NOTES: (_153 (Io) The Promethetes Bound of Aeschylus.—[SHELLEY’S NOTE.]) (_153 (Ezekiel) And the Lord whistled for the gadfly out of Aethiopia, and for the bee of Egypt, etc.—EZEKIEL.—[SHELLEY’S NOTE.])
MAMMON:But if _175This Gadfly should drive Iona hither?
PURGANAX:Gods! what an IF! but there is my gray RAT:So thin with want, he can crawl in and outOf any narrow chink and filthy hole,And he shall creep into her dressing-room, _180And—
MAMMON:My dear friend, where are your wits? as ifShe does not always toast a piece of cheeseAnd bait the trap? and rats, when lean enoughTo crawl through SUCH chinks—
PURGANAX:But my LEECH—a leechFit to suck blood, with lubricous round rings, _185Capaciously expatiative, which makeHis little body like a red balloon,As full of blood as that of hydrogen,Sucked from men’s hearts; insatiably he sucksAnd clings and pulls—a horse-leech, whose deep maw _190The plethoric King Swellfoot could not fill,And who, till full, will cling for ever.
MAMMON:ThisFor Queen Jona would suffice, and less;But ’tis the Swinish multitude I fear,And in that fear I have—
PURGANAX:Done what?
MAMMON:Disinherited _195My eldest son Chrysaor, because heAttended public meetings, and would alwaysStand prating there of commerce, public faith,Economy, and unadulterate coin,And other topics, ultra-radical; _200And have entailed my estate, called the Fool’s Paradise,And funds in fairy-money, bonds, and bills,Upon my accomplished daughter Banknotina,And married her to the gallows. [1]
NOTE: (_204 ‘If one should marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone.—CYMBELINE.—[SHELLEY’S NOTE.]
PURGANAX:A good match!
MAMMON:A high connexion, Purganax. The bridegroom _205Is of a very ancient family,Of Hounslow Heath, Tyburn, and the New Drop,And has great influence in both Houses;—oh!He makes the fondest husband; nay, TOO fond,—New-married people should not kiss in public; _210But the poor souls love one another so!And then my little grandchildren, the gibbets,Promising children as you ever saw,—The young playing at hanging, the elder learningHow to hold radicals. They are well taught too, _215For every gibbet says its catechismAnd reads a select chapter in the BibleBefore it goes to play.
PURGANAX:Ha! what do I hear?
MAMMON:Your Gadfly, as it seems, is tired of gadding.
GADFLY:Hum! hum! hum! _220From the lakes of the Alps, and the cold gray scalpsOf the mountains, I come!Hum! hum! hum!From Morocco and Fez, and the high palacesOf golden Byzantium; _225From the temples divine of old Palestine,From Athens and Rome,With a ha! and a hum!I come! I come!
All inn-doors and windows _230Were open to me:I saw all that sin does,Which lamps hardly seeThat burn in the night by the curtained bed,—The impudent lamps! for they blushed not red, _235Dinging and singing,From slumber I rung her,Loud as the clank of an ironmonger;Hum! hum! hum!
Far, far, far! _240With the trump of my lips, and the sting at my hips,I drove her—afar!Far, far, far!From city to city, abandoned of pity,A ship without needle or star;— _245Homeless she passed, like a cloud on the blast,Seeking peace, finding war;—She is here in her car,From afar, and afar;—Hum! hum! _250
I have stung her and wrung her,The venom is working;—And if you had hung herWith canting and quirking,She could not be deader than she will be soon;— _255I have driven her close to you, under the moon,Night and day, hum! hum! ha!I have hummed her and drummed herFrom place to place, till at last I have dumbed her,Hum! hum! hum! _260
NOTE: _260 Edd. 1820, 1839 have no stage direction after this line.
LEECH:I will suckBlood or muck!The disease of the state is a plethory,Who so fit to reduce it as I?
RAT:I’ll slily seize and _265Let blood from her weasand,—Creeping through crevice, and chink, and cranny,With my snaky tail, and my sides so scranny.
PURGANAX:Aroint ye! thou unprofitable worm![TO THE LEECH.]And thou, dull beetle, get thee back to hell! _270[TO THE GADFLY.]To sting the ghosts of Babylonian kings,And the ox-headed Io—
SWINE (WITHIN):Ugh, ugh, ugh!Hail! Iona the divine,We will be no longer Swine,But Bulls with horns and dewlaps.
RAT:For, _275You know, my lord, the Minotaur—
PURGANAX (FIERCELY):Be silent! get to hell! or I will callThe cat out of the kitchen. Well, Lord Mammon,This is a pretty business.
MAMMON:I will goAnd spell some scheme to make it ugly then.— _280
SWELLFOOT:She is returned! Taurina is in Thebes,When Swellfoot wishes that she were in hell!Oh, Hymen, clothed in yellow jealousy,And waving o’er the couch of wedded kingsThe torch of Discord with its fiery hair; _285This is thy work, thou patron saint of queens!Swellfoot is wived! though parted by the sea,The very name of wife had conjugal rights;Her cursed image ate, drank, slept with me,And in the arms of Adiposa oft 290Her memory has received a husband’s—[A LOUD TUMULT, AND CRIES OF ‘IONA FOR EVER —NO SWELLFOOT!‘]Hark!How the Swine cry Iona Taurina;I suffer the real presence; Purganax,Off with her head!
PURGANAX:But I must first impanelA jury of the Pigs.
SWELLFOOT:Pack them then. _295
PURGANAX:Or fattening some few in two separate sties.And giving them clean straw, tying some bitsOf ribbon round their legs—giving their SowsSome tawdry lace, and bits of lustre glass,And their young Boars white and red rags, and tails _300Of cows, and jay feathers, and sticking cauliflowersBetween the ears of the old ones; and whenThey are persuaded, that by the inherent virtueOf these things, they are all imperial Pigs,Good Lord! they’d rip each other’s bellies up, _305Not to say, help us in destroying her.
SWELLFOOT:This plan might be tried too;—where’s General Laoctonos?[ENTER LAOCTONOS AND DAKRY.]It is my royal pleasureThat you, Lord General, bring the head and body,If separate it would please me better, hither _310Of Queen Iona.
LAOCTONOS:That pleasure I well knew,And made a charge with those battalions bold,Called, from their dress and grin, the royal apes,Upon the Swine, who in a hollow squareEnclosed her, and received the first attack _315Like so many rhinoceroses, and thenRetreating in good order, with bare tusksAnd wrinkled snouts presented to the foe,Bore her in triumph to the public sty.What is still worse, some Sows upon the ground _320Have given the ape-guards apples, nuts, and gin,And they all whisk their tails aloft, and cry,‘Long live Iona! down with Swellfoot!’
PURGANAX:Hark!
THE SWINE (WITHOUT):Long live Iona! down with Swellfoot!
DAKRY:IWent to the garret of the swineherd’s tower, _325Which overlooks the sty, and made a longHarangue (all words) to the assembled Swine,Of delicacy mercy, judgement, law,Morals, and precedents, and purity,Adultery, destitution, and divorce, _330Piety, faith, and state necessity,And how I loved the Queen!—and then I weptWith the pathos of my own eloquence,And every tear turned to a mill-stone, whichBrained many a gaping Pig, and there was made _335A slough of blood and brains upon the place,Greased with the pounded bacon; round and roundThe mill-stones rolled, ploughing the pavement up,And hurling Sucking-Pigs into the air,With dust and stones.—
MAMMON:I wonder that gray wizards _340Like you should be so beardless in their schemes;It had been but a point of policyTo keep Iona and the Swine apart.Divide and rule! but ye have made a junctionBetween two parties who will govern you _345But for my art.—Behold this BAG! it isThe poison BAG of that Green Spider huge,On which our spies skulked in ovation throughThe streets of Thebes, when they were paved with dead:A bane so much the deadlier fills it now _350As calumny is worse than death,—for hereThe Gadfly’s venom, fifty times distilled,Is mingled with the vomit of the Leech,In due proportion, and black ratsbane, whichThat very Rat, who, like the Pontic tyrant, _355Nurtures himself on poison, dare not touch;—All is sealed up with the broad seal of Fraud,Who is the Devil’s Lord High Chancellor,And over it the Primate of all HellMurmured this pious baptism:—‘Be thou called _360The GREEN BAG; and this power and grace be thine:That thy contents, on whomsoever poured,Turn innocence to guilt, and gentlest looksTo savage, foul, and fierce deformity.Let all baptized by thy infernal dew _365Be called adulterer, drunkard, liar, wretch!No name left out which orthodoxy loves,Court Journal or legitimate Review!—Be they called tyrant, beast, fool, glutton, loverOf other wives and husbands than their own— _370The heaviest sin on this side of the Alps!Wither they to a ghastly caricatureOf what was human!—let not man or beastBehold their face with unaverted eyes!Or hear their names with ears that tingle not _375With blood of indignation, rage, and shame!’—This is a perilous liquor;—good my Lords.—[SWELLFOOT APPROACHES TO TOUCH THE GREEN BAG.]Beware! for God’s sake, beware!-if you should breakThe seal, and touch the fatal liquor—
NOTE: _373 or edition 1820; nor edition 1839.
PURGANAX:There,Give it to me. I have been used to handle _380All sorts of poisons. His dread MajestyOnly desires to see the colour of it.
MAMMON:Now, with a little common sense, my Lords,Only undoing all that has been done(Yet so as it may seem we but confirm it), _385Our victory is assured. We must enticeHer Majesty from the sty, and make the PigsBelieve that the contents of the GREEN BAGAre the true test of guilt or innocence.And that, if she be guilty, ‘twill transform her _390To manifest deformity like guilt.If innocent, she will become transfiguredInto an angel, such as they say she is;And they will see her flying through the air,So bright that she will dim the noonday sun; _395Showering down blessings in the shape of comfits.This, trust a priest, is just the sort of thingSwine will believe. I’ll wager you will see themClimbing upon the thatch of their low sties,With pieces of smoked glass, to watch her sail _400Among the clouds, and some will hold the flapsOf one another’s ears between their teeth,To catch the coming hail of comfits in.You, Purganax, who have the gift o’ the gab,Make them a solemn speech to this effect: _405I go to put in readiness the feastKept to the honour of our goddess Famine,Where, for more glory, let the ceremonyTake place of the uglification of the Queen.
DAKRY (TO SWELLFOOT):I, as the keeper of your sacred conscience, _410Humbly remind your Majesty that the careOf your high office, as Man-millinerTo red Bellona, should not be deferred.
PURGANAX:All part, in happier plight to meet again.
PURGANAX:Grant me your patience, Gentlemen and Boars,Ye, by whose patience under public burthensThe glorious constitution of these stiesSubsists, and shall subsist. The Lean-Pig ratesGrow with the growing populace of Swine, _5The taxes, that true source of Piggishness(How can I find a more appropriate termTo include religion, morals, peace, and plenty,And all that fit Boeotia as a nationTo teach the other nations how to live?), _10Increase with Piggishness itself; and stillDoes the revenue, that great spring of allThe patronage, and pensions, and by-payments,Which free-born Pigs regard with jealous eyes,Diminish, till at length, by glorious steps, _15All the land’s produce will be merged in taxes,And the revenue will amount to—nothing!The failure of a foreign market forSausages, bristles, and blood-puddings,And such home manufactures, is but partial; _20And, that the population of the Pigs,Instead of hog-wash, has been fed on strawAnd water, is a fact which is—you know—That is—it is a state-necessity—Temporary, of course. Those impious Pigs, _25Who, by frequent squeaks, have dared impugnThe settled Swellfoot system, or to makeIrreverent mockery of the genuflexionsInculcated by the arch-priest, have been whippedInto a loyal and an orthodox whine. _30Things being in this happy state, the QueenIona—
NOTE: _16 land’s]lands edition 1820.
A LOUD CRY FROM THE PIGS:She is innocent! most innocent!
PURGANAX:That is the very thing that I was saying,Gentlemen Swine; the Queen Iona beingMost innocent, no doubt, returns to Thebes, _35And the lean Sows and Bears collect about her,Wishing to make her think that WE believe(I mean those more substantial Pigs, who swillRich hog-wash, while the others mouth damp straw)That she is guilty; thus, the Lean-Pig faction _40Seeks to obtain that hog-wash, which has beenYour immemorial right, and which I willMaintain you in to the last drop of—
A BOAR (INTERRUPTING HIM):WhatDoes any one accuse her of?
PURGANAX:Why, no oneMakes ANY positive accusation;—but _45There were hints dropped, and so the privy wizardsConceived that it became them to adviseHis Majesty to investigate their truth;—Not for his own sake; he could be contentTo let his wife play any pranks she pleased, _50If, by that sufferance, HE could please the Pigs;But then he fears the morals of the Swine,The Sows especially, and what effectIt might produce upon the purity andReligion of the rising generation _55Of Sucking-Pigs, if it could be suspectedThat Queen Iona—
FIRST BOAR:Well, go on; we longTo hear what she can possibly have done.
PURGANAX:Why, it is hinted, that a certain Bull—Thus much is KNOWN:—the milk-white Bulls that feed _60Beside Clitumnus and the crystal lakesOf the Cisalpine mountains, in fresh dewsOf lotus-grass and blossoming asphodelSleeking their silken hair, and with sweet breathLoading the morning winds until they faint _65With living fragrance, are so beautiful!—Well,Isay nothing;—but Europa rodeOn such a one from Asia into Crete,And the enamoured sea grew calm beneathHis gliding beauty. And Pasiphae, _70Iona’s grandmother,—but SHE is innocent!And that both you and I, and all assert.
FIRST BOAR:Most innocent!
PURGANAX:Behold this BAG; a bag—
SECOND BOAR:Oh! no GREEN BAGS!! Jealousy’s eyes are green,Scorpions are green, and water-snakes, and efts, _75And verdigris, and—
PURGANAX:Honourable Swine,In Piggish souls can prepossessions reign?Allow me to remind you, grass is green—All flesh is grass;—no bacon but is flesh—Ye are but bacon. This divining BAG _80(Which is not green, but only bacon colour)Is filled with liquor, which if sprinkled o’erA woman guilty of—we all know what—Makes her so hideous, till she finds one blindShe never can commit the like again. _85If innocent, she will turn into an angel,And rain down blessings in the shape of comfitsAs she flies up to heaven. Now, my proposalIs to convert her sacred MajestyInto an angel (as I am sure we shall do), _90By pouring on her head this mystic water.[SHOWING THE BAG.]I know that she is innocent; I wishOnly to prove her so to all the world.
FIRST BOAR:Excellent, just, and noble Purganax.
SECOND BOAR:How glorious it will be to see her Majesty _95Flying above our heads, her petticoatsStreaming like—like—like—
THIRD BOAR:Anything.
PURGANAX:Oh no!But like a standard of an admiral’s ship,Or like the banner of a conquering host,Or like a cloud dyed in the dying day, _100Unravelled on the blast from a white mountain;Or like a meteor, or a war-steed’s mane,Or waterfall from a dizzy precipiceScattered upon the wind.
FIRST BOAR:Or a cow’s tail.
SECOND BOAR:Or ANYTHING, as the learned Boar observed. _105
PURGANAX:Gentlemen Boars, I move a resolution,That her most sacred Majesty should beInvited to attend the feast of Famine,And to receive upon her chaste white bodyDews of Apotheosis from this BAG. _110
SEMICHORUS 1:No! Yes!
SEMICHORUS 2:Yes! No!
SEMICHORUS 1:A law!
SEMICHORUS 2:A flaw!
SEMICHORUS 1:Porkers, we shall lose our wash, _115Or must share it with the Lean-Pigs!
FIRST BOAR:Order! order! be not rash!Was there ever such a scene, Pigs!
AN OLD SOW (RUSHING IN):I never saw so fine a dashSince I first began to wean Pigs. _120
SECOND BOAR (SOLEMNLY):The Queen will be an angel time enough.I vote, in form of an amendment, thatPurganax rub a little of that stuffUpon his face.
PURGANAX [HIS HEART IS SEEN TO BEAT THROUGH HIS WAISTCOAT]:Gods! What would ye be at?
SEMICHORUS 1:Purganax has plainly shown a _125Cloven foot and jackdaw feather.
SEMICHORUS 2:I vote Swellfoot and IonaTry the magic test together;Whenever royal spouses bicker,Both should try the magic liquor. _130
AN OLD BOAR [ASIDE]:A miserable state is that of Pigs,For if their drivers would tear caps and wigs,The Swine must bite each other’s ear therefore.
AN OLD SOW [ASIDE]:A wretched lot Jove has assigned to Swine,Squabbling makes Pig-herds hungry, and they dine _135On bacon, and whip Sucking-Pigs the more.
CHORUS:Hog-wash has been ta’en away:If the Bull-Queen is divested,We shall be in every wayHunted, stripped, exposed, molested; _140Let us do whate’er we may,That she shall not be arrested.QUEEN, we entrench you with walls of brawn,And palisades of tusks, sharp as a bayonet:Place your most sacred person here. We pawn _145Our lives that none a finger dare to lay on it.Those who wrong you, wrong us;Those who hate you, hate us;Those who sting you, sting us;Those who bait you, bait us; _150The ORACLE is now about to beFulfilled by circumvolving destiny;Which says: ‘Thebes, choose REFORM or CIVIL WAR,When through your streets, instead of hare with dogs,A CONSORT QUEEN shall hunt a KING with Hogs, _155Riding upon the IONIAN MINOTAUR.’
NOTE: _154 streets instead edition 1820.
IONA TAURINA (COMING FORWARD):Gentlemen Swine, and gentle Lady-Pigs,The tender heart of every Boar acquitsTheir QUEEN, of any act incongruousWith native Piggishness, and she, reposing _160With confidence upon the grunting nation,Has thrown herself, her cause, her life, her all,Her innocence, into their Hoggish arms;Nor has the expectation been deceivedOf finding shelter there. Yet know, great Boars, _165(For such whoever lives among you finds you,And so do I), the innocent are proud!I have accepted your protection onlyIn compliment of your kind love and care,Not for necessity. The innocent _170Are safest there where trials and dangers wait;Innocent Queens o’er white-hot ploughshares treadUnsinged, and ladies, Erin’s laureate sings it,Decked with rare gems, and beauty rarer still,Walked from Killarney to the Giant’s Causeway, _175Through rebels, smugglers, troops of yeomanry,White-boys and Orange-boys, and constables,Tithe-proctors, and excise people, uninjured!Thus I!—Lord Purganax, I do commit myself _180Into your custody, and am preparedTo stand the test, whatever it may be!
NOTE: (_173 ‘Rich and rare were the gems she wore.’ See Moore’s “Irish Melodies”.— [SHELLEY’S NOTE.])
PURGANAX:This magnanimity in your sacred MajestyMust please the Pigs. You cannot fail of beingA heavenly angel. Smoke your bits of glass, _185Ye loyal Swine, or her transfigurationWill blind your wondering eyes.
AN OLD BOAR [ASIDE]:Take care, my Lord,They do not smoke you first.
PURGANAX:At the approaching feastOf Famine, let the expiation be.
SWINE:Content! content!
IONA TAURINA [ASIDE]:I, most content of all, _190Know that my foes even thus prepare their fall!
CHORUS OF PRIESTS, ACCOMPANIED BY THE COURT PORKMAN ON MARROW-BONESAND CLEAVERS:GODDESS bare, and gaunt, and pale,Empress of the world, all hail!What though Cretans old called theeCity-crested Cybele?We call thee FAMINE! _5Goddess of fasts and feasts, starving and cramming!Through thee, for emperors, kings, and priests and lords,Who rule by viziers, sceptres, bank-notes, words,The earth pours forth its plenteous fruits,Corn, wool, linen, flesh, and roots— _10Those who consume these fruits through thee grow fat,Those who produce these fruits through thee grow lean,Whatever change takes place, oh, stick to that!And let things be as they have ever been;At least while we remain thy priests, _15And proclaim thy fasts and feasts.Through thee the sacred SWELLFOOT dynastyIs based upon a rock amid that seaWhose waves are Swine—so let it ever be!
MAMMON:I fear your sacred Majesty has lost _20The appetite which you were used to have.Allow me now to recommend this dish—A simple kickshaw by your Persian cook,Such as is served at the great King’s second table.The price and pains which its ingredients cost _25Might have maintained some dozen familiesA winter or two—not more—so plain a dishCould scarcely disagree.—
SWELLFOOT:After the trial,And these fastidious Pigs are gone, perhapsI may recover my lost appetite,— _30I feel the gout flying about my stomach—Give me a glass of Maraschino punch.
PURGANAX (FILLING HIS GLASS, AND STANDING UP):The glorious Constitution of the Pigs!
ALL:A toast! a toast! stand up, and three times three!
DAKRY:No heel-taps—darken daylights! —
LAOCTONOS:Claret, somehow, _35Puts me in mind of blood, and blood of claret!
SWELLFOOT:Laoctonos is fishing for a compliment,But ’tis his due. Yes, you have drunk more wine,And shed more blood, than any man in Thebes.[TO PURGANAX.]For God’s sake stop the grunting of those Pigs! _40
PURGANAX:We dare not, Sire, ’tis Famine’s privilege.
CHORUS OF SWINE:Hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine!Thy throne is on blood, and thy robe is of rags;Thou devil which livest on damning;Saint of new churches, and cant, and GREEN BAGS, _45Till in pity and terror thou risest,Confounding the schemes of the wisest;When thou liftest thy skeleton form,When the loaves and the skulls roll about,We will greet thee-the voice of a storm _50Would be lost in our terrible shout!
Then hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine!Hail to thee, Empress of Earth!When thou risest, dividing possessions;When thou risest, uprooting oppressions, _55In the pride of thy ghastly mirth;Over palaces, temples, and graves,We will rush as thy minister-slaves,Trampling behind in thy train,Till all be made level again! _60
MAMMON:I hear a crackling of the giant bonesOf the dread image, and in the black pitsWhich once were eyes, I see two livid flames.These prodigies are oracular, and showThe presence of the unseen Deity. _65Mighty events are hastening to their doom!
SWELLFOOT:I only hear the lean and mutinous SwineGrunting about the temple.
DAKRY:In a crisisOf such exceeding delicacy, I thinkWe ought to put her Majesty, the QUEEN, _70Upon her trial without delay.
MAMMON:THE BAGIs here.
PURGANAX:I have rehearsed the entire sceneWith an ox-bladder and some ditchwater,On Lady P—; it cannot fail.[TAKING UP THE BAG.]Your Majesty[TO SWELLFOOT.]In such a filthy business had better _75Stand on one side, lest it should sprinkle you.A spot or two on me would do no harm,Nay, it might hide the blood, which the sad GeniusOf the Green Isle has fixed, as by a spell,Upon my brow—which would stain all its seas, _80But which those seas could never wash away!
IONA TAURINA:My Lord, I am ready—nay, I am impatientTo undergo the test.[A GRACEFUL FIGURE IN A SEMI-TRANSPARENT VEIL PASSES UNNOTICED THROUGHTHE TEMPLE; THE WORD “LIBERTY” IS SEEN THROUGH THE VEIL, AS IF IT WEREWRITTEN IN FIRE UPON ITS FOREHEAD. ITS WORDS ARE ALMOST DROWNED IN THEFURIOUS GRUNTING OF THE PIGS, AND THE BUSINESS OF THE TRIAL. SHEKNEELS ON THE STEPS OF THE ALTAR, AND SPEAKS IN TONES AT FIRST FAINTAND LOW, BUT WHICH EVER BECOME LOUDER AND LOUDER.]Mighty Empress! Death’s white wife!Ghastly mother-in-law of Life! _85By the God who made thee such,By the magic of thy touch,By the starving and the crammingOf fasts and feasts! by thy dread self, O Famine!I charge thee! when thou wake the multitude, _90Thou lead them not upon the paths of blood.The earth did never mean her foisonFor those who crown life’s cup with poisonOf fanatic rage and meaningless revenge—But for those radiant spirits, who are still _95The standard-bearers in the van of Change.Be they th’ appointed stewards, to fillThe lap of Pain, and Toil, and Age!—Remit, O Queen! thy accustomed rage!Be what thou art not! In voice faint and low _100FREEDOM calls “Famine”,—her eternal foe,To brief alliance, hollow truce.—Rise now!
MINOTAUR:I am the Ionian Minotaur, the mightiestOf all Europa’s taurine progeny—I am the old traditional Man-Bull; _105And from my ancestors having been Ionian,I am called Ion, which, by interpretation,Is JOHN; in plain Theban, that is to say,My name’s JOHN BULL; I am a famous hunter,And can leaf any gate in all Boeotia, _110Even the palings of the royal park,Or double ditch about the new enclosures;And if your Majesty will deign to mount me,At least till you have hunted down your game,I will not throw you. _115
IONA TAURINA [DURING THIS SPEECH SHE HAS BEEN PUTTING ON BOOTS ANDSPURS, AND A HUNTING-CAP, BUCKISHLY COCKED ON ONE SIDE, AND TUCKING UPHER HAIR, SHE LEAPS NIMBLY ON HIS BACK]:Hoa! hoa! tallyho! tallyho! ho! ho!Come, let us hunt these ugly badgers down,These stinking foxes, these devouring otters,These hares, these wolves, these anything but men.Hey, for a whipper-in! my loyal PigsNow let your noses be as keen as beagles’, _120Your steps as swift as greyhounds’, and your criesMore dulcet and symphonious than the bellsOf village-towers, on sunshine holiday;Wake all the dewy woods with jangling music.Give them no law (are they not beasts of blood?) _125But such as they gave you. Tallyho! ho!Through forest, furze, and bog, and den, and desert,Pursue the ugly beasts! tallyho! ho!
FULL CHORUS OF IONA AND THE SWINE:Tallyho! tallyho!Through rain, hail, and snow, _130Through brake, gorse, and briar,Through fen, flood, and mire,We go! we go!
Tallyho! tallyho!Through pond, ditch, and slough, _135Wind them, and find them,Like the Devil behind them,Tallyho! tallyho!
In the brief journal I kept in those days, I find recorded, in August, 1820, Shelley ‘begins “Swellfoot the Tyrant”, suggested by the pigs at the fair of San Giuliano.’ This was the period of Queen Caroline’s landing in England, and the struggles made by George IV to get rid of her claims; which failing, Lord Castlereagh placed the “Green Bag” on the table of the House of Commons, demanding in the King’s name that an enquiry should be instituted into his wife’s conduct. These circumstances were the theme of all conversation among the English. We were then at the Baths of San Giuliano. A friend came to visit us on the day when a fair was held in the square, beneath our windows: Shelley read to us his “Ode to Liberty”; and was riotously accompanied by the grunting of a quantity of pigs brought for sale to the fair. He compared it to the ‘chorus of frogs’ in the satiric drama of Aristophanes; and, it being an hour of merriment, and one ludicrous association suggesting another, he imagined a political-satirical drama on the circumstances of the day, to which the pigs would serve as chorus—and “Swellfoot” was begun. When finished, it was transmitted to England, printed, and published anonymously; but stifled at the very dawn of its existence by the Society for the Suppression of Vice, who threatened to prosecute it, if not immediately withdrawn. The friend who had taken the trouble of bringing it out, of course did not think it worth the annoyance and expense of a contest, and it was laid aside.
Hesitation of whether it would do honour to Shelley prevented my publishing it at first. But I cannot bring myself to keep back anything he ever wrote; for each word is fraught with the peculiar views and sentiments which he believed to be beneficial to the human race, and the bright light of poetry irradiates every thought. The world has a right to the entire compositions of such a man; for it does not live and thrive by the outworn lesson of the dullard or the hypocrite, but by the original free thoughts of men of genius, who aspire to pluck bright truth
‘from the pale-faced moon;Or dive into the bottom of the deepWhere fathom-line would never touch the ground,And pluck up drowned’
truth. Even those who may dissent from his opinions will consider that he was a man of genius, and that the world will take more interest in his slightest word than in the waters of Lethe which are so eagerly prescribed as medicinal for all its wrongs and woe. This drama, however, must not be judged for more than was meant. It is a mere plaything of the imagination; which even may not excite smiles among many, who will not see wit in those combinations of thought which were full of the ridiculous to the author. But, like everything he wrote, it breathes that deep sympathy for the sorrows of humanity, and indignation against its oppressors, which make it worthy of his name.
***
L’anima amante si slancia fuori del creato, e si crea nell’ infinito unMondo tutto per essa, diverso assai da questo oscuro e pauroso baratro.HER OWN WORDS.
[“Epipsychidion” was composed at Pisa, January, February, 1821, and published without the author’s name, in the following summer, by C. & J. Ollier, London. The poem was included by Mrs. Shelley in the “Poetical Works”, 1839, both editions. Amongst the Shelley manuscripts in the Bodleian is a first draft of “Epipsychidion”, ‘consisting of three versions, more or less complete, of the “Preface [Advertisement]”, a version in ink and pencil, much cancelled, of the last eighty lines of the poem, and some additional lines which did not appear in print’ (“Examination of the Shelley manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, by C.D. Locock”. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1903, page 3). This draft, the writing of which is ‘extraordinarily confused and illegible,’ has been carefully deciphered and printed by Mr. Locock in the volume named above. Our text follows that of the editio princeps, 1821.]
The Writer of the following lines died at Florence, as he was preparing for a voyage to one of the wildest of the Sporades, which he had bought, and where he had fitted up the ruins of an old building, and where it was his hope to have realised a scheme of life, suited perhaps to that happier and better world of which he is now an inhabitant, but hardly practicable in this. His life was singular; less on account of the romantic vicissitudes which diversified it, than the ideal tinge which it received from his own character and feelings. The present Poem, like the “Vita Nuova” of Dante, is sufficiently intelligible to a certain class of readers without a matter-of-fact history of the circumstances to which it relates and to a certain other class it must ever remain incomprehensible, from a defect of a common organ of perception for the ideas of which it treats. Not but that gran vergogna sarebbe a colui, che rimasse cosa sotto veste di figura, o di colore rettorico: e domandato non sapesse denudare le sue parole da cotal veste, in guisa che avessero verace intendimento.
The present poem appears to have been intended by the Writer as the dedication to some longer one. The stanza on the opposite page [1] is almost a literal translation from Dante’s famous Canzone
Voi, ch’ intendendo, il terzo ciel movete, etc.
The presumptuous application of the concluding lines to his own composition will raise a smile at the expense of my unfortunate friend: be it a smile not of contempt, but pity. S.
[1] i.e. the nine lines which follow, beginning, ‘My Song, I fear,’ etc.—ED.
My Song, I fear that thou wilt find but fewWho fitly shalt conceive thy reasoning,Of such hard matter dost thou entertain;Whence, if by misadventure, chance should bringThee to base company (as chance may do), _5Quite unaware of what thou dost contain,I prithee, comfort thy sweet self again,My last delight! tell them that they are dull,And bid them own that thou art beautiful.
Sweet Spirit! Sister of that orphan one,Whose empire is the name thou weepest on,In my heart’s temple I suspend to theeThese votive wreaths of withered memory.
Poor captive bird! who, from thy narrow cage, _5Pourest such music, that it might assuageThe rugged hearts of those who prisoned thee,Were they not deaf to all sweet melody;This song shall be thy rose: its petals paleAre dead, indeed, my adored Nightingale! _10But soft and fragrant is the faded blossom,And it has no thorn left to wound thy bosom.
High, spirit-winged Heart! who dost for everBeat thine unfeeling bars with vain endeavour,Till those bright plumes of thought, in which arrayed _15It over-soared this low and worldly shade,Lie shattered; and thy panting, wounded breastStains with dear blood its unmaternal nest!I weep vain tears: blood would less bitter be,Yet poured forth gladlier, could it profit thee. _20
Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human,Veiling beneath that radiant form of WomanAll that is insupportable in theeOf light, and love, and immortality!Sweet Benediction in the eternal Curse! _25Veiled Glory of this lampless Universe!Thou Moon beyond the clouds! Thou living FormAmong the Dead! Thou Star above the Storm!Thou Wonder, and thou Beauty, and thou Terror!Thou Harmony of Nature’s art! Thou Mirror _30In whom, as in the splendour of the Sun,All shapes look glorious which thou gazest on!Ay, even the dim words which obscure thee nowFlash, lightning-like, with unaccustomed glow;I pray thee that thou blot from this sad song _35All of its much mortality and wrong,With those clear drops, which start like sacred dewFrom the twin lights thy sweet soul darkens through,Weeping, till sorrow becomes ecstasy:Then smile on it, so that it may not die. _40
I never thought before my death to seeYouth’s vision thus made perfect. Emily,I love thee; though the world by no thin nameWill hide that love from its unvalued shame.Would we two had been twins of the same mother! _45Or, that the name my heart lent to anotherCould be a sister’s bond for her and thee,Blending two beams of one eternity!Yet were one lawful and the other true,These names, though dear, could paint not, as is due. _50How beyond refuge I am thine. Ah me!I am not thine: I am a part of THEE.
Sweet Lamp! my moth-like Muse has burned its wingsOr, like a dying swan who soars and sings,Young Love should teach Time, in his own gray style, _55All that thou art. Art thou not void of guile,A lovely soul formed to be blessed and bless?A well of sealed and secret happiness,Whose waters like blithe light and music are,Vanquishing dissonance and gloom? A Star _60Which moves not in the moving heavens, alone?A Smile amid dark frowns? a gentle toneAmid rude voices? a beloved light?A Solitude, a Refuge, a Delight?A Lute, which those whom Love has taught to play _65Make music on, to soothe the roughest dayAnd lull fond Grief asleep? a buried treasure?A cradle of young thoughts of wingless pleasure?A violet-shrouded grave of Woe?—I measureThe world of fancies, seeking one like thee, _70And find—alas! mine own infirmity.
She met me, Stranger, upon life’s rough way,And lured me towards sweet Death; as Night by Day,Winter by Spring, or Sorrow by swift Hope,Led into light, life, peace. An antelope, _75In the suspended impulse of its lightness,Were less aethereally light: the brightnessOf her divinest presence trembles throughHer limbs, as underneath a cloud of dewEmbodied in the windless heaven of June _80Amid the splendour-winged stars, the MoonBurns, inextinguishably beautiful:And from her lips, as from a hyacinth fullOf honey-dew, a liquid murmur drops,Killing the sense with passion; sweet as stops _85Of planetary music heard in trance.In her mild lights the starry spirits dance,The sunbeams of those wells which ever leapUnder the lightnings of the soul—too deepFor the brief fathom-line of thought or sense. _90The glory of her being, issuing thence,Stains the dead, blank, cold air with a warm shadeOf unentangled intermixture, madeBy Love, of light and motion: one intenseDiffusion, one serene Omnipresence, _95Whose flowing outlines mingle in their flowing,Around her cheeks and utmost fingers glowingWith the unintermitted blood, which thereQuivers, (as in a fleece of snow-like airThe crimson pulse of living morning quiver,) _100Continuously prolonged, and ending never,Till they are lost, and in that Beauty furledWhich penetrates and clasps and fills the world;Scarce visible from extreme loveliness.Warm fragrance seems to fall from her light dress _105And her loose hair; and where some heavy tressThe air of her own speed has disentwined,The sweetness seems to satiate the faint wind;And in the soul a wild odour is feltBeyond the sense, like fiery dews that melt _110Into the bosom of a frozen bud.—See where she stands! a mortal shape induedWith love and life and light and deity,And motion which may change but cannot die;An image of some bright Eternity; _115A shadow of some golden dream; a SplendourLeaving the third sphere pilotless; a tenderReflection of the eternal Moon of LoveUnder whose motions life’s dull billows move;A Metaphor of Spring and Youth and Morning; _120A Vision like incarnate April, warning,With smiles and tears, Frost the AnatomyInto his summer grave.Ah, woe is me!What have I dared? where am I lifted? howShall I descend, and perish not? I know _125That Love makes all things equal: I have heardBy mine own heart this joyous truth averred:The spirit of the worm beneath the sodIn love and worship, blends itself with God.
Spouse! Sister! Angel! Pilot of the Fate _130Whose course has been so starless! O too lateBeloved! O too soon adored, by me!For in the fields of ImmortalityMy spirit should at first have worshipped thine,A divine presence in a place divine; _135Or should have moved beside it on this earth,A shadow of that substance, from its birth;But not as now:—I love thee; yes, I feelThat on the fountain of my heart a sealIs set, to keep its waters pure and bright _140For thee, since in those TEARS thou hast delight.We—are we not formed, as notes of music are,For one another, though dissimilar;Such difference without discord, as can makeThose sweetest sounds, in which all spirits shake _145As trembling leaves in a continuous air?
Thy wisdom speaks in me, and bids me dareBeacon the rocks on which high hearts are wrecked.I never was attached to that great sect,Whose doctrine is, that each one should select _150Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend,And all the rest, though fair and wise, commendTo cold oblivion, though it is in the codeOf modern morals, and the beaten roadWhich those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread, _155Who travel to their home among the deadBy the broad highway of the world, and soWith one chained friend, perhaps a jealous foe,The dreariest and the longest journey go.
True Love in this differs from gold and clay, _160That to divide is not to take away.Love is like understanding, that grows bright,Gazing on many truths; ’tis like thy light,Imagination! which from earth and sky,And from the depths of human fantasy, _165As from a thousand prisms and mirrors, fillsThe Universe with glorious beams, and killsError, the worm, with many a sun-like arrowOf its reverberated lightning. NarrowThe heart that loves, the brain that contemplates, _170The life that wears, the spirit that createsOne object, and one form, and builds therebyA sepulchre for its eternity.
Mind from its object differs most in this:Evil from good; misery from happiness; _175The baser from the nobler; the impureAnd frail, from what is clear and must endure.If you divide suffering and dross, you mayDiminish till it is consumed away;If you divide pleasure and love and thought, _180Each part exceeds the whole; and we know notHow much, while any yet remains unshared,Of pleasure may be gained, of sorrow spared:This truth is that deep well, whence sages drawThe unenvied light of hope; the eternal law _185By which those live, to whom this world of lifeIs as a garden ravaged, and whose strifeTills for the promise of a later birthThe wilderness of this Elysian earth.
There was a Being whom my spirit oft _190Met on its visioned wanderings, far aloft,In the clear golden prime of my youth’s dawn,Upon the fairy isles of sunny lawn,Amid the enchanted mountains, and the cavesOf divine sleep, and on the air-like waves _195Of wonder-level dream, whose tremulous floorPaved her light steps;—on an imagined shore,Under the gray beak of some promontoryShe met me, robed in such exceeding glory,That I beheld her not. In solitudes _200Her voice came to me through the whispering woods,And from the fountains, and the odours deepOf flowers, which, like lips murmuring in their sleepOf the sweet kisses which had lulled them there,Breathed but of HER to the enamoured air; _205And from the breezes whether low or loud,And from the rain of every passing cloud,And from the singing of the summer-birds,And from all sounds, all silence. In the wordsOf antique verse and high romance,—in form, _210Sound, colour—in whatever checks that StormWhich with the shattered present chokes the past;And in that best philosophy, whose tasteMakes this cold common hell, our life, a doomAs glorious as a fiery martyrdom; _215Her Spirit was the harmony of truth.—
Then, from the caverns of my dreamy youthI sprang, as one sandalled with plumes of fire,And towards the lodestar of my one desire,I flitted, like a dizzy moth, whose flight _220Is as a dead leaf’s in the owlet light,When it would seek in Hesper’s setting sphereA radiant death, a fiery sepulchre,As if it were a lamp of earthly flame.—But She, whom prayers or tears then could not tame, _225Passed, like a God throned on a winged planet,Whose burning plumes to tenfold swiftness fan it,Into the dreary cone of our life’s shade;And as a man with mighty loss dismayed,I would have followed, though the grave between _230Yawned like a gulf whose spectres are unseen:When a voice said:—‘O thou of hearts the weakest,The phantom is beside thee whom thou seekest.’Then I—‘Where?’—the world’s echo answered ‘where?’And in that silence, and in my despair, _235I questioned every tongueless wind that flewOver my tower of mourning, if it knewWhither ’twas fled, this soul out of my soul;And murmured names and spells which have controlOver the sightless tyrants of our fate; _240But neither prayer nor verse could dissipateThe night which closed on her; nor uncreateThat world within this Chaos, mine and me,Of which she was the veiled Divinity,The world I say of thoughts that worshipped her: _245And therefore I went forth, with hope and fearAnd every gentle passion sick to death,Feeding my course with expectation’s breath,Into the wintry forest of our life;And struggling through its error with vain strife, _250And stumbling in my weakness and my haste,And half bewildered by new forms, I passed,Seeking among those untaught forestersIf I could find one form resembling hers,In which she might have masked herself from me. _255There,—One, whose voice was venomed melodySate by a well, under blue nightshade bowers:The breath of her false mouth was like faint flowers,Her touch was as electric poison,—flameOut of her looks into my vitals came, _260And from her living cheeks and bosom flewA killing air, which pierced like honey-dewInto the core of my green heart, and layUpon its leaves; until, as hair grown grayO’er a young brow, they hid its unblown prime _265With ruins of unseasonable time.
In many mortal forms I rashly soughtThe shadow of that idol of my thought.And some were fair—but beauty dies away:Others were wise—but honeyed words betray: _270And One was true—oh! why not true to me?Then, as a hunted deer that could not flee,I turned upon my thoughts, and stood at bay,Wounded and weak and panting; the cold dayTrembled, for pity of my strife and pain. _275When, like a noonday dawn, there shone againDeliverance. One stood on my path who seemedAs like the glorious shape which I had dreamedAs is the Moon, whose changes ever runInto themselves, to the eternal Sun; _280The cold chaste Moon, the Queen of Heaven’s bright isles,Who makes all beautiful on which she smiles,That wandering shrine of soft yet icy flameWhich ever is transformed, yet still the same,And warms not but illumines. Young and fair _285As the descended Spirit of that sphere,She hid me, as the Moon may hide the nightFrom its own darkness, until all was brightBetween the Heaven and Earth of my calm mind,And, as a cloud charioted by the wind, _290She led me to a cave in that wild place,And sate beside me, with her downward faceIllumining my slumbers, like the MoonWaxing and waning o’er Endymion.And I was laid asleep, spirit and limb, _295And all my being became bright or dimAs the Moon’s image in a summer sea,According as she smiled or frowned on me;And there I lay, within a chaste cold bed:Alas, I then was nor alive nor dead:— _300For at her silver voice came Death and Life,Unmindful each of their accustomed strife,Masked like twin babes, a sister and a brother,The wandering hopes of one abandoned mother,And through the cavern without wings they flew, _305And cried ‘Away, he is not of our crew.’I wept, and though it be a dream, I weep.
What storms then shook the ocean of my sleep,Blotting that Moon, whose pale and waning lipsThen shrank as in the sickness of eclipse;— _310And how my soul was as a lampless sea,And who was then its Tempest; and when She,The Planet of that hour, was quenched, what frostCrept o’er those waters, till from coast to coastThe moving billows of my being fell _315Into a death of ice, immovable;—And then—what earthquakes made it gape and split,The white Moon smiling all the while on it,These words conceal:—If not, each word would beThe key of staunchless tears. Weep not for me! _320
At length, into the obscure Forest cameThe Vision I had sought through grief and shame.Athwart that wintry wilderness of thornsFlashed from her motion splendour like the Morn’s,And from her presence life was radiated _325Through the gray earth and branches bare and dead;So that her way was paved, and roofed aboveWith flowers as soft as thoughts of budding love;And music from her respiration spreadLike light,—all other sounds were penetrated _330By the small, still, sweet spirit of that sound,So that the savage winds hung mute around;And odours warm and fresh fell from her hairDissolving the dull cold in the frore air:Soft as an Incarnation of the Sun, _335When light is changed to love, this glorious OneFloated into the cavern where I lay,And called my Spirit, and the dreaming clayWas lifted by the thing that dreamed belowAs smoke by fire, and in her beauty’s glow _340I stood, and felt the dawn of my long nightWas penetrating me with living light:I knew it was the Vision veiled from meSo many years—that it was Emily.
Twin Spheres of light who rule this passive Earth, _345This world of loves, this ME; and into birthAwaken all its fruits and flowers, and dartMagnetic might into its central heart;And lift its billows and its mists, and guideBy everlasting laws, each wind and tide _350To its fit cloud, and its appointed cave;And lull its storms, each in the craggy graveWhich was its cradle, luring to faint bowersThe armies of the rainbow-winged showers;And, as those married lights, which from the towers _355Of Heaven look forth and fold the wandering globeIn liquid sleep and splendour, as a robe;And all their many-mingled influence blend,If equal, yet unlike, to one sweet end;—So ye, bright regents, with alternate sway _360Govern my sphere of being, night and day!Thou, not disdaining even a borrowed might;Thou, not eclipsing a remoter light;And, through the shadow of the seasons three,From Spring to Autumn’s sere maturity, _365Light it into the Winter of the tomb,Where it may ripen to a brighter bloom.Thou too, O Comet beautiful and fierce,Who drew the heart of this frail UniverseTowards thine own; till, wrecked in that convulsion, _370Alternating attraction and repulsion,Thine went astray and that was rent in twain;Oh, float into our azure heaven again!Be there Love’s folding-star at thy return;The living Sun will feed thee from its urn _375Of golden fire; the Moon will veil her hornIn thy last smiles; adoring Even and MornWill worship thee with incense of calm breathAnd lights and shadows; as the star of DeathAnd Birth is worshipped by those sisters wild _380Called Hope and Fear—upon the heart are piledTheir offerings,—of this sacrifice divineA World shall be the altar.Lady mine,Scorn not these flowers of thought, the fading birthWhich from its heart of hearts that plant puts forth _385Whose fruit, made perfect by thy sunny eyes,Will be as of the trees of Paradise.
The day is come, and thou wilt fly with me.To whatsoe’er of dull mortalityIs mine, remain a vestal sister still; _390To the intense, the deep, the imperishable,Not mine but me, henceforth be thou unitedEven as a bride, delighting and delighted.The hour is come:—the destined Star has risenWhich shall descend upon a vacant prison. _395The walls are high, the gates are strong, thick setThe sentinels—but true Love never yetWas thus constrained: it overleaps all fence:Like lightning, with invisible violencePiercing its continents; like Heaven’s free breath, _400Which he who grasps can hold not; liker Death,Who rides upon a thought, and makes his wayThrough temple, tower, and palace, and the arrayOf arms: more strength has Love than he or they;For it can burst his charnel, and make free _405The limbs in chains, the heart in agony,The soul in dust and chaos.Emily,A ship is floating in the harbour now,A wind is hovering o’er the mountain’s brow;There is a path on the sea’s azure floor, _410No keel has ever ploughed that path before;The halcyons brood around the foamless isles;The treacherous Ocean has forsworn its wiles;The merry mariners are bold and free:Say, my heart’s sister, wilt thou sail with me? _415Our bark is as an albatross, whose nestIs a far Eden of the purple East;And we between her wings will sit, while Night,And Day, and Storm, and Calm, pursue their flight,Our ministers, along the boundless Sea, _420Treading each other’s heels, unheededly.It is an isle under Ionian skies,Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise,And, for the harbours are not safe and good,This land would have remained a solitude _425But for some pastoral people native there,Who from the Elysian, clear, and golden airDraw the last spirit of the age of gold,Simple and spirited; innocent and bold.The blue Aegean girds this chosen home, _430With ever-changing sound and light and foam,Kissing the sifted sands, and caverns hoar;And all the winds wandering along the shoreUndulate with the undulating tide:There are thick woods where sylvan forms abide; _435And many a fountain, rivulet, and pond,As clear as elemental diamond,Or serene morning air; and far beyond,The mossy tracks made by the goats and deer(Which the rough shepherd treads but once a year) _440Pierce into glades, caverns, and bowers, and hallsBuilt round with ivy, which the waterfallsIllumining, with sound that never failsAccompany the noonday nightingales;And all the place is peopled with sweet airs; _445The light clear element which the isle wearsIs heavy with the scent of lemon-flowers,Which floats like mist laden with unseen showers.And falls upon the eyelids like faint sleep;And from the moss violets and jonquils peep, _450And dart their arrowy odour through the brainTill you might faint with that delicious pain.And every motion, odour, beam and tone,With that deep music is in unison:Which is a soul within the soul—they seem _455Like echoes of an antenatal dream.—It is an isle ’twixt Heaven, Air, Earth, and Sea,Cradled, and hung in clear tranquillity;Bright as that wandering Eden Lucifer,Washed by the soft blue Oceans of young air. _460It is a favoured place. Famine or Blight,Pestilence, War and Earthquake, never lightUpon its mountain-peaks; blind vultures, theySail onward far upon their fatal way:The winged storms, chanting their thunder-psalm _465To other lands, leave azure chasms of calmOver this isle, or weep themselves in dew,From which its fields and woods ever renewTheir green and golden immortality.And from the sea there rise, and from the sky _470There fall, clear exhalations, soft and bright.Veil after veil, each hiding some delight,Which Sun or Moon or zephyr draw aside,Till the isle’s beauty, like a naked brideGlowing at once with love and loveliness, _475Blushes and trembles at its own excess:Yet, like a buried lamp, a Soul no lessBurns in the heart of this delicious isle,An atom of th’ Eternal, whose own smileUnfolds itself, and may be felt, not seen _480O’er the gray rocks, blue waves, and forests green,Filling their bare and void interstices.—But the chief marvel of the wildernessIs a lone dwelling, built by whom or howNone of the rustic island-people know: _485’Tis not a tower of strength, though with its heightIt overtops the woods; but, for delight,Some wise and tender Ocean-King, ere crimeHad been invented, in the world’s young prime,Reared it, a wonder of that simple time, _490An envy of the isles, a pleasure-houseMade sacred to his sister and his spouse.It scarce seems now a wreck of human art,But, as it were Titanic; in the heartOf Earth having assumed its form, then grown _495Out of the mountains, from the living stone,Lifting itself in caverns light and high:For all the antique and learned imageryHas been erased, and in the place of itThe ivy and the wild-vine interknit _500The volumes of their many-twining stems;Parasite flowers illume with dewy gemsThe lampless halls, and when they fade, the skyPeeps through their winter-woof of traceryWith moonlight patches, or star atoms keen, _505Or fragments of the day’s intense serene;—Working mosaic on their Parian floors.And, day and night, aloof, from the high towersAnd terraces, the Earth and Ocean seemTo sleep in one another’s arms, and dream _510Of waves, flowers, clouds, woods, rocks, and all that weRead in their smiles, and call reality.
This isle and house are mine, and I have vowedThee to be lady of the solitude.—And I have fitted up some chambers there _515Looking towards the golden Eastern air,And level with the living winds, which flowLike waves above the living waves below.—I have sent books and music there, and allThose instruments with which high Spirits call _520The future from its cradle, and the pastOut of its grave, and make the present lastIn thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot die,Folded within their own eternity.Our simple life wants little, and true taste _525Hires not the pale drudge Luxury, to wasteThe scene it would adorn, and therefore still,Nature with all her children haunts the hill.The ring-dove, in the embowering ivy, yetKeeps up her love-lament, and the owls flit _530Round the evening tower, and the young stars glanceBetween the quick bats in their twilight dance;The spotted deer bask in the fresh moonlightBefore our gate, and the slow, silent nightIs measured by the pants of their calm sleep. _535Be this our home in life, and when years heapTheir withered hours, like leaves, on our decay,Let us become the overhanging day,The living soul of this Elysian isle,Conscious, inseparable, one. Meanwhile _540We two will rise, and sit, and walk together,Under the roof of blue Ionian weather,And wander in the meadows, or ascendThe mossy mountains, where the blue heavens bendWith lightest winds, to touch their paramour; _545Or linger, where the pebble-paven shore,Under the quick, faint kisses of the seaTrembles and sparkles as with ecstasy,—Possessing and possessed by all that isWithin that calm circumference of bliss, _550And by each other, till to love and liveBe one:—or, at the noontide hour, arriveWhere some old cavern hoar seems yet to keepThe moonlight of the expired night asleep,Through which the awakened day can never peep; _555A veil for our seclusion, close as night’s,Where secure sleep may kill thine innocent lights:Sleep, the fresh dew of languid love, the rainWhose drops quench kisses till they burn again.And we will talk, until thought’s melody _560Become too sweet for utterance, and it dieIn words, to live again in looks, which dartWith thrilling tone into the voiceless heart,Harmonizing silence without a sound.Our breath shall intermix, our bosoms bound, _565And our veins beat together; and our lipsWith other eloquence than words, eclipseThe soul that burns between them, and the wellsWhich boil under our being’s inmost cells,The fountains of our deepest life, shall be _570Confused in Passion’s golden purity,As mountain-springs under the morning sun.We shall become the same, we shall be oneSpirit within two frames, oh! wherefore two?One passion in twin-hearts, which grows and grew, _575Till like two meteors of expanding flame,Those spheres instinct with it become the same,Touch, mingle, are transfigured; ever stillBurning, yet ever inconsumable:In one another’s substance finding food, _580Like flames too pure and light and unimbuedTo nourish their bright lives with baser prey,Which point to Heaven and cannot pass away:One hope within two wills, one will beneathTwo overshadowing minds, one life, one death, _585One Heaven, one Hell, one immortality,And one annihilation. Woe is me!The winged words on which my soul would pierceInto the height of Love’s rare Universe,Are chains of lead around its flight of fire— _590I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!