XIX.

Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear;

If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

XxX.

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures

That in books are found,

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

XXI.

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,

Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow,

III.

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

now.

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

Of favouring heaven: from their enchanted caves Prophetic echoes flung dim melody

On the unapprehensive wild.

The vine, the corn, the olive mild, Grew, savage yet, to human use unreconciled; And like unfolded flowers beneath the sea, Like the man's thought dark in the infant'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 Ægean main

V.

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 garlanded, 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 latest oracle.

VI.

Within the surface of Time's fleeting river
Its wrinkled image lies, as then it lay
Immoveably unquiet, and for ever

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 asunder!
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 delight

renew.

VII.

Then Rome was, and from thy deep bosom fairest,
Like a wolf-cub from a Cadman Mænad*,
She drew the milk of greatness, though thy dearest
From that Elysian food was yet unweaned;
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. [ness,
But when tears stained thy robe of vestal white-
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. Palatinus 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.
[locks,
What if the tears rained through thy shattered
Were quickly dried? for thou didst groan, not
When from its sea of death to kill and burn, [weep,
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
That multitudinous anarchy did sweep, [majesty;
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 want traced on our earthly home Fit imagery to pave heaven's everlasting dome.

X.

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 In songs whose music cannot pass away, [queen, Though it must flow for ever: not unseen Before the spirit-sighted countenance

Of Milton didst thou pass, from the sad scene Beyond whose night he saw, with a dejected mien.

* See the Baccha of Euripides.

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 multitude, 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 exhalation Of its own glorious light, thou didst arise, 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 surprise, Under the lightnings of thine unfamiliar eyes.

XII.

Thou heaven of earth! what spells could pall thee In ominous eclipse? A thousand years, [then, Bred from the slime 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 sceptered 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 Of serene heaven. He, by the past pursued, [bowers 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 Etna, and the cold
Snow-crags by its reply are cloven in sunder:
O'er the lit waves every Æolian isle

From Pithecusa to Pelorus

Howls, and leaps, and glares in chorus: [us. They cry, Be dim, ye lamps of heaven suspended o'er Her chains are threads of gold, she need but smile

And they dissolve; but Spain's were links of Till bit to dust, by virtue's keenest file. [steel, 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 loveliness, Worships the thing thou wert! O Italy, Gather thy blood into thy heart; repress The beasts who make their dens thy sacred palaces.

XV.

O that the free would stamp the impious name
Of**** 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 gordian word,
Which, weak itself as stubble, yet can bind
Into a mass, irrefragably firm,

The axes and the rods which awe mankind;
The sound has poison in it, 'tis 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 worm.

XVI.

O 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 impure

Till human thoughts might kneel alone,
Each before the judgment-throne

Of its own aweless soul, or of the power unknown!
O that the words which make the thoughts obscure
From which they spring, as clouds of glimmer-
ing dew

From a white lake blot heaven's blue portraiture, Were stript of their thin masks and various hue, And frowns and smiles and splendours not their own, Till in the nakedness of false and true

They stand before their Lord, each to receive its due.

XVII,

He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever
Can be between the cradle and the grave,
Crowned him the King of Life. O vain endeavour!
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
Or what if art, an ardent intercessor, [seed?

Diving on fiery wings to Nature's throne, Checks the great mother stooping to caress her, And cries, give me, thy child, dominion Over all height and depth? if Life can breed [groan, New wants, and wealth from those who toil and Rend of thy gifts and hers a thousandfold for one.

XVIII.

Come thou, but lead out of the inmost cave
Of man's deep spirit, as the morning-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-apportioned 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 If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought [thee: 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 singing
To its abyss was suddenly withdrawn ;
Then as a wild swan, when sublimely winging
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 unburthened of their
As a far taper fades with fading night; [rain;
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 sustain, As waves which lately paved his watery way Hiss round a drowner's head in their tempestuous play.

ARETHUSA.

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 Erymanthus shook.

And the black south wind
It concealed 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.

"Oh, save me! Oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,
For he grasps me now by the hair!"
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.

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 net-work of coloured 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 rifts
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.

At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep

In the cave of the shelving hill;
At noon-tide 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.

PISA, 1820.

SONG OF PROSERPINE,

WHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF ENNA.

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.

THE sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,
Curtained with star-enwoven tapestries,
From the broad moonlight of the sky,

Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes,— Waken me when their Mother, the grey Dawn, Tells 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.

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.

I feed the clouds, the rainbows, and the flowers,
With their ethereal colours; 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 ?

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 their own right belong.

HYMN OF PAN.

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 to my sweet pipings.

Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Tempe lay

In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing

The light of the dying day,

This and the former poem were written at the request of a friend, to be inserted in a drama on the subject of Midas. Apollo and Pan contended before Tmolus for the prize in music.

Speeded with 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.

I sang of the dancing stars,

I sang of the dædal 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 Menalus

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.

I DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way, Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring, And gentle odours 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 mightest 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 blue bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, [wets When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears.

And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine,

Green cow-bind and the moonlight-coloured 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, wandering astray; And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold.

And nearer to the river's trembling edge

There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with And starry river buds among the sedge, [white, 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.

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 gay, I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it !-Oh! to whom?

THE TWO SPIRITS.

AN ALLEGORY.

FIRST SPIRIT.

O 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 at 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.

I see the light, and I hear the sound;

I'll 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 moonlight flight thou then may'st 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, for ever flies
Round those hoar branches, aye renewing
Its aëry fountains.

Some say when nights are dry and clear,

And the death-dews sleep on the morass, Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller, Which makes 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.