Like shadows: as if day had cloven the skies At dreaming midnight o'er the western wave, Men started, staggering with a glad surprise, Under the lightnings of thine unfamiliar eyes. XII. Thou heaven of earth! what spells could pall thee then, Dyed all thy liquid light with blood and tears, Round France, the ghastly vintage, stood Destruction's sceptred slaves, and folly's mitred brood! When one, like them, but mightier far than they, The Anarch of thine own bewilder'd powers, Rose armies mingled in obscure array Like clouds with clouds, darkening the sacred Of serene heaven. He, by the past pursued, Tomb of Arminius! render up thy dead, Till, like a standard from a watch-tower's staff, His dead spirit lives in thee. Why do we fear or hope? thou art already free! And glorious world! thou flowery wilderness! Thou island of eternity! thou shrine Where desolation, clothed with loveliness, Worships the thing thou wert! O Italy, Gather thy blood into thy heart; repress XV. O, that the free would stamp the impious name Ye the oracle have heard: Left the victory-flashing sword, And cut the snaky knots of this foul gordian word, Which weak itself as stubble, yet can bind Into a mass, irrefragably firm, The axes and the rods which awe mankind; The sound has poison in it, 'tis the sperm Of what makes life foul, cankerous, and abhorr'd; Disdain not thou, at thine appointed term, To set thine armed heel on this reluctant worm XVI. O, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle Such lamps within the dome of this dim world, That the pale name of PRIEST might shrink and dwindle Into the hell from which it first was hurl'd, A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure; Till human thoughts might kneel alone Each before the judgment-throne Of its own aweless soul, or of the power unknown! O, that the words which make the thoughts obscure From which they spring, as clouds of glimmering dew From a white lake blot heaven's blue portraiture, Were stript of their thin masks and various hue, And frowns and smiles and splendors not their own, Till in the nakedness of false and true They stand before their Lord, each to receive its due. XVII. He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever Diving on fiery wings to Nature's throne, Checks the great mother stooping to caress her, And cries: Give me, thy child, dominion Over all heighth and depth? if Life can breed New wants, and wealth from those who toil and groan Rend of thy gifts and hers a thousandfold for one. XVIII. Come Thou, but lead out of the inmost cave Wisdom. I hear the pennons of her car To judge, with solemn truth, life's ill-apportion'd lot Blind Love, and equal Justice, and the Fame Of what has been, the Hope of what will be! O, Liberty! if such could be thy name, Wert thou disjoin'd from these, or they from thee: If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought By blood or tears, have not the wise and free Wept tears, and blood like tears? The solemn harmony XIX. Paused, and the spirit of that mighty singing To its abyss was suddenly withdrawn; Then, as a wild swan, when sublimely winging Its path athwart the thunder-smoke of dawn, Sinks headlong through the aerial golden light On the heavy-sounding plain, When the bolt has pierced its brain; From the unknown graves Of the dead kings of Melody.t Shadowy Aornos darken'd o'er the helm The horizontal ether; heaven stript bare Is depths over Elysium, where the prow As summer clouds dissolve, unburthen'd of their rain; Made the invisible water white as snow; As a far taper fades with fading night, As a brief insect dies with dying day, My song, its pinions disarray'd of might, Droop'd; o'er it closed the echoes far away Of the great voice which did its flight sustain, As waves which lately paved his watery way Hiss round a drowner's head in their tempestuous play. ODE TO NAPLES.* EPODE I. a. I STOOD within the city disinterr'd ;t And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls Of spirits passing through the streets; and heard The Mountain's slumberous voice at intervals Thrill through those roofless halls; The oracular thunder penetrating shook The listening soul in my suspended blood; I felt that Earth out of her deep heart spokeI felt, but heard not:-through white columns glow'd The isle-sustaining Ocean flood, A plane of light between two Heavens of azure: Weigh'd on their life; even as the Power divine, EPODE II. a. Then gentle winds arose, Of wild Æolian sound and mountain odor keen; Within, above, around its bowers of starry green, It bore me like an Angel, o'er the waves I sail'd, where ever flows A spirit of deep emotion, The Author has connected many recollections of his visit to Pompeii and Baie with the enthusiasm excited by| the intelligence of the proclamation of a Constitutional Government at Naples. This has given a tinge of picturesque and descriptive imagery to the introductory Epodes which depicture these scenes, and some of the majestic feelings permanently connected with the scene of this animating event.-Author's Note, † Pompeii. Naples! thou Heart of men which ever pantest The mutinous air and sea! they round thee, even Metropolis of a ruin'd Paradise Long lost, late won, and yet but half regain'd! Bright Altar of the bloodless sacrifice, Which armed Victory offers up unstain'd Thou which wert once, and then did cease to be, STROPHE B. 2. Thou youngest giant birth Leap'st, clothed in armor of impenetrable scale! Who 'gainst the Crown'd Transgressors Pleadest before God's love! Array'd in Wisdom's mail, Wave thy lightning lance in mirth; Nor let thy high heart fail, Though from their hundred gates the leagued Op pressors With hurried legions move! Hail, hail, all hail! ANTISTROPHE a. What though Cimmerian Anarchs dare blaspheme Shall their's have been-devour'd by their own hounds! Be thou like the imperial Basilisk, ANTISTROPHE β 2. From Freedom's form divine, From Nature's inmost shrine, ↑ Homer and Virgil. Didst thou not start to hear Spain's thrilling pean To the cold Alps, eternal Italy Starts to hear thine! The Sea Which paves the desert streets of Venice laughs In light and music; widow'd Genoa wan, Murmuring, where is Doria? fair Milan, The viper'st palsying venom, lifts her heel Hear ye the march as of the Earth-born Forms Of crags and thunder-clouds? Inwrought with emblems of barbaric pride? Dissonant threats kill Silence far away, The serene Heaven which wraps our Eden wide The Anarchs of the North lead forth their legions Famish'd wolves that bide no waiting, On Beauty's corse to sickness satiating They come! The fields they tread look black and hoary With fire-from their red feet the streams run gory! * Exa, the Island of Circe. EPODE II. ß. Great Spirit, deepest Love! All things which live and are, within the Italian shore; Whose woods, rocks, waves, surround it; O bid those beams be each a blinding brand Bid thy bright Heaven above, To make it ours and thine! Or, with thine harmonizing ardors fill THE CLOUD. I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shades for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rock'd to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, I sift the snow on the mountains below, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. In a cavern under is fetter'd the thunder, Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, †The viper was the armorial device of the Visconti, And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, tyrants of Milan. Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, When the morning-star shines dead. As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardors of rest and of love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought When the powers of the air are chain'd to my chair, To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not Is the million-color'd bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of earth and water, I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; For after the rain, when with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain. Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. TO A SKYLARK. HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aërial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: Like a rose embower'd In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflower'd, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal snowers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awaken'd flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphal chaunt, Match'd with thine would be all But an empty vaunt A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, Poets are on this cold earth, As chameleons might be, In a cave beneath the sea. Yet dare not stain with wealth or power HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. THE awful shadow of some unseen Power It visits with inconstant glance Like clouds in starlight widely spread, Like aught that for its grace may be Spirit of BEAUTY! that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art thou gone? Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate ? Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, Ask why the sunlight not for ever Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river, No voice from some sublimer world hath ever The world should listen then, as I am listening now. Remain the records of their vain endeavor: AN EXHORTATION. CHAMELEONS feed on light and air; Would they ever change their hue Frail spells, whose utter'd charm might not avail to sever, From all we hear and all we see, Doubt, chance, and mutability. Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains driven, Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds, depart |