Mass'd into ruin, and all sweet flowers. Whose coarse leaves were splash'd with many a speck, Like the water-snake's belly and the toad's back. And agaries and fungi, with mildew and mould, Dammed it up with roots knotted like watersnakes. And hour by hour, when the air was still, For winter came: the wind was his whip: Que choppy finger was on his lip: He had torn the cataracts from the hills, But the mandrakes, and toadstools, and docks, and darnels, Rose like the dead from their ruined charnels. CONCLUSION. WHETHER the Sensitive Plant, or that Which within its boughs like a spirit sat Ere its outward form had known decay, Now felt this change, I cannot say. Whether that lady's gentle mind, No longer with the form combined Which scattered love, as stars do light, Found sadness, where it left delight, I dare not guess; but in this life Of error, ignorance, and strife, Where nothing is, but all things seem, And we the shadows of the dream, It is a modest creed, and yet Pleasant, if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery. That garden sweet, that lady fair, And all sweet shapes and odours there, In truth have never pass'd away: 'Tis we, 'tis ours, are changed; not they. For love, and beauty, and delight, There is no death nor change: their might Exceeds our organs, which endure No light, being themselves obscure. LOVE. THOU art the wine whose drunkenness is all THE UNATTAINED. weak To thirst and find no fill-to wail and wander With short unsteady steps-to pause and ponderTo feel the blood run through the veins and tingle Where busy thought and blind sensation mingle; To nurse the image of unfelt caresses Till dim imagination just possesses The half-created shadow. DEDICATION TO "THE REVOLT OF ISLAM." So now my summer task is ended, Mary, And I return to thee, mine own heart's home; As to his queen some victor knight of faery, Earning bright spoils for her enchanted dome; Nor thou disdain, that ere 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 [light. With thy beloved name, thou child of love and The toil which stole from thee so many an hour Is ended. And the fruit is at thy feet! No longer where the woods to frame a bower With interlaced branches mix and meet, Or where, with sound like many voices sweet, Water-falls leap among wild islands green, Which framed for my lone boat a lone retreat Of moss-grown trees and weeds, shall I be seen: But beside thee, where still my heart has ever been. Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, when first The clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. I do remember well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep: a fresh Maydawn it was, When I walk'd forth upon the glittering grass, And wept I knew not why; until there rose From the near school-room, voices, that alas! Were but one echo from a world of woes, The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. And then I clasp'd my hands and look'd aroundBut none was near to mock my streaming eyes, Which pour'd the warm drops on the sunny ground So without shame, I spake : I will be wise, And from that hour did I with earnest thought Within me, till there came upon my mind Alas, that love should be a blight and snare Thou friend, whose presence on my wintery heart 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, Although I trod the paths of high intent, I journey'd now: ho 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, When infamy dares mock the innocent, And cherish'd 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; Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power, Which says:-let scorn be not repaid with scorn. And from thy side two gentle babes are born To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we Most fortunate beneath life's beaming morn; And 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 to a loftier strain? Or must the lyre on which my spirit lingers Soon pause in silence ne'er to sound again, Though it might shake the anarch Custom's reign, And charm the minds of men to Truth's own sway, Holier than was Amphion's? it would fain Reply in hope-but I am worn away, [prey. And death and love are yet contending for their And what art thou? I know, but dare not speak: They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, claim [wild The shelter from thy sire, of an immortal name. One voice came forth from many a mighty spirit, Which was the echo of three thousand years; And the tumultuous world stood mute to hear it, As some lone man, who in a desert hears Truth's deathless voice pauses among mankind! [light. That burn from year to year with unextinguished FROM "ALASTOR, OR THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE." THERE was a poet, whose untimely tomb By solemn vision, and bright silver dream, To avarice or pride, their starry domes Frequent with crystal column, and clear shrines His wandering step, Obedient to high thoughts, has visited Athens, and Tyre, and Balbec, and the waste Memphis and Thebes, and whatsoe'er of strange Or jasper tomb, or mutilated sphynx, Of more than man, where marble demons watch Of the world's youth; through the long burning day ALASTOR AND THE SWAN. AT length upon the lone Chorasmian shore He paused, a wide and melancholy waste Of putrid marshes. A strong impulse urged His steps to the sea-shore. A swan was there, Beside a sluggish stream among the reeds. It rose as he approach'd, and with strong wings Scaling the upward sky, bent its bright course High over the immeasurable main. His eyes pursued its flight. Thou hast a home, Beautiful bird! thou voyagest to thine home, Where thy sweet mate will twine her downy neck With thine, and welcome thy return with eyes Bright in the lustre of their own fond joy. And what am I that I should linger here, With voice far sweeter than thy dying notes, Spirit more vast than thine, frame more attuned To beauty, wasting these surpassing powers In the deaf air, to the blind earth, and heaven That echoes not my thoughts?" A gloomy smile Of desperate hope wrinkled his quivering lips. For sleep, he knew, kept inost relentlessly Its precious charge, and silent death exposed, Faithless perhaps as sleep, a shadowy lure, With doubtful smile mocking its own strange charms. FROM "THE REVOLT OF ISLAM." Ir was a temple, such as mortal hand "T was likest heaven, ere yet day's purple stream Is gathering, when with many a golden beam The thronging constellations rush in crowds, Paving with fire the sky and the Marmoreal floods. Like what may be conceived of this vast dome, When from the depths which thought can seldom pierce, Genius beholds it rise, his native home, Girt by the deserts of the universe; Yet, nor in paintings light, or mightier verse, Winding among the lawny islands fair, A glimmering o'er the forms on every side, Sculptures like life and thought; immovable, deepeyed. We came to a vast hall, whose glorious roof Was diamond, which had drunk the lightning's sheen In darkness, and now pour'd it through the woof Ten thousand columns in that quivering light A tale of passionate change, divinely taught, Which in their winged dance unconscious genii wrought. Beneath there sate on many a sapphire throne And ardent youths, and children bright and fair; And some had lyres, whose strings were intertwined With pale and clinging flames, which ever there Walk'd, faint yet thrilling sounds, that pierced the crystal air. One seat was vacant in the midst, a throne Rear'd on a pyramid, like sculptured flame Distinct, with circling steps, which rested on Their own deep fire-soon as the woman came Into that hall, she shriek'd the spirit's name And fell; and vanish'd slowly from the sight. Darkness arose from her dissolving frame, Which gathering fill'd that dome of woven light, Blotting its sphered stars with supernatural night. Then first, two glittering lights were seen to glide In circles on the amethystine floor, Small serpent eyes wailing from side to side, Like meteors on a river's grassy shore, They round each other roll'd, dilating more And more, then rose commingling into one, One clear and mighty planet, hanging o'er A cloud of deepest shadow, which was thrown Athwart the glowing steps, and the crystalline throne. The cloud which rested on that cone of flame Was cloven; beneath the planet sate a form, Fairer than tongue can speak, or thought may frame, The radiance of whose limbs rose-like and warm Flow'd forth, and did with softest light inform The shadowy dome, the sculptures and the state Of those assembled shapes-with clinging charm, Sinking upon their hearts and mine. He sate Majestic, yet most mild-calm, yet compassionate. HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. THE awful shadow of some unseen power Floats though unseen among us; visiting This various world with as inconstant wing As summer winds that creep from flower to flower; Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower, It visits with inconstant glance Each human heart and countenance; Like hues and harmonies of evening, Like clouds in starlight widely spread, Like memory of music fled, Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery. Spirit of beauty, that dost consecrate With thine own hues ali thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art thou gone? Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate ? Ask why the sunlight not for ever Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river: Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown; Why fear and dream and death and birth Cast on the daylight of this earth Such gloom, why man has such a scope For love and hate, despondency and hope? No voice from some sublimer world hath ever to sever, From all we hear and all we see, Doubt, chance, and mutability. Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains driven, Through strings of some still instrument, Love, hope, and self-esteem, like clouds, depart Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart. Thou messenger of sympathies That wax and wane in lover's eyes; Thou, that to human thought art nourishment, Like darkness to a dying flame! Depart not as thy shadow came: While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing I shriek'd, and clasp'd my hands in ecstasy! I vow'd that I would dedicate my powers To thee and thine: have I not kept the vow? With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now I call the phantoms of a thousand hours Each from his voiceless grave: they have in vision'd bowers Of studious zeal or loves delight Outwatch'd with me the envious night: When noon is past: there is a harmony Which through the summer is not heard or seen, SONG. RARELY, rarely, comest thou, Many a day and night? Win thee back again? Even the sighs of grief Thou wilt come for pleasure. Pity, then, will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of delight! The fresh earth in new leaves drest, I love snow, and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms, Which is nature's, and may be I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; What difference? but thou dost possess I love Love-though he has wings, Thou art love and life! Oh come, DEATH AND SLEEP. How wonderful is Death, Death and his brother Sleep! One, pale as yonder waning moon, With lips of lurid blue; When throned on ocean's wave, Yet both so passing wonderful! |