the chariot, and without repose Mix with each other in tempestuous measure To savage music, wilder as it grows, They, tortured by their agonizing pleasure, Convulsed and on the rapid whirlwinds spun Of that fierce Spirit, whose unholy leisure Was soothed by mischief since the world begun, Throw back their heads and loose their streaming hair; And in their dance round her who dims the sun, Maidens and youths fling their wild arms in air As their feet twinkle; they recede, and now Bending within each other's atmosphere, Kindle invisibly--and as they glow, Like moths by light attracted and repelled, Oft to their bright destruction come and go, Till like two clouds into one vale impelled, That shake the mountains when their lightnings mingle And die in rain--the fiery band which held Their natures, snaps--while the shock still may tingle One falls and then another in the path Senseless--nor is the desolation single, Yet ere I can say WHERE--the chariot hath Passed over them--nor other trace I find But as of foam after the ocean's wrath Is spent upon the desert shore;--behind, Old men and women foully disarrayed, Shake their gray hairs in the insulting wind, And follow in the dance, with limbs decayed, Seeking to reach the light which leaves them still Farther behind and deeper in the shade. But not the less with impotence of will They wheel, though ghastly shadows interpose Round them and round each other, and fulfil Their work, and in the dust from whence they rose Sink, and corruption veils them as they lie, And past in these performs what ... in those. Struck to the heart by this sad pageantry, Half to myself I said--'And what is this? Whose shape is that within the car? And why--' I would have added--'is all here amiss?--' But a voice answered--'Life!'--I turned, and knew (O Heaven, have mercy on such wretchedness!) That what I thought was an old root which grew To strange distortion out of the hill side, Was indeed one of those deluded crew, And that the grass, which methought hung so wide And white, was but his thin discoloured hair, And that the holes he vainly sought to hide, Were or had been eyes:--'If thou canst forbear To join the dance, which I had well forborne,' Said the grim Feature, of my thought aware, 'I will unfold that which to this deep scorn Led me and my companions, and relate The progress of the pageant since the morn; 'If thirst of knowledge shall not then abate, Follow it thou even to the night, but I Am weary.'--Then like one who with the weight Of his own words is staggered, wearily He paused; and ere he could resume, I cried: 'First, who art thou?'--'Before thy memory, 'I feared, loved, hated, suffered, did and died, And if the spark with which Heaven lit my spirit Had been with purer nutriment supplied, 'Corruption would not now thus much inherit Of what was once Rousseau,--nor this disguise Stain that which ought to have disdained to wear it; 'If I have been extinguished, yet there rise A thousand beacons from the spark I bore'-- 'And who are those chained to the car?'--'The wise, 'The great, the unforgotten,--they who wore Mitres and helms and crowns, or wreaths of light, Signs of thought's empire over thought--their lore 'Taught them not this, to know themselves; their might Could not repress the mystery within, And for the morn of truth they feigned, deep night 'Caught them ere evening.'--'Who is he with chin Upon his breast, and hands crossed on his chain?'-- 'The child of a fierce hour; he sought to win 'The world, and lost all that it did contain Of greatness, in its hope destroyed; and more Of fame and peace than virtue's self can gain 'Without the opportunity which bore Him on its eagle pinions to the peak From which a thousand climbers have before 'Fallen, as Napoleon fell.'--I felt my cheek Alter, to see the shadow pass away, Whose grasp had left the giant world so weak That every pigmy kicked it as it lay; And much I grieved to think how power and will In opposition rule our mortal day, And why God made irreconcilable Good and the means of good; and for despair I half disdained mine eyes' desire to fill With the spent vision of the times that were And scarce have ceased to be.--'Dost thou behold,' Said my guide, 'those spoilers spoiled, Voltaire, 'Frederick, and Paul, Catherine, and Leopold, And hoary anarchs, demagogues, and sage-- names which the world thinks always old, 'For in the battle Life and they did wage, She remained conqueror. I was overcome By my own heart alone, which neither age, 'Nor tears, nor infamy, nor now the tomb Could temper to its object.'--'Let them pass,' I cried, 'the world and its mysterious doom 'Is not so much more glorious than it was, That I desire to worship those who drew New figures on its false and fragile glass 'As the old faded.'--'Figures ever new Rise on the bubble, paint them as you may; We have but thrown, as those before us threw, 'Our shadows on it as it passed away. But mark how chained to the triumphal chair The mighty phantoms of an elder day; 'All that is mortal of great Plato there Expiates the joy and woe his master knew not; The star that ruled his doom was far too fair. 'And life, where long that flower of Heaven grew not, Conquered that heart by love, which gold, or pain, Or age, or sloth, or slavery could subdue not. 'And near him walk the ... twain, The tutor and his pupil, whom Dominion Followed as tame as vulture in a chain. 'The world was darkened beneath either pinion Of him whom from the flock of conquerors Fame singled out for her thunder-bearing minion; 'The other long outlived both woes and wars, Throned in the thoughts of men, and still had kept The jealous key of Truth's eternal doors, 'If Bacon's eagle spirit had not lept Like lightning out of darkness--he compelled The Proteus shape of Nature, as it slept 'To wake, and lead him to the caves that held The treasure of the secrets of its reign. See the great bards of elder time, who quelled 'The passions which they sung, as by their strain May well be known: their living melody Tempers its own contagion to the vein 'Of those who are infected with it--I Have suffered what I wrote, or viler pain! And so my words have seeds of misery-- 'Even as the deeds of others, not as theirs.' And then he pointed to a company, 'Midst whom I quickly recognized the heirs Of Caesar's crime, from him to Constantine; The anarch chiefs, whose force and murderous snares Had founded many a sceptre-bearing line, And spread the plague of gold and blood abroad: And Gregory and John, and men divine, Who rose like shadows between man and God; Till that eclipse, still hanging over heaven, Was worshipped by the world o'er which they strode, For the true sun it quenched--'Their power was given But to destroy,' replied the leader:--'I Am one of those who have created, even 'If it be but a world of agony.'-- 'Whence camest thou? and whither goest thou? How did thy course begin?' I said, 'and why? 'Mine eyes are sick of this perpetual flow Of people, and my heart sick of one sad thought-- Speak!'--'Whence I am, I partly seem to know, 'And how and by what paths I have been brought To this dread pass, methinks even thou mayst guess;-- Why this should be, my mind can compass not; 'Whither the conqueror hurries me, still less;-- But follow thou, and from spectator turn Actor or victim in this wretchedness, 'And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learn From thee. Now listen:--In the April prime, When all the forest-tips began to burn 'With kindling green, touched by the azure clime Of the young season, I was laid asleep Under a mountain, which from unknown time 'Had yawned into a cavern, high and deep; And from it came a gentle rivulet, Whose water, like clear air, in its calm sweep 'Bent the soft grass, and kept for ever wet The stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the grove With sounds, which whoso hears must needs forget 'All pleasure and all pain, all hate and love, Which they had known before that hour of rest; A sleeping mother then would dream not of 'Her only child who died upon the breast At eventide--a king would mourn no more The crown of which his brows were dispossessed 'When the sun lingered o'er his ocean floor To gild his rival's new prosperity. 'Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore 'Ills, which if ills can find no cure from thee, The thought of which no other sleep will quell, Nor other music blot from memory, 'So sweet and deep is the oblivious spell; And whether life had been before that sleep The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell 'Like this harsh world in which I woke to weep, I know not. I arose, and for a space The scene of woods and waters seemed to keep, Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace Of light diviner than the common sun Sheds on the common earth, and all the place 'Was filled with magic sounds woven into one Oblivious melody, confusing sense Amid the gliding waves and shadows dun; 'And, as I looked, the bright omnipresence Of morning through the orient cavern flowed, And the sun's image radiantly intense 'Burned on the waters of the well that glowed Like gold, and threaded all the forest's maze With winding paths of emerald fire; there stood 'Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze Of his own glory, on the vibrating Floor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays, 'A Shape all light, which with one hand did fling Dew on the earth, as if she were the dawn, And the invisible rain did ever sing 'A silver music on the mossy lawn; And still before me on the dusky grass, Iris her many-coloured scarf had drawn: 'In her right hand she bore a crystal glass, Mantling with bright Nepenthe; the fierce splendour Fell from her as she moved under the mass 'Of the deep cavern, and with palms so tender, Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow, Glided along the river, and did bend her 'Head under the dark boughs, till like a willow Her fair hair swept the bosom of the stream That whispered with delight to be its pillow. 'As one enamoured is upborne in dream O'er lily-paven lakes, mid silver mist To wondrous music, so this shape might seem 'Partly to tread the waves with feet which kissed The dancing foam; partly to glide along The air which roughened the moist amethyst, 'Or the faint morning beams that fell among The trees, or the soft shadows of the trees; And her feet, ever to the ceaseless song 'Of leaves, and winds, and waves, and birds, and bees, And falling drops, moved in a measure new Yet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze, 'Up from the lake a shape of golden dew Between two rocks, athwart the rising moon, Dances i' the wind, where never eagle flew; 'And still her feet, no less than the sweet tune To which they moved, seemed as they moved to blot The thoughts of him who gazed on them; and soon 'All that was, seemed as if it had been not; And all the gazer's mind was strewn beneath Her feet like embers; and she, thought by thought, 'Trampled its sparks into the dust of death As day upon the threshold of the east Treads out the lamps of night, until the breath 'Of darkness re-illumine even the least Of heaven's living eyes--like day she came, Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased 'To move, as one between desire and shame Suspended, I said--If, as it doth seem, Thou comest from the realm without a name 'Into this valley of perpetual dream, Show whence I came, and where I am, and why-- Pass not away upon the passing stream. 'Arise and quench thy thirst, was her reply. And as a shut lily stricken by the wand Of dewy morning's vital alchemy, 'I rose; and, bending at her sweet command, Touched with faint lips the cup she raised, And suddenly my brain became as sand 'Where the first wave had more than half erased The track of deer on desert Labrador; Whilst the wolf, from which they fled amazed, 'Leaves his stamp visibly upon the shore, Until the second bursts;--so on my sight Burst a new vision, never seen before, 'And the fair shape waned in the coming light, As veil by veil the silent splendour drops From Lucifer, amid the chrysolite 'Of sunrise, ere it tinge the mountain-tops; And as the presence of that fairest planet, Although unseen, is felt by one who hopes 'That his day's path may end as he began it, In that star's smile, whose light is like the scent Of a jonquil when evening breezes fan it, 'Or the soft note in which his dear lament The Brescian shepherd breathes, or the caress That turned his weary slumber to content; 'So knew I in that light's severe excess The presence of that Shape which on the stream Moved, as I moved along the wilderness, 'More dimly than a day-appearing dream, The host of a forgotten form of sleep; A light of heaven, whose half-extinguished beam 'Through the sick day in which we wake to weep Glimmers, for ever sought, for ever lost; So did that shape its obscure tenour keep 'Beside my path, as silent as a ghost; But the new Vision, and the cold bright car, With solemn speed and stunning music, crossed 'The forest, and as if from some dread war Triumphantly returning, the loud million Fiercely extolled the fortune of her star. 'A moving arch of victory, the vermilion And green and azure plumes of Iris had Built high over her wind-winged pavilion, 'And underneath aethereal glory clad The wilderness, and far before her flew The tempest of the splendour, which forbade 'Shadow to fall from leaf and stone; the crew Seemed in that light, like atomies to dance Within a sunbeam;--some upon the new 'Embroidery of flowers, that did enhance The grassy vesture of the desert, played, Forgetful of the chariot's swift advance; 'Others stood gazing, till within the shade Of the great mountain its light left them dim; Others outspeeded it; and others made 'Circles around it, like the clouds that swim Round the high moon in a bright sea of air; And more did follow, with exulting hymn, 'The chariot and the captives fettered there:-- But all like bubbles on an eddying flood Fell into the same track at last, and were 'Borne onward.--I among the multitude Was swept--me, sweetest flowers delayed not long; Me, not the shadow nor the solitude; 'Me, not that falling stream's Lethean song; Me, not the phantom of that early Form Which moved upon its motion--but among 'The thickest billows of that living storm I plunged, and bared my bosom to the clime Of that cold light, whose airs too soon deform. 'Before the chariot had begun to climb The opposing steep of that mysterious dell, Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme 'Of him who from the lowest depths of hell, Through every paradise and through all glory, Love led serene, and who returned to tell 'The words of hate and awe; the wondrous story How all things are transfigured except Love; For deaf as is a sea, which wrath makes hoary, 'The world can hear not the sweet notes that move The sphere whose light is melody to lovers-- A wonder worthy of his rhyme.--The grove 'Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers, The earth was gray with phantoms, and the air Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers 'A flock of vampire-bats before the glare Of the tropic sun, bringing, ere evening, Strange night upon some Indian isle;--thus were 'Phantoms diffused around; and some did fling Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves, Behind them; some like eaglets on the wing 'Were lost in the white day; others like elves Danced in a thousand unimagined shapes Upon the sunny streams and grassy shelves; 'And others sate chattering like restless apes On vulgar hands,... Some made a cradle of the ermined capes 'Of kingly mantles; some across the tiar Of pontiffs sate like vultures; others played Under the crown which girt with empire 'A baby's or an idiot's brow, and made Their nests in it. The old anatomies Sate hatching their bare broods under the shade 'Of daemon wings, and laughed from their dead eyes To reassume the delegated power, Arrayed in which those worms did monarchize, 'Who made this earth their charnel. Others more Humble, like falcons, sate upon the fist Of common men, and round their heads did soar; Or like small gnats and flies, as thick as mist On evening marshes, thronged about the brow Of lawyers, statesmen, priest and theorist;-- 'And others, like discoloured flakes of snow On fairest bosoms and the sunniest hair, Fell, and were melted by the youthful glow 'Which they extinguished; and, like tears, they were A veil to those from whose faint lids they rained In drops of sorrow. I became aware 'Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stained The track in which we moved. After brief space, From every form the beauty slowly waned; 'From every firmest limb and fairest face The strength and freshness fell like dust, and left The action and the shape without the grace 'Of life. The marble brow of youth was cleft With care; and in those eyes where once hope shone, Desire, like a lioness bereft 'Of her last cub, glared ere it died; each one Of that great crowd sent forth incessantly These shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown 'In autumn evening from a poplar tree. Each like himself and like each other were At first; but some distorted seemed to be 'Obscure clouds, moulded by the casual air; And of this stuff the car's creative ray Wrought all the busy phantoms that were there, 'As the sun shapes the clouds; thus on the way Mask after mask fell from the countenance And form of all; and long before the day 'Was old, the joy which waked like heaven's glance The sleepers in the oblivious valley, died; And some grew weary of the ghastly dance, 'And fell, as I have fallen, by the wayside;-- Those soonest from whose forms most shadows passed, And least of strength and beauty did abide. 'Then, what is life? I cried.'-- STANZA, WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL. 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! 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. STANZAS.--APRIL, 1814. Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank 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 melancholy 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. 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.
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