Prometheus Unbound

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MONARCH of Gods and Dæmons, and all Spirits

But One, who throng those bright and rolling worlds

Which Thou and I alone of living things

Behold with sleepless eyes! regard this Earth

Made multitudinous with thy slaves, whom thou

Requitest for knee-worship, prayer, and praise,

And toil, and hecatombs of broken hearts,

With fear and self-contempt and barren hope;

Whilst me, who am thy foe, eyeless in hate,

Hast thou made reign and triumph, to thy scorn,

O'er mine own misery and thy vain revenge.

Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours,

And moments aye divided by keen pangs

Till they seemed years, torture and solitude,

Scorn and despair--these are mine empire:

More glorious far than that which thou surveyest

From thine unenvied throne, O Mighty God!

Almighty, had I deigned to share the shame

Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here

Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling mountain,

Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured; without herb,

Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life.

Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, forever!

No change, no pause, no hope! Yet I endure.

I ask the Earth, have not the mountains felt?

I ask yon Heaven, the all-beholding Sun,

Has it not seen? The Sea, in storm or calm,

Heaven's ever-changing shadow, spread below,

Have its deaf waves not heard my agony?

Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, forever!

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The crawling glaciers pierce me with the spears

Of their moon-freezing crystals; the bright chains

Eat with their burning cold into my bones.

Heaven's wingèd hound, polluting from thy lips

His beak in poison not his own, tears up

My heart; and shapeless sights come wandering by,

The ghastly people of the realm of dream,

Mocking me; and the Earthquake-fiends are charged

To wrench the rivets from my quivering wounds

When the rocks split and close again behind;

While from their loud abysses howling throng

The genii of the storm, urging the rage

Of whirlwind, and afflict me with keen hail.

And yet to me welcome is day and night,

Whether one breaks the hoar-frost of the morn,

Or starry, dim, and slow, the other climbs

The leaden-colored east; for then they lead

The wingless, crawling hours, one among whom--

As some dark Priest hales the reluctant victim--

Shall drag thee, cruel King, to kiss the blood

From these pale feet, which then might trample thee

If they disdained not such a prostrate slave.

Disdain! Ah, no! I pity thee. What ruin

Will hunt thee undefended through the wide Heaven!

How will thy soul, cloven to its depth with terror,

Gape like a hell within! I speak in grief,

Not exultation, for I hate no more,

As then ere misery made me wise. The curse

Once breathed on thee I would recall. Ye Mountains,

Whose many-voicèd Echoes, through the mist

Of cataracts, flung the thunder of that spell!

Ye icy Springs, stagnant with wrinkling frost,

Which vibrated to hear me, and then crept

Shuddering through India! Thou serenest Air

Through which the Sun walks burning without beams!

And ye swift Whirlwinds, who on poisèd wings

Hung mute and moveless o'er yon hushed abyss,

As thunder, louder than your own, made rock

The orbèd world! If then my words had power,

Though I am changed so that aught evil wish

Is dead within; although no memory be

Of what is hate, let them not lose it now!

What was that curse? for ye all heard me speak.

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FIRST VOICE: from the Mountains
Thrice three hundred thousand years

O'er the earthquake's couch we stood;

Oft, as men convulsed with fears,

We trembled in our multitude.

SECOND VOICE: from the Springs
Thunderbolts had parched our water,

We had been stained with bitter blood,

And had run mute, 'mid shrieks of slaughter

Through a city and a solitude.

THIRD VOICE: from the Air
I had clothed, since Earth uprose,

Its wastes in colors not their own,

And oft had my serene repose

Been cloven by many a rending groan.

FOURTH VOICE: from the Whirlwinds
We had soared beneath these mountains

Unresting ages; nor had thunder,

Nor yon volcano's flaming fountains,

Nor any power above or under

Ever made us mute with wonder.

But never bowed our snowy crest

As at the voice of thine unrest.

Never such a sound before

To the Indian waves we bore.

A pilot asleep on the howling sea

Leaped up from the deck in agony,

And heard, and cried, 'Ah, woe is me!'

And died as mad as the wild waves be.

By such dread words from Earth to Heaven

My still realm was never riven;

When its wound was closed, there stood

Darkness o'er the day like blood.

And we shrank back: for dreams of ruin

To frozen caves our flight pursuing

Made us keep silence--thus--and thus--

Though silence is a hell to us.

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The tongueless caverns of the craggy hills

Cried, 'Misery!' then; the hollow Heaven replied,

'Misery!' And the Ocean's purple waves,

Climbing the land, howled to the lashing winds,

And the pale nations heard it, 'Misery!'

I hear a sound of voices; not the voice

Which I gave forth. Mother, thy sons and thou

Scorn him, without whose all-enduring will

Beneath the fierce omnipotence of Jove,

Both they and thou had vanished, like thin mist

Unrolled on the morning wind. Know ye not me,

The Titan? He who made his agony

The barrier to your else all-conquering foe?

O rock-embosomed lawns and snow-fed streams,

Now seen athwart frore vapors, deep below,

Through whose o'ershadowing woods I wandered once

With Asia, drinking life from her loved eyes;

Why scorns the spirit, which informs ye, now

To commune with me? me alone who checked,

As one who checks a fiend-drawn charioteer,

The falsehood and the force of him who reigns

Supreme, and with the groans of pining slaves

Fills your dim glens and liquid wildernesses:

Why answer ye not, still? Brethren!

They dare not.

Who dares? for I would hear that curse again.

Ha, what an awful whisper rises up!

'Tis scarce like sound; it tingles through the frame

As lightning tingles, hovering ere it strike.

Speak, Spirit! from thine inorganic voice

I only know that thou art moving near

And love. How cursed I him?

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How canst thou hear

Who knowest not the language of the dead?

Thou art a living spirit; speak as they.

I dare not speak like life, lest Heaven's fell King

Should hear, and link me to some wheel of pain

More torturing than the one whereon I roll.

Subtle thou art and good; and though the Gods

Hear not this voice, yet thou art more than God,

Being wise and kind: earnestly hearken now.

Obscurely through my brain, like shadows dim,

Sweep awful thoughts, rapid and thick. I feel

Faint, like one mingled in entwining love;

Yet 't is not pleasure.

No, thou canst not hear;

Thou art immortal, and this tongue is known

Only to those who die.

And what art thou,

O melancholy Voice?

I am the Earth,

Thy mother; she within whose stony veins,

To the last fibre of the loftiest tree

Whose thin leaves trembled in the frozen air,

Joy ran, as blood within a living frame,

When thou didst from her bosom, like a cloud

Of glory, arise, a spirit of keen joy!

And at thy voice her pining sons uplifted

Their prostrate brows from the polluting dust,

And our almighty Tyrant with fierce dread

Grew pale, until his thunder chained thee here.

Then--see those million worlds which burn and roll

Around us--their inhabitants beheld

My spherèd light wane in wide Heaven; the sea

Was lifted by strange tempest, and new fire

From earthquake-rifted mountains of bright snow

Shook its portentous hair beneath Heaven's frown;

Lightning and Inundation vexed the plains;

Blue thistles bloomed in cities; foodless toads

Within voluptuous chambers panting crawled.

When Plague had fallen on man and beast and worm,

And Famine; and black blight on herb and tree;

And in the corn, and vines, and meadow-grass,

Teemed ineradicable poisonous weeds

Draining their growth, for my wan breast was dry

With grief, and the thin air, my breath, was stained

With the contagion of a mother's hate

Breathed on her child's destroyer; ay, I heard

Thy curse, the which, if thou rememberest not,

Yet my innumerable seas and streams,

Mountains, and caves, and winds, and yon wide air,

And the inarticulate people of the dead,

Preserve, a treasured spell. We meditate

In secret joy and hope those dreadful words,

But dare not speak them.

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Venerable mother!

All else who live and suffer take from thee

Some comfort; flowers, and fruits, and happy sounds,

And love, though fleeting; these may not be mine.

But mine own words, I pray, deny me not.

They shall be told. Ere Babylon was dust,

The Magus Zoroaster, my dead child,

Met his own image walking in the garden.

That apparition, sole of men, he saw.

For know there are two worlds of life and death:

One that which thou beholdest; but the other

Is underneath the grave, where do inhabit

The shadows of all forms that think and live,

Till death unite them and they part no more;

Dreams and the light imaginings of men,

And all that faith creates or love desires,

Terrible, strange, sublime and beauteous shapes.

There thou art, and dost hang, a writhing shade,

'Mid whirlwind-peopled mountains; all the gods

Are there, and all the powers of nameless worlds,

Vast, sceptred phantoms; heroes, men, and beasts;

And Demogorgon, a tremendous gloom;

And he, the supreme Tyrant, on his throne

Of burning gold. Son, one of these shall utter

The curse which all remember. Call at will

Thine own ghost, or the ghost of Jupiter,

Hades or Typhon, or what mightier Gods

From all-prolific Evil, since thy ruin,

Have sprung, and trampled on my prostrate sons.

Ask, and they must reply: so the revenge

Of the Supreme may sweep through vacant shades,

As rainy wind through the abandoned gate

Of a fallen palace.

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Mother, let not aught

Of that which may be evil pass again

My lips, or those of aught resembling me.

Phantasm of Jupiter, arise, appear!

My wings are folded o'er mine ears;

My wings are crossèd o'er mine eyes;

Yet through their silver shade appears,

And through their lulling plumes arise,

A Shape, a throng of sounds.

May it be no ill to thee

O thou of many wounds!

Near whom, for our sweet sister's sake,

Ever thus we watch and wake.

The sound is of whirlwind underground,

Earthquake, and fire, and mountains cloven;

The shape is awful, like the sound,

Clothed in dark purple, star-inwoven.

A sceptre of pale gold,

To stay steps proud, o'er the slow cloud,

His veinèd hand doth hold.

Cruel he looks, but calm and strong,

Like one who does, not suffers wrong.

Why have the secret powers of this strange world

Driven me, a frail and empty phantom, hither

On direst storms? What unaccustomed sounds

Are hovering on my lips, unlike the voice

With which our pallid race hold ghastly talk

In darkness? And, proud sufferer, who art thou?

Tremendous Image! as thou art must be

He whom thou shadowest forth. I am his foe,

The Titan. Speak the words which I would hear,

Although no thought inform thine empty voice.

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Listen! And though your echoes must be mute,

Gray mountains, and old woods, and haunted springs,

Prophetic caves, and isle-surrounding streams,

Rejoice to hear what yet ye cannot speak.

A spirit seizes me and speaks within;

It tears me as fire tears a thunder-cloud.

See how he lifts his mighty looks! the Heaven

Darkens above.

He speaks! Oh, shelter me!

I see the curse on gestures proud and cold,

And looks of firm defiance, and calm hate,

And such despair as mocks itself with smiles,

Written as on a scroll: yet speak! Oh, speak!

Fiend, I defy thee! with a calm, fixed mind,

All that thou canst inflict I bid thee do;

Foul tyrant both of Gods and humankind,

One only being shalt thou not subdue.

Rain then thy plagues upon me here,

Ghastly disease, and frenzying fear;

And let alternate frost and fire

Eat into me, and be thine ire

Lightning, and cutting hail, and legioned forms

Of furies, driving by upon the wounding storms.

Ay, do thy worst! Thou art omnipotent.

O'er all things but thyself I gave thee power,

And my own will. Be thy swift mischiefs sent

To blast mankind, from yon ethereal tower.

Let thy malignant spirit move

In darkness over those I love;

On me and mine I imprecate

The utmost torture of thy hate;

And thus devote to sleepless agony,

This undeclining head while thou must reign on high.

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But thou, who art the God and Lord: O thou

Who fillest with thy soul this world of woe,

To whom all things of Earth and Heaven do bow

In fear and worship--all-prevailing foe!

I curse thee! let a sufferer's curse

Clasp thee, his torturer, like remorse;

Till thine Infinity shall be

A robe of envenomed agony;

And thine Omnipotence a crown of pain,

To cling like burning gold round thy dissolving brain!

Heap on thy soul, by virtue of this Curse,

Ill deeds; then be thou damned, beholding good;

Both infinite as is the universe,

And thou, and thy self-torturing solitude.

An awful image of calm power

Though now thou sittest, let the hour

Come, when thou must appear to be

That which thou art internally;

And after many a false and fruitless crime,

Scorn track thy lagging fall through boundless space and time!

Were these my words, O Parent?

They were thine.

It doth repent me; words are quick and vain;

Grief for awhile is blind, and so was mine.

I wish no living thing to suffer pain.

Misery, oh, misery to me,

That Jove at length should vanquish thee!

Wail, howl aloud, Land and Sea,

The Earth's rent heart shall answer ye!

Howl, Spirits of the living and the dead,

Your refuge, your defence, lies fallen and vanquishèd!

Lies fallen and vanquishèd!

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Fallen and vanquishèd!

Fear not: 't is but some passing spasm,

The Titan is unvanquished still.

But see, where through the azure chasm

Of yon forked and snowy hill,

Trampling the slant winds on high

With golden-sandalled feet, that glow

Under plumes of purple dye,

Like rose-ensanguined ivory,

A Shape comes now,

Stretching on high from his right hand

A serpent-cinctured wand.

'T is Jove's world-wandering herald, Mercury.

And who are those with hydra tresses

And iron wings, that climb the wind,

Whom the frowning God represses,--

Like vapors steaming up behind,

Clanging loud, an endless crowd?

These are Jove's tempest-walking hounds,

Whom he gluts with groans and blood,

When charioted on sulphurous cloud

He bursts Heaven's bounds.

Are they now led from the thin dead

On new pangs to be fed?

The Titan looks as ever, firm, not proud.

Ha! I scent life!

Let me but look into his eyes!

The hope of torturing him smells like a heap

Of corpses to a death-bird after battle.

Darest thou delay, O Herald! take cheer, Hounds

Of Hell: what if the Son of Maia soon

Should make us food and sport--who can please long

The Omnipotent?

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Back to your towers of iron,

And gnash, beside the streams of fire and wail,

Your foodless teeth. Geryon, arise! and Gorgon,

Chimæra, and thou Sphinx, subtlest of fiends,

Who ministered to Thebes Heaven's poisoned wine,

Unnatural love, and more unnatural hate:

These shall perform your task.

Oh, mercy! mercy!

We die with our desire! drive us not back!

Crouch then in silence.

Awful Sufferer!

To thee unwilling, most unwillingly

I come, by the great Father's will driven down,

To execute a doom of new revenge.

Alas! I pity thee, and hate myself

That I can do no more; aye from thy sight

Returning, for a season, Heaven seems Hell,

So thy worn form pursues me night and day,

Smiling reproach. Wise art thou, firm and good,

But vainly wouldst stand forth alone in strife

Against the Omnipotent; as yon clear lamps,

That measure and divide the weary years

From which there is no refuge, long have taught

And long must teach. Even now thy Torturer arms

With the strange might of unimagined pains

The powers who scheme slow agonies in Hell,

And my commission is to lead them here,

Or what more subtle, foul, or savage fiends

People the abyss, and leave them to their task.

Be it not so! there is a secret known

To thee, and to none else of living things,

Which may transfer the sceptre of wide Heaven,

The fear of which perplexes the Supreme.

Clothe it in words, and bid it clasp his throne

In intercession; bend thy soul in prayer,

And like a suppliant in some gorgeous fane,

Let the will kneel within thy haughty heart,

For benefits and meek submission tame

The fiercest and the mightiest.

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Evil minds

Change good to their own nature. I gave all

He has; and in return he chains me here

Years, ages, night and day; whether the Sun

Split my parched skin, or in the moony night

The crystal-wingèd snow cling round my hair;

Whilst my belovèd race is trampled down

By his thought-executing ministers.

Such is the tyrant's recompense. 'T is just.

He who is evil can receive no good;

And for a world bestowed, or a friend lost,

He can feel hate, fear, shame; not gratitude.

He but requites me for his own misdeed.

Kindness to such is keen reproach, which breaks

With bitter stings the light sleep of Revenge.

Submission thou dost know I cannot try.

For what submission but that fatal word,

The death-seal of mankind's captivity,

Like the Sicilian's hair-suspended sword,

Which trembles o'er his crown, would he accept,

Or could I yield? Which yet I will not yield.

Let others flatter Crime where it sis throned

In brief Omnipotence; secure are they;

For Justice, when triumphant, will weep down

Pity, not punishment, on her own wrongs,

Too much avenged by those who err. I wait,

Enduring thus, the retributive hour

Which since we spake is even nearer now.

But hark, the hell-hounds clamor: fear delay:

Behold! Heaven lowers under thy Father's frown.

Oh, that we might be spared; I to inflict,

And thou to suffer! Once more answer me.

Thou knowest not the period of Jove's power?

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I know but this, that it must come.


Thou canst not count thy years to come of pain!

They last while Jove must reign; nor more, nor less

Do I desire or fear.

Yet pause, and plunge

Into Eternity, where recorded time,

Even all that we imagine, age on age,

Seems but a point, and the reluctant mind

Flags wearily in its unending flight,

Till it sink, dizzy, blind, lot, shelterless;

Perchance it has not numbered the slow years

Which thou must spend in torture, unreprieved?

Perchance no thought can count them, yet they pass.

If thou mightst dwell among the Gods the while,

Lapped in voluptuous joy?

I would not quit

This bleak ravine, these unrepentant pains.

Alas! I wonder at, yet pity thee.

Pity the self-despising slaves of Heaven,

Not me, within whose mind sits peace serene,

As light in the sun, throned. How vain is talk!

Call up the fiends.

Oh, sister, look! White fire

Has cloven to the roots yon huge snow-loaded cedar;

How fearfully God's thunder howls behind!

I must obey his words and thine. Alas!

Most heavily remorse hangs at my heart!

See where the child of Heaven, with wingèd feet,

Runs down the slanted sunlight of the dawn.

Dear sister, close thy plumes over thine eyes

Lest thou behold and die; they come--they come--

Blackening the birth of day with countless wings,

And hollow underneath, like death.

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Immortal Titan!

Champion of Heaven's slaves!

He whom some dreadful voice invokes is here,

Prometheus, the chained Titan. Horrible forms,

What and who are ye? Never yet there came

Phantasms so foul through monster-teeming Hell

From the all-miscreative brain of Jove.

Whilst I behold such execrable shapes,

Methinks I grow like what I contemplate,

And laugh and stare in loathsome sympathy.

We are the ministers of pain, and fear,

And disappointment, and mistrust, and hate,

And clinging crime; and as lean dogs pursue

Through wood and lake some struck and sobbing fawn,

We track all things that weep, and bleed, and live,

When the great King betrays them to our will.

O many fearful natures in one name,

I know ye; and these lakes and echoes know

The darkness and the clangor of your wings!

But why more hideous than your loathèd selves

Gather ye up in legions from the deep?

We knew not that. Sisters, rejoice, rejoice!

Can aught exult in its deformity?

The beauty of delight makes lovers glad,

Gazing on one another: so are we.

As from the rose which the pale priestess kneels

To gather for her festal crown of flowers

The aërial crimson falls, flushing her cheek,

So from our victim's destined agony

The shade which is our form invests us round;

Else we are shapeless as our mother Night.

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I laugh your power, and his who sent you here,

To lowest scorn. Pour forth the cup of pain.

Thou thinkest we will rend thee bone from bone

And nerve from nerve, working like fire within?

Pain is my element, as hate is thine;

Ye rend me now; I care not.

Dost imagine

We will but laugh into thy lidless eyes?

I weigh not what ye do, but what ye suffer,

Being evil. Cruel was the power which called

You, or aught else so wretched, into light.

Thou think'st we will live through thee, one by one,

Like animal life, and though we can obscure not

The soul which burns within, that we will dwell

Beside it, like a vain loud multitude,

Vexing the self-content of wisest men;

That we will be dread thought beneath thy brain,

And foul desire round thine astonished heart,

And blood within thy labyrinthine veins

Crawling like agony?

Why, ye are thus now;

Yet am I king over myself, and rule

The torturing and conflicting throngs within,

As Jove rules you when Hell grows mutinous.

From the ends of the earth, from the ends of the earth,

Where the night has its grave and the morning its birth,

Come, come, come!

O ye who shake hills with the scream of your mirth

When cities sink howling in ruin; and ye

Who with wingless footsteps trample the sea,

And close upon Shipwreck and Famine's track

Sit chattering with joy on the foodless wreck;

Come, come, come!

Leave the bed, low, cold, and red,

Strewed beneath a nation dead;

Leave the hatred, as in ashes

Fire is left for future burning;

It will burst in bloodier flashes

When ye stir it, soon returning;

Leave the self-contempt implanted

In young spirits, sense-enchanted,

Misery's yet unkindled fuel;

Leave Hell's secrets half unchanted

To the maniac dreamer; cruel

More than ye can be with hate

Is he with fear.

Come, come, come!

We are steaming up from Hell's wide gate

And we burden the blasts of the atmosphere,

But vainly we toil till ye come here.

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Sister, I hear the thunder of new wings.

These solid mountains quiver with the sound

Even as the tremulous air; their shadows make

The space within my plumes more black than night.

Your call was as a wingèd car,

Driven on whirlwinds fast and far;

It rapt us from red gulfs of war.

From wide cities, famine-wasted;

Groans half heard, and blood untasted;

Kingly conclaves stern and cold,

Where blood with gold is bought and sold;

From the furnace, white and hot,

In which--

Speak not; whisper not;

I know all that ye would tell,

But to speak might break the spell

Which must bend the Invincible,

The stern of thought;

He yet defies the deepest power of Hell.

Tear the veil!

It is torn.

The pale stars of the morn

Shine on a misery, dire to be borne.

Dost thou faint, mighty Titan? We laugh thee to scorn.

Dost thou boast the clear knowledge thou waken'dst for man?

Then was kindled within him a thirst which outran

Those perishing waters; a thirst of fierce fever,

Hope, love, doubt, desire, which consume him forever.

One came forth of gentle worth,

Smiling on the sanguine earth;

His words outlived him, like swift poison

Withering up truth, peace, and pity.

Look! where round the wide horizon

Many a million-peopled city

Vomits smoke in the bright air!

Mark that outcry of despair!

'T is his mild and gentle ghost

Wailing for the faith he kindled.

Look again! the flames almost

To a glow-worm's lamp have dwindled;

The survivors round the embers

Gather in dread.

Joy, joy, joy!

Past ages crowd on thee, but each one remembers,

And the future is dark, and the present is spread

Like a pillow of thorns for thy slumberless head.

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Drops of bloody agony flow

From his white and quivering brow.

Grant a little respite now.

See! a disenchanted nation

Spring like day from desolation;

To Truth its state is dedicate,

And Freedom leads it forth, her mate;

A legioned band of linkèd brothers,

Whom Love calls children--

'T is another's.

See how kindred murder kin!

'T is the vintage-time for Death and Sin;

Blood, like new wine, bubbles within;

Till Despair smothers

The struggling world, which slaves and tyrants win.

[All the FURIES vanish, except one.

Hark, sister! what a low yet dreadful groan

Quite unsuppressed is tearing up the heart

Of the good Titan, as storms tear the deep,

And beasts hear the sea moan in inland caves.

Darest thou observe how the fiends torture him?

Alas! I looked forth twice, but will no more.

What didst thou see?

A woful sight: a youth

With patient looks nailed to a crucifix.

What next?

The heaven around, the earth below,

Was peopled with thick shapes of human death,

All horrible, and wrought by human hands;

And some appeared the work of human hearts,

For men were slowly killed by frowns and smiles;

And other sights too foul to speak and live

Were wandering by. Let us not tempt worse fear

By looking forth; those groans are grief enough.

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Behold an emblem: those who do endure

Deep wrongs for man, and scorn, and chains, but heap

Thousand-fold torment on themselves and him.

Remit the anguish of that lighted stare;

Close those wan lips; let that thorn-wounded brow

Stream not with blood; it mingles with thy tears!

Fix, fix those tortured orbs in peace and death,

So thy sick throes shake not that crucifix,

So those pale fingers play not with thy gore.

Oh, horrible! Thy name I will not speak--

It hath become a curse. I see, I see

The wise, the mild, the lofty, and the just,

Whom thy slaves hate for being like to thee,

Some hunted by foul lies from their heart's home,

An early-chosen, late-lamented home,

As hooded ounces cling to the driven hind;

Some linked to corpses in unwholesome cells;

Some--hear I not the multitude laugh loud?--

Impaled in lingering fire; and mighty realms

Float by my feet, like sea-uprooted isles,

Whose sons are kneaded down in common blood

By the red light of their own burning homes.

Blood thou canst see, and fire; and canst hear groans:

Worse things unheard, unseen, remain behind.


In each human heart terror survives

The ruin it has gorged: the loftiest fear

All that they would disdain to think were true.

Hypocrisy and custom make their minds

The fanes of many a worship, now outworn.

They dare not devise good for man's estate,

And yet they know not that they do not dare.

The good want power, but to weep barren tears.

The powerful goodness want; worse need for them.

The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom;

And all best things are thus confused to ill.

Many are strong and rich, and would be just,

But live among their suffering fellow-men

As if none felt; they know not what they do.

Page 19 top

Thy words are like a cloud of wingèd snakes;

And yet I pity those they torture not.

Thou pitiest them? I speak no more!


Ah woe!

Ah woe! Alas! pain, pain ever, forever!

I close my tearless eyes, but see more clear

Thy works within my woe-illumèd mind,

Thou subtle tyrant! Peace is in the grave.

The grave hides all things beautiful and good.

I am a God and cannot find it there,

Nor would I seek it; for, though dread revenge,

This is defeat, fierce king, not victory.

The sights with which thou torturest gird my soul

With new endurance, till the hour arrives

When they shall be no types of things which are.

Alas! what sawest thou?

There are two woes--

To speak and to behold; thou spare me one.

Names are there, Nature's sacred watchwords, they

Were borne aloft in bright emblazonry;

The nations thronged around, and cried aloud,

As with one voice, Truth, Liberty, and Love!

Suddenly fierce confusion fell from heaven

Among them; there was strife, deceit, and fear;

Tyrants rushed in, and did divide the spoil.

This was the shadow of the truth I saw.

I felt thy torture, son, with such mixed joy

As pain and virtue give. To cheer thy state

I bid ascend those subtle and fair spirits,

Whose homes are the dim caves of human thought,

And who inhabit, as birds wing the wind,

Its world-surrounding ether; they behold

Beyond that twilight realm, as in a glass,

The future; may they speak comfort to thee!

Page 20 top

Look, sister, where a troop of spirits gather,

Like flocks of clouds in spring's delightful weather,

Thronging in the blue air!

And see! more come,

Like fountain-vapors when the winds are dumb,

That climb up the ravine in scattered lines.

And hark! is it the music of the pines?

Is it the lake? Is it the waterfall?

'T is something sadder, sweeter far than all.

From unremembered ages we

Gentle guides and guardians be

Of heaven-oppressed mortality;

And we breathe, and sicken not,

The atmosphere of human thought:

Be it dim, and dank, and gray,

Like a storm-extinguished day,

Travelled o'er by dying gleams;

Be it bright as all between

Cloudless skies and windless streams,

Silent, liquid, and serene;

As the birds within the wind,

As the fish within the wave,

As the thoughts of man's own mind

Float through all above the grave;

We make there our liquid lair,

Voyaging cloudlike and unpent

Through the boundless element:

Thence we bear the prophecy

Which begins and ends in thee!

More yet come, one by one; the air around them

Looks radiant as the air around a star.

Page 21 top

On a battle-trumpet's blast

I fled hither, fast, fast, fast,

'Mid the darkness upward cast.

From the dust of creeds outworn,

From the tyrant's banner torn,

Gathering round me, onward borne,

There was mingled many a cry--

Freedom! Hope! Death! Victory!

Till they faded through the sky;

And one sound above, around,

One sound beneath, around, above,

Was moving; 't was the soul of love;

'T was the hope, the prophecy,

Which begins and ends in thee.

A rainbow's arch stood on the sea,

Which rocked beneath, immovably;

And the triumphant storm did flee,

Like a conqueror, swift and proud,

Begirt with many a captive cloud,

A shapeless, dark and rapid crowd,

Each by lightning riven in half.

I heard the thunder hoarsely laugh.

Mighty fleets were strewn like chaff

And spread beneath a hell of death

O'er the white waters. I alit

On a great ship lightning-split,

And speeded hither on the sigh

Of one who gave an enemy

His plank, then plunged aside to die.

I sat beside a sage's bed,

And the lamp was burning red

Near the book where he had fed,

When a Dream with plumes of flame

To his pillow hovering came,

And I knew it was the same

Which had kindled long ago

Pity, eloquence, and woe;

And the world awhile below

Wore the shade its lustre made.

It has borne me here as fleet

As Desire's lightning feet;

I must ride it back ere morrow,

Or the sage will wake in sorrow.

Page 22 top

On a poet's lips I slept

Dreaming like a love-adept

In the sound his breathing kept;

Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,

But feeds on the aërial kisses

Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses.

He will watch from dawn to gloom

The lake-reflected sun illume

The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom,

Nor heed nor see what things they be;

But from these create he can

Forms more real than living man,

Nurslings of immortality!

One of these awakened me,

And I sped to succor thee.

Behold'st thou not two shapes from the east and west

Come, as two doves to one belovèd nest,

Twin nurslings of the all-sustaining air,

On swift still wings glide down the atmosphere?

And, hark! their sweet sad voices! 't is despair

Mingled with love and then dissolved in sound.

Canst thou speak, sister? all my words are drowned.

Their beauty gives me voice. See how they float

On their sustaining wings of skyey grain,

Orange and azure deepening into gold!

Their soft smiles light the air like a star's fire.

Hast thou beheld the form of Love?

As over wide dominions

I sped, like some swift cloud that wings the wide air's


That planet-crested Shape swept by on lightning-braided pinions,

Scattering the liquid joy of life from his ambrosial tresses.

His footsteps paved the world with light; but as I passed 't was


And hollow Ruin yawned behind; great sages bound in madness,

And headless patriots, and pale youths who perished, unupbraiding,

Gleamed in the night. I wandered o'er, till thou, O King of


Turned by thy smile the worst I saw to recollected gladness.

Page 23 top

Ah, sister! Desolation is a delicate thing:

It walks not on the earth, it floats not on the air,

But treads with killing footstep, and fans with silent wing

The tender hopes which in their hearts the best and gentlest bear;

Who, soothed to false repose by the fanning plumes above

And the music-stirring motion of its soft and busy feet,

Dream visions of aërial joy, and call the monster, Love,

And wake, and find the shadow Pain, as he whom now we greet.

Though Ruin now Love's shadow be,

Following him, destroyingly,

On Death's white and wingèd steed,

Which the fleetest cannot flee,

Trampling down both flower and weed,

Man and beast, and foul and fair,

Like a tempest through the air;

Thou shalt quell this horseman grim,

Woundless though in heart or limb.

Spirits! how know ye this shall be?

In the atmosphere we breathe,

As buds grow red, when the snow-storms flee,

From spring gathering up beneath,

Whose mild winds shake the elder-brake,

And the wandering herdsmen know

That the white-thorn soon will blow:

Wisdom, Justice, Love, and Peace,

When they struggle to increase,

Are to us as soft winds be

To shepherd boys, the prophecy

Which begins and ends in thee.

Where are the Spirits fled?

Only a sense

Remains of them, like the omnipotence

Of music, when the inspired voice and lute

Languish, ere yet the responses are mute,

Which through the deep and labyrinthine soul,

Like echoes through long caverns, wind and roll.

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How fair these air-born shapes! and yet I feel

Most vain all hope but love; and thou art far,

Asia! who, when my being overflowed,

Wert like a golden chalice to bright wine

Which else had sunk into the thirsty dust.

All things are still. Alas! how heavily

This quiet morning weighs upon my heart;

Though I should dream I could even sleep with grief,

If slumber were denied not. I would fain

Be what it is my destiny to be,

The saviour and the strength of suffering man,

Or sink into the original gulf of things.

There is no agony, and no solace left;

Earth can console, Heaven can torment no more.

Hast thou forgotten one who watches thee

The cold dark night, and never sleeps but when

The shadow of thy spirit falls on her?

I said all hope was vain but love; thou lovest.

Deeply in truth; but the eastern star looks white,

And Asia waits in that far Indian vale,

The scene of her sad exile; rugged once

And desolate and frozen, like this ravine;

But now invested with fair flowers and herbs,

And haunted by sweet airs and sounds, which flow

Among the woods and waters, from the ether

Of her transforming presence, which would fade

If it were mingled not with thine. Farewell!

Scene 1

Page 25 top

FROM all the blasts of heaven thou hast descended;

Yes, like a spirit, like a thought, which makes

Unwonted tears throng to the horny eyes,

And beatings haunt the desolated heart,

Which should have learned repose; thou hast descended

Cradled in tempests; thou dost wake, O Spring!

O child of many winds! As suddenly

Thou comest as the memory of a dream,

Which now is sad because it hath been sweet;

Like genius, or like joy which riseth up

As from the earth, clothing with golden clouds

The desert of our life.

This is the season, this the day, the hour;

At sunrise thou shouldst come, sweet sister mine,

Too long desired, too long delaying, come!

How like death-worms the wingless moments crawl!

The point of one white star is quivering still

Deep in the orange light of widening morn

Beyond the purple mountains; through a chasm

Of wind-divided mist the darker lake

Reflects it; now it wanes; it gleams again

As the waves fade, and as the burning threads

Of woven cloud unravel in pale air;

'T is lost! and through yon peaks of cloudlike snow

The roseate sunlight quivers; hear I not

The Æolian music of her sea-green plumes

Winnowing the crimson dawn?

Page 26 top

PANTHEA enters

I feel, I see

Those eyes which burn through smiles that fade in tears,

Like stars half-quenched in mists of silver dew.

Belovèd and most beautiful, who wearest

The shadow of that soul by which I live,

How late thou art! the spherèd sun had climbed

The sea; my heart was sick with hope, before

The printless air felt thy belated plumes.

Pardon, great Sister! but my wings were faint

With the delight of a remembered dream,

As are the noontide plumes of summer winds

Satiate with sweet flowers. I was wont to sleep

Peacefully, and awake refreshed and calm,

Before the sacred Titan's fall and thy

Unhappy love had made, through use and pity,

Both love and woe familiar to my heart

As they had grown to thine: erewhile I slept

Under the glaucous caverns of old Ocean

Within dim bowers of green and purple moss,

Our young Ione's soft and milky arms

Locked then, as now, behind my dark, moist hair,

While my shut eyes and cheek were pressed within

The folded depth of her life-breathing bosom:

But not as now, since I am made the wind

Which fails beneath the music that I bear

Of thy most wordless converse; since dissolved

Into the sense with which love talks, my rest

Was troubled and yet sweet; my waking hours

Too full of care and pain.

Lift up thine eyes,

And let me read thy dream.

Page 27 top

As I have said,

With our sea-sister at his feet I slept.

The mountain mists, condensing at our voice

Under the moon, had spread their snowy flakes,

From the keen ice shielding our linkèd sleep.

Then two dreams came. One I remember not.

But in the other his pale wound-worn limbs

Fell from Prometheus, and the azure night

Grew radiant with the glory of that form

Which lives unchanged within, and his voice fell

Like music which makes giddy the dim brain,

Faint with intoxication of keen joy:

'Sister of her whose footsteps pave the world

With loveliness--more fair than aught but her,

Whose shadow thou art--lift thine eyes on me.'

I lifted them; the overpowering light

Of that immortal shape was shadowed o'er

By love; which, from his soft and flowing limbs,

And passion-parted lips, and keen, faint eyes,

Steamed forth like vaporous fire; an atmosphere

Which wrapped me in its all-dissolving power,

As the warm ether of the morning sun

Wraps ere it drinks some cloud of wandering dew.

I saw not, heard not, moved not, only felt

His presence flow and mingle through my blood

Till it became his life, and his grew mine,

And I was thus absorbed, until it passed,

And like the vapors when the sun sinks down,

Gathering again in drops upon the pines,

And tremulous as they, in the deep night

My being was condensed; and as the rays

Of thought were slowly gathered, I could hear

His voice, whose accents lingered ere they died

Like footsteps of weak melody; thy name

Among the many sounds alone I heard

Of what might be articulate; though still

I listened through the night when sound was none.

Ione wakened then, and said to me:

'Canst thou divine what troubles me tonight?

I always knew what I desired before,

Nor ever found delight to wish in vain.

But now I cannot tell thee what I seek;

I know not; something sweet, since it is sweet

Even to desire; it is thy sport, false sister;

Thou hast discovered some enchantment old,

Whose spells have stolen my spirit as I slept

And mingled it with thine; for when just now

We kissed, I felt within thy parted lips

The sweet air that sustained me; and the warmth

Of the life-blood, for loss of which I faint,

Quivered between our intertwining arms.'

I answered not, for the Eastern star grew pale,

But fled to thee.

Page 28 top

Thou speakest, but thy words

Are as the air; I feel them not. Oh, lift

Thine eyes, that I may read his written soul!

I lift them, though they droop beneath the load

Of that they would express; what canst thou see

But thine own fairest shadow imaged there?

Thine eyes are like the deep, blue, boundless heaven

Contracted to two circles underneath

Their long, fine lashes; dark, far, measureless,

Orb within orb, and line through line inwoven.

Why lookest thou as if a spirit passed?

There is a change; beyond their inmost depth

I see a shade, a shape: 't is He, arrayed

In the soft light of his own smiles, which spread

Like radiance from the cloud-surrounded moon.

Prometheus, it is thine! depart not yet!

Say not those smiles that we shall meet again

Within that bright pavilion which their beams

Shall build on the waste world? The dream is told.

What shape is that between us? Its rude hair

Roughens the wind that lifts it, its regard

Is wild and quick, yet 't is a thing of air,

For through its gray robe gleams the golden dew

Whose stars the noon has quenched not.

Follow! Follow!

It is mine other dream.

It disappears.

It passes now into my mind. Methought

As we sate here, the flower-infolding buds

Burst on yon lightning-blasted almond tree;

When swift from the white Scythian wilderness

A wind swept forth wrinkling the Earth with frost;

I looked, and all the blossoms were blown down;

But on each leaf was stamped, as the blue bells

Of Hyacinth tell Apollo's written grief,


Page 29 top

As you speak, your words

Fill, pause by pause, my own forgotten sleep

With shapes. Methought among the lawns together

We wandered, underneath the young gray dawn,

And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds

Were wandering in thick flocks along the mountains,

Shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind;

And the white dew on the new-bladed grass,

Just piercing the dark earth, hung silently;

And there was more which I remember not;

But on the shadows of the morning clouds,

Athwart the purple mountain slope, was written

FOLLOW, OH, FOLLOW! as they vanished by;

And on each herb, from which Heaven's dew had fallen,

The like was stamped, as with a withering fire;

A wind arose among the pines; it shook

The clinging music from their boughs, and then

Low, sweet, faint sounds, like the farewell of ghosts,


And then I said, 'Panthea, look on me.'

But in the depth of those belovèd eyes

Still I saw, FOLLOW, FOLLOW!

Follow, follow!

The crags, this clear spring morning, mock our voices,

As they were spirit-tongued.

It is some being

Around the crags. What fine clear sounds!

Oh, list!

ECHOES, unseen

Echoes we: listen!

We cannot stay:

As dew-stars glisten

Then fade away--

Child of Ocean!

Page 30 top

Hark! Spirits speak. The liquid responses

Of their aërial tongues yet sound.

I hear.

Oh, follow, follow,

As our voice recedeth

Through the caverns hollow,

Where the forest spreadeth;

(More distant)

Oh, follow, follow!

Through the caverns hollow,

As the song floats thou pursue,

Where the wild bee never flew,

Through the noontide darkness deep,

By the odor-breathing sleep

Of faint night-flowers, and the waves

At the fountain-lighted caves,

While our music, wild and sweet,

Mocks thy gently falling feet,

Child of Ocean!

Shall we pursue the sound? It grows more faint

And distant.

List! the strain floats nearer now.

In the world unknown

Sleeps a voice unspoken;

By thy step alone

Can its rest be broken;

Child of Ocean!

How the notes sink upon the ebbing wind!

Oh, follow, follow!

Through the caverns hollow,

As the song floats thou pursue,

By the woodland noontide dew;

By the forests, lakes, and fountains,

Through the many-folded mountains;

To the rents, and gulfs, and chasms,

Where the Earth reposed from spasms,

On the day when He and thou

Parted, to commingle now;

Child of Ocean!

Page 31 top

Come, sweet Panthea, link thy hand in mine,

And follow, ere the voices fade away.

Scene 2

Page 32 top

The path through which that lovely twain

Have passed, by cedar, pine, and yew,

And each dark tree that ever grew,

Is curtained out from Heaven's wide blue;

Nor sun, nor moon, nor wind, nor rain,

Can pierce its interwoven bowers,

Nor aught, save where some cloud of dew,

Drifted along the earth-creeping breeze

Between the trunks of the hoar trees,

Hangs each a pearl in the pale flowers

Of the green laurel blown anew,

And bends, and then fades silently,

One frail and fair anemone;

Or when some star of many a one

That climbs and wanders through steep night,

Has found the cleft through which alone

Beams fall from high those depths upon,--

Ere it is borne away, away,

By the swift Heavens that cannot stay,

It scatters drops of golden light,

Like lines of rain that ne'er unite;

And the gloom divine is all around;

And underneath is the mossy ground.

There the voluptuous nightingales,

Are awake through all the broad noon day:

When one with bliss or sadness fails,

And through the windless ivy-boughs,

Sick with sweet love, droops dying away

On its mate's music-panting bosom;

Another from the swinging blossom,

Watching to catch the languid close

Of the last strain, then lifts on high

The wings of the weak melody,

Till some new strain of feeling bear

The song, and all the woods are mute;

When there is heard through the dim air

The rush of wings, and rising there,

Like many a lake-surrounded flute,

Sounds overflow the listener's brain

So sweet, that joy is almost pain.

Page 33 top

There those enchanted eddies play

Of echoes, music-tongued, which draw,

By Demogorgon's mighty law,

With melting rapture, or sweet awe,

All spirits on that secret way,

As inland boats are driven to Ocean

Down streams made strong with mountain-thaw;

And first there comes a gentle sound

To those in talk or slumber bound,

And wakes the destined; soft emotion

Attracts, impels them; those who saw

Say from the breathing earth behind

There steams a plume-uplifting wind

Which drives them on their path, while they

Believe their own swift wings and feet

The sweet desires within obey;

And so they float upon their way,

Until, still sweet, but loud and strong,

The storm of sound is driven along,

Sucked up and hurrying; as they fleet

Behind, its gathering billows meet

And to the fatal mountain bear

Like clouds amid the yielding air.

Canst thou imagine where those spirits live

Which make such delicate music in the woods?

We haunt within the least frequented caves

And closest coverts, and we know these wilds,

Yet never meet them, though we hear them oft:

Where may they hide themselves?

'T is hard to tell;

I have heard those more skilled in spirits say,

The bubbles, which the enchantment of the sun

Sucks from the pale faint water-flowers that pave

The oozy bottom of clear lakes and pools,

Are the pavilions where such dwell and float

Under the green and golden atmosphere

Which noontide kindles through the woven leaves;

And when these burst, and the thin fiery air,

The which they breathed within those lucent domes,

Ascends to flow like meteors through the night,

They ride on them, and rein their headlong speed,

And bow their burning crests, and glide in fire

Under the waters of the earth again.

Page 34 top

If such live thus, have others other lives,

Under pink blossoms or within the bells

Of meadow flowers or folded violets deep,

Or on their dying odors, when they die,

Or in the sunlight of the spherèd dew?

Ay, many more which we may well divine.

But should we stay to speak, noontide would come,

And thwart Silenus find his goats undrawn,

And grudge to sing those wise and lovely songs

Of Fate, and Chance, and God, and Chaos old,

And Love and the chained Titan's woful doom,

And how he shall be loosed, and make the earth

One brotherhood; delightful strains which cheer

Our solitary twilights, and which charm

To silence the unenvying nightingales.

Scene 3

Page 35 top

Hither the sound has borne us--to the realm

Of Demogorgon, and the mighty portal,

Like a volcano's meteor-breathing chasm,

Whence the oracular vapor is hurled up

Which lonely men drink wandering in their youth,

And call truth, virtue, love, genius, or joy,

That maddening wine of life, whose dregs they drain

To deep intoxication; and uplift,

Like Mænads who cry loud, Evoe! Evoe!

The voice which is contagion to the world.

Fit throne for such a Power! Magnificent!

How glorious art thou, Earth! and if thou be

The shadow of some spirit lovelier still,

Though evil stain its work, and it should be

Like its creation, weak yet beautiful,

I could fall down and worship that and thee.

Even now my heart adoreth. Wonderful!

Look, sister, ere the vapor dim thy brain:

Beneath is a wide plain of billowy mist,

As a lake, paving in the morning sky,

With azure waves which burst in silver light,

Some Indian vale. Behold it, rolling on

Under the curdling winds, and islanding

The peak whereon we stand, midway, around,

Encinctured by the dark and blooming forests,

Dim twilight-lawns, and stream-illumined caves,

And wind-enchanted shapes of wandering mist;

And far on high the keen sky-cleaving mountains

From icy spires of sunlike radiance fling

The dawn, as lifted Ocean's dazzling spray,

From some Atlantic islet scattered up,

Spangles the wind with lamp-like waterdrops.

The vale is girdled with their walls, a howl

Of cataracts from their thaw-cloven ravines

Satiates the listening wind, continuous, vast,

Awful as silence. Hark! the rushing snow!

The sun-awakened avalanche! whose mass,

Thrice sifted by the storm, had gathered there

Flake after flake, in heaven-defying minds

As thought by thought is piled, till some great truth

Is loosened, and the nations echo round,

Shaken to their roots, as do the mountains now.

Page 36 top

Look how the gusty sea of mist is breaking

In crimson foam, even at our feet! it rises

As Ocean at the enchantment of the moon

Round foodless men wrecked on some oozy isle.

The fragments of the cloud are scattered up;

The wind that lifts them disentwines my hair;

Its billows now sweep o'er mine eyes; my brain

Grows dizzy; I see shapes within the mist.

A countenance with beckoning smiles; there burns

An azure fire within its golden locks!

Another and another: hark! they speak!

To the deep, to the deep,

Down down!

Through the shade of sleep,

Through the cloudy strife

Of Death and of Life;

Through the veil and the bar

Of things which seem and are,

Even to the steps of the remotest throne,

Down, down!

While the sound whirls around,

Down, down!

As the fawn draws the hound,

As the lightning the vapor,

As a weak moth the taper;

Death, despair; love, sorrow;

Time, both; to-day, to-morrow;

As steel obeys the spirit of the stone,

Down, down!

Through the gray, void abysm,

Down, down!

Where the air is no prism,

And the moon and stars are not,

And the cavern-crags wear not

The radiance of Heaven,

Nor the gloom to Earth given,

Where there is one pervading, one alone,

Down, down!

Page 37 top

In the depth of the deep

Down, down!

Like veiled lightning asleep,

Like the spark nursed in embers,

The last look Love remembers,

Like a diamond, which shines

On the dark wealth of mines,

A spell is treasured but for thee alone.

Down, down!

We have bound thee, we guide thee;

Down, down!

With the bright form beside thee;

Resist not the weakness,

Such strength is in meekness

That the Eternal, the Immortal,

Must unloose through life's portal

The snake-like Doom coiled underneath his throne

By that alone.

Scene 4

Page 38 top

What veilèd form sits on that ebon throne?

The veil has fallen.

I see a mighty darkness

Filling the seat of power, and rays of gloom

Dart round, as light from the meridian sun,

Ungazed upon and shapeless; neither limb,

Nor form, nor outline; yet we feel it is

A living Spirit.

Ask what thou wouldst know.

What canst thou tell?

All things thou dar'st demand.

Who made the living world?


Who made all

That it contains? thought, passion, reason, will,


Page 39 top

God: Almighty God.

Who made that sense which, when the winds of spring

In rarest visitation, or the voice

Of one belovèd heard in youth alone,

Fills the faint eyes with falling tears which dim

The radiant looks of unbewailing flowers,

And leaves this peopled earth a solitude

When it returns no more?

Merciful God.

And who made terror, madness, crime, remorse,

Which from the links of the great chain of things

To every thought within the mind of man

Sway and drag heavily, and each one reels

Under the load towards the pit of death;

Abandoned hope, and love that turns to hate;

And self-contempt, bitterer to drink than blood;

Pain, whose unheeded and familiar speech

Is howling, and keen shrieks, day after day;

And Hell, or the sharp fear of Hell?

He reigns.

Utter his name; a world pining in pain

Asks but his name; curses shall drag him down.

He reigns.

I feel, I know it: who?

He reigns.

Who reigns? There was the Heaven and Earth at first,

And Light and Love; then Saturn, from whose throne

Time fell, an envious shadow; such the state

Of the earth's primal spirits beneath his sway,

As the calm joy of flowers and living leaves

Before the wind or sun has withered them

And semivital worms; but he refused

The birthright of their being, knowledge, power,

The skill which wields the elements, the thought

Which pierces this dim universe like light,

Self-empire, and the majesty of love;

For thirst of which they fainted. Then Prometheus

Gave wisdom, which is strength, to Jupiter,

And with this law alone, 'Let man be free,'

Clothed him with the dominion of wide Heaven.

To know nor faith, nor love, nor law, to be

Omnipotent but friendless, is to reign;

And Jove now reigned; for on the race of man

First famine, and then toil, and then disease,

Strife, wounds, and ghastly death unseen before,

Fell; and the unseasonable seasons drove,

With alternating shafts of frost and fire,

Their shelterless, pale tribes to mountain caves;

And in their desert hearts fierce wants he sent,

And mad disquietudes, and shadows idle

Of unreal good, which levied mutual war,

So ruining the lair wherein they raged.

Prometheus saw, and waked the legioned hopes

Which sleep within folded Elysian flowers,

Nepenthe, Moly, Amaranth, fadeless blooms,

That they might hide with thin and rainbow wings

The shape of Death; and Love he sent to bind

The disunited tendrils of that vine

Which bears the wine of life, the human heart;

And he tamed fire which, like some beast of prey,

Most terrible, but lovely, played beneath

The frown of man; and tortured to his will

Iron and gold, the slaves and signs of power,

And gems and poisons, and all subtlest forms

Hidden beneath the mountains and the waves.

He gave man speech, and speech created thought,

Which is the measure of the universe;

And Science struck the thrones of earth and heaven,

Which shook, but fell not; and the harmonious mind

Poured itself forth in all-prophetic song;

And music lifted up the listening spirit

Until it walked, exempt from mortal care,

Godlike, o'er the clear billows of sweet sound;

And human hands first mimicked and then mocked,

With moulded limbs more lovely than its own,

The human form, till marble grew divine;

And mothers, gazing, drank the love men see

Reflected in their race, behold, and perish.

He told the hidden power of herbs and springs,

And Disease drank and slept. Death grew like sleep.

He taught the implicated orbits woven

Of the wide-wandering stars; and how the sun

Changes his lair, and by what secret spell

The pale moon is transformed, when her broad eye

Gazes not on the interlunar sea.

He taught to rule, as life directs the limbs,

The tempest-wingèd chariots of the Ocean,

And the Celt knew the Indian. Cities then

Were built, and through their snow-like columns flowed

The warm winds, and the azure ether shone,

And the blue sea and shadowy hills were seen.

Such, the alleviations of his state,

Prometheus gave to man, for which he hangs

Withering in destined pain; but who rains down

Evil, the immedicable plague, which, while

Man looks on his creation like a god

And sees that it is glorious, drives him on,

The wreck of his own will, the scorn of earth,

The outcast, the abandoned, the alone?

Not Jove: while yet his frown shook heaven ay, when

His adversary from adamantine chains

Cursed him, he trembled like a slave. Declare

Who is his master? Is he too a slave?

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All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil:

Thou knowest if Jupiter be such or no.

Whom called'st thou God?

I spoke but as ye speak,

For Jove is the supreme of living things.

Who is the master of the slave?

If the abysm

Could vomit forth its secrets--but a voice

Is wanting, the deep truth is imageless;

For what would it avail to bid thee gaze

On the revolving world? What to bid speak

Fate, Time, Occasion, Chance and Change? To these

All things are subject but eternal Love.

So much I asked before, and my heart gave

The response thou hast given; and of such truths

Each to itself must be the oracle.

One more demand; and do thou answer me

As my own soul would answer, did it know

That which I ask. Prometheus shall arise

Henceforth the sun of this rejoicing world:

When shall the destined hour arrive?


The rocks are cloven, and through the purple night

I see cars drawn by rainbow-wingèd steeds

Which trample the dim winds; in each there stands

A wild-eyed charioteer urging their flight.

Some look behind, as fiends pursued them there,

And yet I see no shapes but the keen stars;

Others, with burning eyes, lean forth, and drink

With eager lips the wind of their own speed,

As if the thing they loved fled on before,

And now, even now, they clasped it. Their bright locks

Stream like a comet's flashing hair; they all

Sweep onward.

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These are the immortal Hours,

Of whom thou didst demand. One waits for thee.

A Spirit with a dreadful countenance

Checks its dark chariot by the craggy gulf.

Unlike thy brethren, ghastly Charioteer,

Who art thou? Whither wouldst thou bear me? Speak!

I am the Shadow of a destiny

More dread than is my aspect; ere yon planet

Has set, the darkness which ascends with me

Shall wrap in lasting night heaven's kingless throne.

What meanest thou?

That terrible Shadow floats

Up from its throne, as may the lurid smoke

Of earthquake-ruined cities o'er the sea.

Lo! it ascends the car; the coursers fly

Terrified; watch its path among the stars

Blackening the night!

Thus I am answered: strange!

See, near the verge, another chariot stays;

An ivory shell inlaid with crimson fire,

Which comes and goes within its sculptured rim

Of delicate strange tracery; the young Spirit

That guides it has the dove-like eyes of hope;

How it soft smiles attract the soul! as light

Lures wingèd insects through the lampless air.

My coursers are fed with the lightning,

They drink of the whirlwind's stream,

And when the red morning is bright'ning

They bathe in the fresh sunbeam.

They have strength for their swiftness I deem;

Then ascend with me, daughter of Ocean.

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I desire--and their speed makes night kindle;

I fear--they outstrip the typhoon;

Ere the cloud piled on Atlas can dwindle

We encircle the earth and the moon.

We shall rest from long labors at noon;

Then ascend with me, daughter of Ocean.

Scene 5

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On the brink of the night and the morning

My coursers are wont to respire;

But the Earth has just whispered a warning

That their flight must be swifter than fire;

They shall drink the hot speed of desire!

Thou breathest on their nostrils, but my breath

Would give them swifter speed.

Alas! it could not

O Spirit! pause, and tell whence is the light

Which fills the cloud? the sun is yet unrisen.

The sun will rise not until noon. Apollo

Is held in heaven by wonder; and the light

Which fills this vapor, as the aërial hue

Of fountain-gazing roses fills the water,

Flows from thy mighty sister.

Yes, I feel--

What is it with thee, sister? Thou art pale.

How thou art changed! I dare not look on thee;

I feel but see thee not. I scarce endure

The radiance of thy beauty. Some good change

Is working in the elements, which suffer

Thy presence thus unveiled. The Nereids tell

That on the day when the clear hyaline

Was cloven at thy uprise, and thou didst stand

Within a veinèd shell, which floated on

Over the calm floor of the crystal sea,

Among the Ægean isles, and by the shores

Which bear thy name,--love, like the atmosphere

Of the sun's fire filling the living world,

Burst from thee, and illumined earth and heaven

And the deep ocean and the sunless caves

And all that dwells within them; till grief cast

Eclipse upon the soul from which it came.

Such art thou now; nor is it I alone,

Thy sister, thy companion, thine own chosen one,

But the whole world which seeks thy sympathy.

Hearest thou not sounds i' the air which speak the love

Of all articulate beings? Feelest thou not

The inanimate winds enamoured of thee? List!

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Thy words are sweeter than aught else but his

Whose echoes they are; yet all love is sweet,

Given or returned. Common as light is love,

And its familiar voice wearies not ever.

Like the wide heaven, the all-sustaining air,

It makes the reptile equal to the God;

They who inspire it most are fortunate,

As I am now; but those who feel it most

Are happier still, after long sufferings,

As I shall soon become.

List! Spirits speak.

VOICE in the air, singing

Life of Life, thy lips enkindle

With their love the breath between them;

And thy smiles before they dwindle

Make the cold air fire; then screen them

In those looks, where whoso gazes

Faints, entangled in their mazes.

Child of Light! thy limbs are burning

Through the vest which seems to hide them;

As the radiant lines of morning

Through the clouds, ere they divide them;

And this atmosphere divinest

Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest.

Fair are others; none beholds thee,

But thy voice sounds low and tender

Like the fairest, for it folds thee

From the sight, that liquid splendor,

And all feel, yet see thee never,

As I feel now, lost forever!

Lamp of Earth! where'er thou movest

Its dim shapes are clad with brightness,

And the souls of whom thou lovest

Walk upon the winds with lightness,

Till they fail, as I am failing,

Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!

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My soul is an enchanted boat,

Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float

Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;

And thine doth like an angel sit

Beside a helm conducting it,

Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.

It seems to float ever, forever,

Upon that many-winding river,

Between mountains, woods, abysses,

A paradise of wildernesses!

Till, like one in slumber bound,

Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,

Into a sea profound of ever-spreading sound.

Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions

In music's most serene dominions;

Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven.

And we sail on, away, afar,

Without a course, without a star,

But, by the instinct of sweet music driven;

Till through Elysian garden islets

By thee most beautiful of pilots,

Where never mortal pinnace glided,

The boat of my desire is guided;

Realms where the air we breathe is love,

Which in the winds on the waves doth move,

Harmonizing this earth with what we feel above.

We have passed Age's icy caves,

And Manhood's dark and tossing waves,

And Youth's smooth ocean, smiling to betray;

Beyond the glassy gulfs we flee

Of shadow-peopled Infancy,

Through Death and Birth, to a diviner day;

A paradise of vaulted bowers

Lit by downward-gazing flowers,

And watery paths that wind between

Wildernesses calm and green,

Peopled by shapes too bright to see,

And rest, having beheld; somewhat like thee;

Which walk upon the sea, and chant melodiously!

Scene 1

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YE congregated powers of heaven, who share

The glory and the strength of him ye serve,

Rejoice! henceforth I am omnipotent.

All else had been subdued to me; alone

The soul of man, like unextinguished fire,

Yet burns towards heaven with fierce reproach, and doubt,

And lamentation, and reluctant prayer,

Hurling up insurrection, which might make

Our antique empire insecure, though built

On eldest faith, and hell's coeval, fear;

And though my curses through the pendulous air,

Like snow on herbless peaks, fall flake by flake,

And cling to it; though under my wrath's night

It climb the crags of life, step after step,

Which wound it, as ice wounds unsandalled feet,

It yet remains supreme o'er misery,

Aspiring, unrepressed, yet soon to fall;

Even now have I begotten a strange wonder,

That fatal child, the terror of the earth,

Who waits but till the destined hour arrive,

Bearing from Demogorgon's vacant throne

The dreadful might of ever-living limbs

Which clothed that awful spirit unbeheld,

To redescend, and trample out the spark.

Pour forth heaven's wine, Idæan Ganymede,

And let it fill the dædal cups like fire,

And from the flower-inwoven soil divine,

Ye all-triumphant harmonies, arise,

As dew from earth under the twilight stars.

Drink! be the nectar circling through your veins

The soul of joy, ye ever-living Gods,

Till exultation burst in one wide voice

Like music from Elysian winds.

And thou

Ascend beside me, veilèd in the light

Of the desire which makes thee one with me,

Thetis, bright image of eternity!

When thou didst cry, 'Insufferable might!

God! spare me! I sustain not the quick flames,

The penetrating presence; all my being,

Like him whom the Numidian seps did thaw

Into a dew with poison, is dissolved,

Sinking through its foundations,'--even then

Two mighty spirits, mingling, made a third

Mightier than either, which, unbodied now,

Between us floats, felt, although unbeheld,

Waiting the incarnation, which ascends,

(Hear ye the thunder of the fiery wheels

Griding the winds?) from Demogorgon's throne.

Victory! victory! Feel'st thou not, O world,

The earthquake of his chariot thundering up


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[The Car of the HOUR arrives. DEMOGORGON descends and moves towards the Throne of JUPITER.

Awful shape, what art thou? Speak!

Eternity. Demand no direr name.

Descend, and follow me down the abyss.

I am thy child, as thou wert Saturn's child;

Mightier than thee; and we must dwell together

Henceforth in darkness. Lift thy lightnings not.

The tyranny of heaven none may retain,

Or reassume, or hold, succeeding thee;

Yet if thou wilt, as 't is the destiny

Of trodden worms to writhe till they are dead,

Put forth thy might.

Detested prodigy!

Even thus beneath the deep Titanian prisons

I trample thee! Thou lingerest?

Mercy! mercy!

No pity, no release, no respite! Oh,

That thou wouldst make mine enemy my judge,

Even where he hangs, seared by my long revenge,

On Caucasus! he would not doom me thus.

Gentle, and just, and dreadless, is he not

The monarch of the world? What then art thou?

No refuge! no appeal!

Sink with me then,

We two will sink on the wide waves of ruin,

Even as a vulture and a snake outspent

Drop, twisted in inextricable fight,

Into a shoreless sea! Let hell unlock

Its mounded oceans of tempestuous fire,

And whelm on them into the bottomless void

This desolated world, and thee, and me,

The conqueror and the conquered, and the wreck

Of that for which they combated!

Ai, Ai!

The elements obey me not. I sink

Dizzily down, ever, forever, down.

And, like a cloud, mine enemy above

Darkens my fall with victory! Ai, Ai!

Scene 2

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He fell, thou sayest, beneath his conqueror's frown?

Ay, when the strife was ended which made dim

The orb I rule, and shook the solid stars,

The terrors of his eye illumined heaven

With sanguine light, through the thick ragged skirts

Of the victorious darkness, as he fell;

Like the last glare of day's red agony,

Which, from a rent among the fiery clouds,

Burns far along the tempest-wrinkled deep.

He sunk to the abyss? to the dark void?

An eagle so caught in some bursting cloud

On Caucasus, his thunder-baffled wings

Entangled in the whirlwind, and his eyes,

Which gazed on the undazzling sun, now blinded

By the white lightning, while the ponderous hail

Beats on his struggling form, which sinks at length

Prone, and the aërial ice clings over it.

Henceforth the fields of Heaven-reflecting sea

Which are my realm, will heave, unstained with blood,

Beneath the uplifting winds, like plains of corn

Swayed by the summer air; my streams will flow

Round many-peopled continents, and round

Fortunate isles; and from their glassy thrones

Blue Proteus and his humid nymphs shall mark

The shadow of fair ships, as mortals see

The floating bark of the light-laden moon

With that white star, its sightless pilot's crest,

Borne down the rapid sunset's ebbing sea;

Tracking their path no more by blood and groans,

And desolation, and the mingled voice

Of slavery and command; but by the light

Of wave-reflected flowers, and floating odors,

And music soft, and mild, free, gentle voices,

That sweetest music, such as spirits love.

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And I shall gaze not on the deeds which make

My mind obscure with sorrow, as eclipse

Darkens the sphere I guide. But list, I hear

The small, clear, silver lute of the young Spirit

That sits i' the morning star.

Thou must away;

Thy steeds will pause at even, till when farewell.

The loud deep calls me home even now to feed it

With azure calm out of the emerald urns

Which stand forever full beside my throne.

Behold the Nereids under the green sea,

Their wavering limbs borne on the windlike stream,

Their white arms lifted o'er their streaming hair,

With garlands pied and starry sea-flower crowns,

Hastening to grace their mighty sister's joy.

[A sound of waves is heard.

It is the unpastured sea hungering for calm.

Peace, monster; I come now. Farewell.


Scene 3

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Most glorious among spirits! thus doth strength

To wisdom, courage, and long-suffering love,

And thee, who art the form they animate,

Minister like a slave.

Thy gentle words

Are sweeter even than freedom long desired

And long delayed.

Asia, thou light of life,

Shadow of beauty unbeheld; and ye,

Fair sister nymphs, who made long years of pain

Sweet to remember, through your love and care;

Henceforth we will not part. There is a cave,

All overgrown with trailing odorous plants,

Which curtain out the day with leaves and flowers,

And paved with veinèd emerald; and a fountain

Leaps in the midst with an awakening sound.

From its curved roof the mountain's frozen tears,

Like snow, or silver, or long diamond spires,

Hang downward, raining forth a doubtful light;

And there is heard the ever-moving air

Whispering without from tree to tree, and birds,

And bees; and all around are mossy seats,

And the rough walls are clothed with long soft grass;

A simple dwelling, which shall be our own;

Where we will sit and talk of time and change,

As the world ebbs and flows, ourselves unchanged.

What can hide man from mutability?

And if ye sigh, then I will smile; and thou,

Ione, shalt chant fragments of sea-music,

Until I weep, when ye shall smile away

The tears she brought, which yet were sweet to shed.

We will entangle buds and flowers and beams

Which twinkle on the fountain's brim, and make

Strange combinations out of common things,

Like human babes in their brief innocence;

And we will search, with looks and words of love,

For hidden thoughts, each lovelier than the last,

Our unexhausted spirits; and, like lutes

Touched by the skill of the enamoured wind,

Weave harmonies divine, yet ever new,

From difference sweet where discord cannot be;

And hither come, sped on the charmèd winds,

Which meet from all the points of heaven--as bees

From every flower aërial Enna feeds

At their known island-homes in Himera--

The echoes of the human world, which tell

Of the low voice of love, almost unheard,

And dove-eyed pity's murmured pain, and music,

Itself the echo of the heart, and all

That tempers or improves man's life, now free;

And lovely apparitions,--dim at first,

Then radiant, as the mind arising bright

From the embrace of beauty (whence the forms

Of which these are the phantoms) casts on them

The gathered rays which are reality--

Shall visit us the progeny immortal

Of Painting, Sculpture, and rapt Poesy,

And arts, though unimagined, yet to be;

The wandering voices and the shadows these

Of all that man becomes, the mediators

Of that best worship, love, by him and us

Given and returned; swift shapes and sounds, which grow

More fair and soft as man grows wise and kind,

And, veil by veil, evil and error fall.

Such virtue has the cave and place around.

[Turning to the SPIRIT OF THE HOUR.

For thee, fair Spirit, one toil remains. Ione,

Give her that curvèd shell, which Proteus old

Made Asia's nuptial boon, breathing within it

A voice to be accomplished, and which thou

Didst hide in grass under the hollow rock.

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Thou most desired Hour, more loved and lovely

Than all thy sisters, this is the mystic shell.

See the pale azure fading into silver

Lining it with a soft yet glowing light.

Looks it not like lulled music sleeping there?

It seems in truth the fairest shell of Ocean:

Its sound must be at once both sweet and strange.

Go, borne over the cities of mankind

On whirlwind-footed coursers; once again

Outspeed the sun around the orbèd world;

And as thy chariot cleaves the kindling air,

Thou breathe into the many-folded shell,

Loosening its mighty music; it shall be

As thunder mingled with clear echoes; then

Return; and thou shalt dwell beside our cave.

And thou, O Mother Earth!--

I hear, I feel;

Thy lips are on me, and thy touch runs down

Even to the adamantine central gloom

Along these marble nerves; 't is life, 't is joy,

And, through my withered, old, and icy frame

The warmth of an immortal youth shoots down

Circling. Henceforth the many children fair

Folded in my sustaining arms; all plants,

And creeping forms, and insects rainbow-winged,

And birds, and beasts, and fish, and human shapes,

Which drew disease and pain from my wan bosom,

Draining the poison of despair, shall take

And interchange sweet nutriment; to me

Shall they become like sister-antelopes

By one fair dam, snow-white, and swift as wind,

Nursed among lilies near a brimming stream.

The dew-mists of my sunless sleep shall float

Under the stars like balm; night-folded flowers

Shall suck unwithering hues in their repose;

And men and beasts in happy dreams shall gather

Strength for the coming day, and all its joy;

And death shall be the last embrace of her

Who takes the life she gave, even as a mother,

Folding her child, says, 'Leave me not again.'

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Oh, mother! wherefore speak the name of death?

Cease they to love, and move, and breathe, and speak,

Who die?

It would avail not to reply;

Thou art immortal and this tongue is known

But to the uncommunicating dead.

Death is the veil which those who live call life;

They sleep, and it is lifted; and meanwhile

In mild variety the seasons mild

With rainbow-skirted showers, and odorous winds,

And long blue meteors cleansing the dull night,

And the life-kindling shafts of the keen sun's

All-piercing bow, and the dew-mingled rain

Of the calm moonbeams, a soft influence mild,

Shall clothe the forests and the fields, ay, even

The crag-built deserts of the barren deep,

With ever-living leaves, and fruits, and flowers.

And thou! there is a cavern where my spirit

Was panted forth in anguish whilst thy pain

Made my heart mad, and those who did inhale it

Became mad too, and built a temple there,

And spoke, and were oracular, and lured

The erring nations round to mutual war,

And faithless faith, such as Jove kept with thee;

Which breath now rises as amongst tall weeds

A violet's exhalation, and it fills

With a serener light and crimson air

Intense, yet soft, the rocks and woods around;

It feeds the quick growth of the serpent vine,

And the dark linkèd ivy tangling wild,

And budding, blown, or odor-faded blooms

Which star the winds with points of colored light

As they rain through them, and bright golden globes

Of fruit suspended in their own green heaven,

And through their veinèd leaves and amber stems

The flowers whose purple and translucid bowls

Stand ever mantling with aërial dew,

The drink of spirits; and it circles round,

Like the soft waving wings of noonday dreams,

Inspiring calm and happy thoughts, like mine,

Now thou art thus restored. This cave is thine.

Arise! Appear!

[A SPIRIT rises in the likeness of a winged child.

This is my torch-bearer;

Who let his lamp out in old time with gazing

On eyes from which he kindled it anew

With love, which is as fire, sweet daughter mine,

For such is that within thine own. Run, wayward,

And guide this company beyond the peak

Of Bacchic Nysa, Mænad-haunted mountain,

And beyond Indus and its tribute rivers,

Trampling the torrent streams and glassy lakes

With feet unwet, unwearied, undelaying,

And up the green ravine, across the vale,

Beside the windless and crystalline pool,

Where ever lies, on unerasing waves,

The image of a temple, built above,

Distinct with column, arch, and architrave,

And palm-like capital, and overwrought,

And populous most with living imagery,

Praxitelean shapes, whose marble smiles

Fill the hushed air with everlasting love.

It is deserted now, but once it bore

Thy name, Prometheus; there the emulous youths

Bore to thy honor through the divine gloom

The lamp which was thine emblem; even as those

Who bear the untransmitted torch of hope

Into the grave, across the night of life,

As thou hast borne it most triumphantly

To this far goal of Time. Depart, farewell!

Beside that temple is the destined cave.

Scene 4

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Sister, it is not earthly; how it glides

Under the leaves! how on its head there burns

A light, like a green star, whose emerald beams

Are twined with its fair hair! how, as it moves,

The splendor drops in flakes upon the grass!

Knowest thou it?

It is the delicate spirit

That guides the earth through heaven. From afar

The populous constellations call that light

The loveliest of the planets; and sometimes

It floats along the spray of the salt sea,

Or makes its chariot of a foggy cloud,

Or walks through fields or cities while men sleep,

Or o'er the mountain tops, or down the rivers,

Or through the green waste wilderness, as now,

Wondering at all it sees. Before Jove reigned

It loved our sister Asia, and it came

Each leisure hour to drink the liquid light

Out of her eyes, for which it said it thirsted

As one bit by a dipsas, and with her

It made its childish confidence, and told her

All it had known or seen, for it saw much,

Yet idly reasoned what it saw; and called her,

For whence it sprung it knew not, nor do I,

Mother, dear mother.


Mother, dearest mother!

May I then talk with thee as I was wont?

May I then hide my eyes in thy soft arms,

After thy looks have made them tired of joy?

May I then play beside thee the long noons,

When work is none in the bright silent air?

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I love thee, gentlest being, and henceforth

Can cherish thee unenvied. Speak, I pray;

Thy simple talk once solaced, now delights.

Mother, I am grown wiser, though a child

Cannot be wise like thee, within this day;

And happier too; happier and wiser both.

Thou knowest that toads, and snakes, and loathly worms,

And venomous and malicious beasts, and boughs

That bore ill berries in the woods, were ever

An hindrance to my walks o'er the green world;

And that, among the haunts of humankind,

Hard-featured men, or with proud, angry looks,

Or cold, staid gait, or false and hollow smiles,

Or the dull sneer of self-loved ignorance,

Or other such foul masks, with which ill thoughts

Hide that fair being whom we spirits call man;

And women too, ugliest of all things evil,

(Though fair, even in a world where thou art fair,

When good and kind, free and sincere like thee)

When false or frowning made me sick at heart

To pass them, though they slept, and I unseen.

Well, my path lately lay through a great city

Into the woody hills surrounding it;

A sentinel was sleeping at the gate;

When there was heard a sound, so loud, it shook

The towers amid the moonlight, yet more sweet

Than any voice but thine, sweetest of all;

A long, long sound, as it would never end;

And all the inhabitants leapt suddenly

Out of their rest, and gathered in the streets,

Looking in wonder up to Heaven, while yet

The music pealed along. I hid myself

Within a fountain in the public square,

Where I lay like the reflex of the moon

Seen in a wave under green leaves; and soon

Those ugly human shapes and visages

Of which I spoke as having wrought me pain,

Passed floating through the air and fading still

Into the winds that scattered them; and those

From whom they passed seemed mild and lovely forms

After some foul disguise had fallen, and all

Were somewhat changed, and after brief surprise

And greetings of delighted wonder, all

Went to their sleep again; and when the dawn

Came, wouldst thou think that toads, and snakes, and efts,

Could e'er be beautiful? yet so they were,

And that with little change of shape or hue;

All things had put their evil nature off;

I cannot tell my joy, when o'er a lake,

Upon a drooping bough with nightshade twined,

I saw two azure halcyons clinging downward

And thinning one bright bunch of amber berries,

With quick long beaks, and in the deep there lay

Those lovely forms imaged as in a sky;

So with my thoughts full of these happy changes,

We meet again, the happiest change of all.

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And never will we part, till thy chaste sister,

Who guides the frozen and inconstant moon,

Will look on thy more warm and equal light

Till her heart thaw like flakes of April snow,

And love thee.

What! as Asia loves Prometheus?

Peace, wanton! thou art yet not old enough.

Think ye by gazing on each other's eyes

To multiply your lovely selves, and fill

With spherèd fires the interlunar air?

Nay, mother, while my sister trims her lamp

'T is hard I should go darkling.

Listen; look!


We feel what thou hast heard and seen; yet speak.

Soon as the sound had ceased whose thunder filled

The abysses of the sky and the wide earth,

There was a change; the impalpable thin air

And the all-circling sunlight were transformed,

As if the sense of love, dissolved in them,

Had folded itself round the spherèd world.

My vision then grew clear, and I could see

Into the mysteries of the universe.

Dizzy as with delight I floated down;

Winnowing the lightsome air with languid plumes,

My coursers sought their birthplace in the sun,

Where they henceforth will live exempt from toil,

Pasturing flowers of vegetable fire,

And where my moonlike car will stand within

A temple, gazed upon by Phidian forms

Of thee, and Asia, and the Earth, and me,

And you, fair nymphs, looking the love we feel,--

In memory of the tidings it has borne,--

Beneath a dome fretted with graven flowers,

Poised on twelve columns of resplendent stone,

And open to the bright and liquid sky.

Yoked to it by an amphisbenic snake

The likeness of those wingèd steeds will mock

The flight from which they find repose. Alas,

Whither has wandered now my partial tongue

When all remains untold which ye would hear?

As I have said, I floated to the earth;

It was, as it is still, the pain of bliss

To move, to breathe, to be. I wandering went

Among the haunts and dwellings of mankind,

And first was disappointed not to see

Such mighty change as I had felt within

Expressed in outward things; but soon I looked,

And behold, thrones were kingless, and men walked

One with the other even as spirits do--

None fawned, none trampled; hate, disdain, or fear,

Self-love or self-contempt, on human brows

No more inscribed, as o'er the gate of hell,

'All hope abandon, ye who enter here.'

None frowned, none trembled, none with eager fear

Gazed on another's eye of cold command,

Until the subject of a tyrant's will

Became, worse fate, the abject of his own,

Which spurred him, like an outspent horse, to death.

None wrought his lips in truth-entangling lines

Which smiled the lie his tongue disdained to speak.

None, with firm sneer, trod out in his own heart

The sparks of love and hope till there remained

Those bitter ashes, a soul self-consumed,

And the wretch crept a vampire among men,

Infecting all with his own hideous ill.

None talked that common, false, cold, hollow talk

Which makes the heart deny the yes it breathes,

Yet question that unmeant hypocrisy

With such a self-mistrust as has no name.

And women, too, frank, beautiful, and kind,

As the free heaven which rains fresh light and dew

On the wide earth, passed; gentle, radiant forms,

From custom's evil taint exempt and pure;

Speaking the wisdom once they could not think,

Looking emotions once they feared to feel,

And changed to all which once they dared not be,

Yet being now, made earth like heaven; nor pride,

Nor jealousy, nor envy, nor ill shame,

The bitterest of those drops of treasured gall,

Spoiled the sweet taste of the nepenthe, love.

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Thrones, altars, judgment-seats, and prisons, wherein,

And beside which, by wretched men were borne

Sceptres, tiaras, swords, and chains, and tomes

Of reasoned wrong, glozed on by ignorance,

Were like those monstrous and barbaric shapes,

The ghosts of a no-more-remembered fame

Which from their unworn obelisks, look forth

In triumph o'er the palaces and tombs

Of those who were their conquerors; mouldering round,

Those imaged to the pride of kings and priests

A dark yet mighty faith, a power as wide

As is the world it wasted, and are now

But an astonishment; even so the tools

And emblems of its last captivity,

Amid the dwellings of the peopled earth,

Stand, not o'erthrown, but unregarded now.

And those foul shapes,--abhorred by god and man,

Which, under many a name and many a form

Strange, savage, ghastly, dark, and execrable,

Were Jupiter, the tyrant of the world,

And which the nations, panic-stricken, served

With blood, and hearts broken by long hope, and love

Dragged to his altars soiled and garlandless,

And slain among men's unreclaiming tears,

Flattering the thing they feared, which fear was hate,--

Frown, mouldering fast, o'er their abandoned shrines.

The painted veil, by those who were, called life,

Which mimicked, as with colors idly spread,

All men believed and hoped, is torn aside;

The loathsome mask has fallen, the man remains

Sceptreless, free, uncircumscribed, but man

Equal, unclassed, tribeless, and nationless,

Exempt from awe, worship, degree, the king

Over himself; just, gentle, wise; but man

Passionless--no, yet free from guilt or pain,

Which were, for his will made or suffered them;

Nor yet exempt, though ruling them like slaves,

From chance, and death, and mutability,

The clogs of that which else might oversoar

The loftiest star of unascended heaven,

Pinnacled dim in the intense inane.

Scene 1

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THE pale stars are gone!

For the sun, their swift shepherd

To their folds them compelling,

In the depths of the dawn,

Hastes, in meteor-eclipsing array, and the flee

Beyond his blue dwelling,

As fawns flee the leopard,

But where are ye?

A Train of dark Forms and Shadows passes by confusedly, singing.

Here, oh, here!

We bear the bier

Of the father of many a cancelled year!

Spectres we

Of the dead Hours be;

We bear Time to his tomb in eternity.

Strew, oh, strew

Hair, not yew!

Wet the dusty pall with tears, not dew!

Be the faded flowers

Of Death's bare bowers

Spread on the corpse of the King of Hours!

Haste, oh, haste!

As shades are chased,

Trembling, by day, from heaven's blue waste,

We melt away,

Like dissolving spray,

From the children of a diviner day,

With the lullaby

Of winds that die

On the bosom of their own harmony!

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What dark forms were they?

The past Hours weak and gray,

With the spoil which their toil

Raked together

From the conquest but One could foil.

Have they passed?

They have passed;

They outspeeded the blast,

While 't is said, they are fled!

Whither, oh, whither?

To the dark, to the past, to the dead.

Bright clouds float in heaven,

Dew-stars gleam on earth,

Waves assemble on ocean,

They are gathered and driven

By the storm of delight, by the panic of glee!

They shake with emotion,

They dance in their mirth.

But where are ye?

The pine boughs are singing

Old songs with new gladness,

The billows and fountains

Fresh music are flinging,

Like the notes of a spirit from land and from sea;

The storms mock the mountains

With the thunder of gladness,

But where are ye?

What charioteers are these?

Where are their chariots?

The voice of the Spirits of Air and of Earth

Has drawn back the figured curtain of sleep,

Which covered our being and darkened our birth

In the deep.

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In the deep?

Oh! below the deep.

An hundred ages we had been kept

Cradled in visions of hate and care,

And each one who waked as his brother slept

Found the truth--

Worse than his visions were!

We have heard the lute of Hope in sleep;

We have known the voice of Love in dreams;

We have felt the wand of Power, and leap--

As the billows leap in the morning beams!

Weave the dance on the floor of the breeze,

Pierce with song heaven's silent light,

Enchant the day that too swiftly flees,

To check its flight ere the cave of night.

Once the hungry Hours were hounds

Which chased the day like a bleeding deer,

And it limped and stumbled with many wounds

Through the nightly dells of the desert year.

But now, oh, weave the mystic measure

Of music, and dance, and shapes of light,

Let the Hours, and the Spirits of might and pleasure,

Like the clouds and sunbeams, unite--


See, where the Spirits of the human mind,

Wrapped in sweet sounds, as in bright veils, approach.

We join the throng

Of the dance and the song,

By the whirlwind of gladness borne along;

As the flying-fish leap

From the Indian deep

And mix with the sea-birds half-asleep.

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Whence come ye, so wild and so fleet,

For sandals of lightning are on your feet,

And your wings are soft and swift as thought,

And your eyes are as love which is veilèd not?

We come from the mind

Of humankind,

Which was late so dusk, and obscene, and blind;

Now 't is an ocean

Of clear emotion,

A heaven of serene and mighty motion.

From that deep abyss

Of wonder and bliss,

Whose caverns are crystal palaces;

From those skyey towers

Where Thought's crowned powers

Sit watching your dance, ye happy Hours!

From the dim recesses

Of woven caresses,

Where lovers catch ye by your loose tresses;

From the azure isles,

Where sweet Wisdom smiles,

Delaying your ships with her siren wiles.

From the temples high

Of Man's ear and eye,

Roofed over Sculpture and Poesy;

From the murmurings

Of the unsealed springs,

Where Science bedews his dædal wings.

Years after years,

Through blood, and tears,

And a thick hell of hatreds, and hopes, and fears,

We waded and flew,

And the islets were few

Where the bud-blighted flowers of happiness grew.

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Our feet now, every palm,

Are sandalled with calm,

And the dew of our wings is a rain of balm;

And, beyond our eyes,

The human love lies,

Which makes all it gazes on Paradise.

Then weave the web of the mystic measure;

From the depths of the sky and the ends of the earth,

Come, swift Spirits of might and of pleasure,

Fill the dance and the music of mirth,

As the waves of a thousand streams rush by

To an ocean of splendor and harmony!

Our spoil is won,

Our task is done,

We are free to dive, or soar, or run;

Beyond and around,

Or within the bound

Which clips the world with darkness round.

We 'll pass the eyes

Of the starry skies

Into the hoar deep to colonize;

Death, Chaos and Night,

From the sound of our flight,

Shall flee, like mist from a tempest's might.

And Earth, Air and Light,

And the Spirit of Might,

Which drives round the stars in their fiery flight;

And Love, Thought and Breath,

The powers that quell Death,

Wherever we soar shall assemble beneath.

And our singing shall build

In the void's loose field

A world for the Spirit of Wisdom to wield;

We will take our plan

From the new world of man,

And our work shall be called the Promethean.

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Break the dance, and scatter the song;

Let some depart, and some remain;

We, beyond heaven, are driven along;

Us the enchantments of earth retain;

Ceaseless, and rapid, and fierce, and free,

With the Spirits which build a new earth and sea,

And a heaven where yet heaven could never be;

Solemn, and slow, and serene, and bright,

Leading the Day, and outspeeding the Night,

With the powers of a world of perfect light;

We whirl, singing loud, round the gathering sphere,

Till the trees, and the beasts, and the clouds appear

From its chaos made calm by love, not fear;

We encircle the ocean and mountains of earth,

And the happy forms of its death and birth

Change to the music of our sweet mirth.

Break the dance, and scatter the song;

Let some depart, and some remain;

Wherever we fly we lead along

In leashes, like star-beams, soft yet strong,

The clouds that are heavy with love's sweet rain.

Ha! they are gone!

Yet feel you no delight

From the past sweetness?

As the bare green hill,

When some soft cloud vanishes into rain,

Laughs with a thousand drops of sunny water

To the unpavilioned sky!

Even whilst we speak

New notes arise. What is that awful sound?

'T is the deep music of the rolling world,

Kindling within the strings of the waved air

Æolian modulations.

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Listen too,

How every pause is filled with under-notes,

Clear, silver, icy, keen awakening tones,

Which pierce the sense, and live within the soul,

As the sharp stars pierce winter's crystal air

And gaze upon themselves within the sea.

But see where, through two openings in the forest

Which hanging branches overcanopy,

And where two runnels of a rivulet,

Between the close moss violet-inwoven,

Have made their path of melody, like sisters

Who part with sighs that they may meet in smiles,

Turning their dear disunion to an isle

Of lovely grief, a wood of sweet sad thoughts;

Two visions of strange radiance float upon

The ocean-like enchantment of strong sound,

Which flows intenser, keener, deeper yet,

Under the ground and through the windless air.

I see a chariot like that thinnest boat

In which the mother of the months is borne

By ebbing night into her western cave,

When she upsprings from interlunar dreams;

O'er which is curved an orb-like canopy

Of gentle darkness, and the hills and woods,

Distinctly seen through that dusk airy veil,

Regard like shapes in an enchanter's glass;

Its wheels are solid clouds, azure and gold,

Such as the genii of the thunder-storm

Pile on the floor of the illumined sea

When the sun rushes under it; they roll

And move and grow as with an inward wind;

Within it sits a wingèd infant--white

Its countenance, like the whiteness of bright snow,

Its plumes are as feathers of sunny frost,

Its limbs gleam white, through the wind-flowing folds

Of its white robe, woof of ethereal pearl,

Its hair is white, the brightness of white light

Scattered in strings; yet its two eyes are heavens

Of liquid darkness, which the Deity

Within seems pouring, as a storm is poured

From jagged clouds, out of their arrowy lashes,

Tempering the cold and radiant air around

With fire that is not brightness; in its hand

It sways a quivering moonbeam, from whose point

A guiding power directs the chariot's prow

Over its wheelèd clouds, which as they roll

Over the grass, and flowers, and waves, wake sounds,

Sweet as a singing rain of silver dew.

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And from the other opening in the wood

Rushes, with loud and whirlwind harmony,

A sphere, which is as many thousand spheres;

Solid as crystal, yet through all its mass

Flow, as through empty space, music and light;

Ten thousand orbs involving and involved,

Purple and azure, white, green and golden,

Sphere within sphere; and every space between

Peopled with unimaginable shapes,

Such as ghosts dream dwell in the lampless deep;

Yet each inter-transpicuous; and they whirl

Over each other with a thousand motions,

Upon a thousand sightless axles spinning,

And with the force of self-destroying swiftness,

Intensely, slowly, solemnly, roll on,

Kindling with mingled sounds, and many tones,

Intelligible words and music wild.

With mighty whirl the multitudinous orb

Grinds the bright brook into an azure mist

Of elemental subtlety, like light;

And the wild odor of the forest flowers,

The music of the living grass and air,

The emerald light of leaf-entangled beams,

Round its intense yet self-conflicting speed

Seem kneaded into one aërial mass

Which drowns the sense. Within the orb itself,

Pillowed upon its alabaster arms,

Like to a child o'erwearied with sweet toil,

On its own folded wings and wavy hair

The Spirit of the Earth is laid asleep,

And you can see its little lips are moving,

Amid the changing light of their own smiles,

Like one who talks of what he loves in dream.

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'T is only mocking the orb's harmony.

And from a star upon its forehead shoot,

Like swords of azure fire or golden spears

With tyrant-quelling myrtle overtwined,

Embleming heaven and earth united now,

Vast beams like spokes of some invisible wheel

Which whirl as the orb whirls, swifter than thought,

Filling the abyss with sun-like lightnings,

And perpendicular now, and now transverse,

Pierce the dark soil, and as they pierce and pass

Make bare the secrets of the earth's deep heart;

Infinite mine of adamant and gold,

Valueless stones, and unimagined gems,

And caverns on crystalline columns poised

With vegetable silver overspread;

Wells of unfathomed fire, and water-springs

Whence the great sea even as a child is fed,

Whose vapors clothe earth's monarch mountain-tops

With kingly, ermine snow. The beams flash on

And make appear the melancholy ruins

Of cancelled cycles; anchors, beaks of ships;

Planks turned to marble; quivers, helms, and spears,

And gorgon-headed targes, and the wheels

Of scythèd chariots, and the emblazonry

Of trophies, standards, and armorial beasts,

Round which death laughed, sepulchred emblems

Of dead destruction, ruin within ruin!

The wrecks beside of many a city vast,

Whose population which the earth grew over

Was mortal, but not human; see, they lie,

Their monstrous works, and uncouth skeletons,

Their statues, homes and fanes; prodigious shapes

Huddled in gray annihilation, split,

Jammed in the hard, black deep; and over these,

The anatomies of unknown wingèd things,

And fishes which were isles of living scale,

And serpents, bony chains, twisted around

The iron crags, or within heaps of dust

To which the tortuous strength of their last pangs

Had crushed the iron crags; and over these

The jagged alligator, and the might

Of earth-convulsing behemoth, which once

Were monarch beasts, and on the slimy shores,

And weed-overgrown continents of earth,

Increased and multiplied like summer worms

On an abandoned corpse, till the blue globe

Wrapped deluge round it like a cloke, and they

Yelled, gasped, and were abolished; or some God,

Whose throne was in a comet, passed, and cried,

Be not! and like my words they were no more.

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The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness!

The boundless, overflowing, bursting gladness,

The vaporous exultation not to be confined!

Ha! ha! the animation of delight

Which wraps me, like an atmosphere of light,

And bears me as a cloud is borne by its own wind.

Brother mine, calm wanderer,

Happy globe of land and air,

Some Spirit is darted like a beam from thee,

Which penetrates my frozen frame,

And passes with the warmth of flame,

With love, and odor, and deep melody

Through me, through me!

Ha! ha! the caverns of my hollow mountains,

My cloven fire-crags, sound-exulting fountains,

Laugh with a vast and inextinguishable laughter.

The oceans, and the deserts, and the abysses,

And the deep air's unmeasured wildernesses,

Answer from all their clouds and billows, echoing after.

They cry aloud as I do. Sceptred curse,

Who all our green and azure universe

Threatenedst to muffle round with black destruction, sending 340

A solid cloud to rain hot thunder-stones

And splinter and knead down my children's bones,

All I bring forth, to one void mass battering and blending,

Until each crag-like tower, and storied column,

Palace, and obelisk, and temple solemn,

My imperial mountains crowned with cloud, and snow, and fire,

My sea-like forests, every blade and blossom

Which finds a grave or cradle in my bosom,

Were stamped by thy strong hate into a lifeless mire:

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How art thou sunk, withdrawn, covered, drunk up

By thirsty nothing, as the brackish cup

Drained by a desert-troop, a little drop for all;

And from beneath, around, within, above,

Filling thy void annihilation, love

Bursts in like light on caves cloven by the thunder-ball!

The snow upon my lifeless mountains

Is loosened into living fountains,

My solid oceans flow, and sing and shine;

A spirit from my heart bursts forth,

It clothes with unexpected birth

My cold bare bosom. Oh, it must be thine

On mine, on mine!

Gazing on thee I feel, I know,

Green stalks burst forth, and bright flowers grow,

And living shapes upon my bosom move;

Music is in the sea and air,

Wingèd clouds soar here and there

Dark with the rain new buds are dreaming of:

'T is love, all love!

It interpenetrates my granite mass,

Through tangled roots and trodden clay doth pass

Into the utmost leaves and delicatest flowers;

Upon the winds, among the clouds 't is spread,

It wakes a life in the forgotten dead,--

They breathe a spirit up from their obscurest bowers;

And like a storm bursting its cloudy prison

With thunder, and with whirlwind, has arisen

Out of the lampless caves of unimagined being;

With earthquake shock and swiftness making shiver

Thought's stagnant chaos, unremoved forever,

Till hate, and fear, and pain, light-vanquished shadows, fleeing,

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Leave Man, who was a many-sided mirror

Which could distort to many a shape of error

This true fair world of things, a sea reflecting love;

Which over all his kind, as the sun's heaven

Gliding o'er ocean, smooth, serene, and even,

Darting from starry depths radiance and life doth move:

Leave Man even as a leprous child is left,

Who follows a sick beast to some warm cleft

Of rocks, through which the might of healing springs is


Then when it wanders home with rosy smile,

Unconscious, and its mother fears awhile

It is a spirit, then weeps on her child restored:

Man, oh, not men! a chain of linkèd thought,

Of love and might to be divided not,

Compelling the elements with adamantine stress;

As the sun rules even with a tyrant's gaze

The unquiet republic of the maze

Of planets, struggling fierce towards heaven's free wilderness:

Man, one harmonious soul of many a soul,

Whose nature is its own divine control,

Where all things flow to all, as rivers to the sea;

Familiar acts are beautiful through love;

Labor, and pain, and grief, in life's green grove

Sport like tame beasts; none knew how gentle they could be!

His will, with all mean passions, bad delights,

And selfish cares, its trembling satellites,

A spirit ill to guide, but mighty to obey,

Is as a tempest-wingèd ship, whose helm

Love rules, through waves which dare not overwhelm,

Forcing life's wildest shores to own its sovereign sway.

All things confess his strength. Through the cold mass

Of marble and of color his dreams pass--

Bright threads whence mothers weave the robes their children wear;

Language is a perpetual Orphic song,

Which rules with dædal harmony a throng

Of thoughts and forms, which else senseless and shapeless were.

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The lightning is his slave; heaven's utmost deep

Gives up her stars, and like a flock of sheep

They pass before his eye, are numbered, and roll on!

The tempest is his steed, he strides the air;

And the abyss shouts from her depth laid bare,

'Heaven, hast thou secrets? Man unveils me; I have none.'

The shadow of white death has passed

From my path in heaven at last,

A clinging shroud of solid frost and sleep;

And through my newly woven bowers,

Wander happy paramours,

Less mighty, but as mild as those who keep

Thy vales more deep.

As the dissolving warmth of dawn may fold

A half unfrozen dew-globe, green, and gold,

And crystalline, till it becomes a wingèd mist,

And wanders up the vault of the blue day,

Outlives the noon, and on the sun's last ray

Hangs o'er the sea, a fleece of fire and amethyst.

Thou art folded, thou art lying

In the light which is undying

Of thine own joy, and heaven's smile divine;

All suns and constellations shower

On thee a light, a life, a power,

Which doth array thy sphere; thou pourest thine

On mine, on mine!

I spin beneath my pyramid of night

Which points into the heavens, dreaming delight,

Murmuring victorious joy in my enchanted sleep;

As a youth lulled in love-dreams faintly sighing,

Under the shadow of his beauty lying,

Which round his rest a watch of light and warmth doth keep.

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As in the soft and sweet eclipse,

When soul meets soul on lovers' lips,

High hearts are calm, and brightest eyes are dull;

So when thy shadow falls on me,

Then am I mute and still, by thee

Covered; of thy love, Orb most beautiful,

Full, oh, too full!

Thou art speeding round the sun,

Brightest world of many a one;

Green and azure sphere which shinest

With a light which is divinest

Among all the lamps of Heaven

To whom life and light is given;

I, thy crystal paramour,

Borne beside thee by a power

Like the polar Paradise,

Magnet-like, of lovers' eyes;

I, a most enamoured maiden,

Whose weak brain is overladen

With the pleasure of her love,

Maniac-like around thee move,

Gazing, an insatiate bride,

On thy form from every side,

Like a Mænad round the cup

Which Agave lifted up

In the weird Cadmean forest.

Brother, wheresoe'er thou soarest

I must hurry, whirl and follow

Through the heavens wide and hollow,

Sheltered by the warm embrace

Of thy soul from hungry space,

Drinking from thy sense and sight

Beauty, majesty and might,

As a lover or a chameleon

Grows like what it looks upon,

As a violet's gentle eye

Gazes on the azure sky

Until its hue grows like what it beholds,

As a gray and watery mist

Glows like solid amethyst

Athwart the western mountain it enfolds,

When the sunset sleeps

Upon its snow.

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And the weak day weeps

That it should be so.

O gentle Moon, the voice of thy delight

Falls on me like thy clear and tender light

Soothing the seaman borne the summer night

Through isles forever calm;

O gentle Moon, thy crystal accents pierce

The caverns of my pride's deep universe,

Charming the tiger joy, whose tramplings fierce

Made wounds which need thy balm.

I rise as from a bath of sparkling water,

A bath of azure light, among dark rocks,

Out of the stream of sound.

Ah me! sweet sister,

The stream of sound has ebbed away from us,

And you pretend to rise out of its wave,

Because your words fall like the clear soft dew

Shaken from a bathing wood-nymph's limbs and hair.

Peace, peace! a mighty Power, which is as darkness,

Is rising out of Earth, and from the sky

Is showered like night, and from within the air

Bursts, like eclipse which had been gathered up

Into the pores of sunlight; the bright visions,

Wherein the singing Spirits rode and shone,

Gleam like pale meteors through a watery night.

There is a sense of words upon mine ear.

An universal sound like words: Oh, list!

Thou, Earth, calm empire of a happy soul,

Sphere of divinest shapes and harmonies,

Beautiful orb! gathering as thou dost roll

The love which paves thy path along the skies:

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I hear: I am as a drop of dew that dies.

Thou, Moon, which gazest on the nightly Earth

With wonder, as it gazes upon thee;

Whilst each to men, and beasts, and the swift birth

Of birds, is beauty, love, calm, harmony:

I hear: I am a leaf shaken by thee.

Ye kings of suns and stars, Dæmons and Gods,

Ethereal Dominations, who possess

Elysian, windless, fortunate abodes

Beyond Heaven's constellated wilderness:

A VOICE (from above)

Our great Republic hears: we are blessed, and bless.

Ye happy dead, whom beams of brightest verse

Are clouds to hide, not colors to portray,

Whether your nature is that universe

Which once ye saw and suffered--

Or, as they

Whom we have left, we change and pass away.

Ye elemental Genii, who have homes

From man's high mind even to the central stone

Of sullen lead; from Heaven's star-fretted domes

To the dull weed some sea-worm battens on:

We hear: thy words waken Oblivion.

Spirits, whose homes are flesh; ye beasts and birds,

Ye worms and fish; ye living leaves and buds;

Lightning and wind; and ye untamable herds,

Meteors and mists, which throng air's solitudes:

Thy voice to us is wind among still woods.

Man, who wert once a despot and a slave,

A dupe and a deceiver! a decay,

A traveller from the cradle to the grave

Through the dim night of this immortal day:

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Speak: thy strong words may never pass away.

This is the day which down the void abysm

At the Earth-born's spell yawns for Heaven's despotism,

And Conquest is dragged captive through the deep;

Love, from its awful throne of patient power

In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour

Of dread endurance, from the slippery, steep,

And narrow verge of crag-like agony, springs

And folds over the world its healing wings.

Gentleness, Virtue, Wisdom, and Endurance--

These are the seals of that most firm assurance

Which bars the pit over Destruction's strength;

And if, with infirm hand, Eternity,

Mother of many acts and hours, should free

The serpent that would clasp her with his length,

These are the spells by which to reassume

An empire o'er the disentangled doom.

To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;

To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;

To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;

To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates

From its own wreck the thing it contemplates;

Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent;

This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be

Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free;

This is alone Life; Joy, Empire, and Victory!