3.Each night, that mighty steed bore me abroad,And I returned with food to our retreat,And dark intelligence; the blood which flowedOver the fields, had stained the courser’s feet;Soon the dust drinks that bitter dew,—then meet _3815The vulture, and the wild dog, and the snake,The wolf, and the hyaena gray, and eatThe dead in horrid truce: their throngs did makeBehind the steed, a chasm like waves in a ship’s wake.
4.For, from the utmost realms of earth came pouring _3820The banded slaves whom every despot sentAt that throned traitor’s summons; like the roaringOf fire, whose floods the wild deer circumventIn the scorched pastures of the South; so bentThe armies of the leagued Kings around _3825Their files of steel and flame;—the continentTrembled, as with a zone of ruin bound,Beneath their feet, the sea shook with their Navies’ sound.
5.From every nation of the earth they came,The multitude of moving heartless things, _3830Whom slaves call men: obediently they came,Like sheep whom from the fold the shepherd bringsTo the stall, red with blood; their many kingsLed them, thus erring, from their native land;Tartar and Frank, and millions whom the wings _3835Of Indian breezes lull, and many a bandThe Arctic Anarch sent, and Idumea’s sand,
6.Fertile in prodigies and lies;—so thereStrange natures made a brotherhood of ill.The desert savage ceased to grasp in fear _3840His Asian shield and bow, when, at the willOf Europe’s subtler son, the bolt would killSome shepherd sitting on a rock secure;But smiles of wondering joy his face would fill,And savage sympathy: those slaves impure, _3845Each one the other thus from ill to ill did lure.
7.For traitorously did that foul Tyrant robeHis countenance in lies,—even at the hourWhen he was snatched from death, then o’er the globe,With secret signs from many a mountain-tower, _3850With smoke by day, and fire by night, the powerOf Kings and Priests, those dark conspirators,He called:—they knew his cause their own, and sworeLike wolves and serpents to their mutual warsStrange truce, with many a rite which Earth and Heaven abhors. _3855
8.Myriads had come—millions were on their way;The Tyrant passed, surrounded by the steelOf hired assassins, through the public way,Choked with his country’s dead:—his footsteps reelOn the fresh blood—he smiles. ‘Ay, now I feel _3860I am a King in truth!’ he said, and tookHis royal seat, and bade the torturing wheelBe brought, and fire, and pincers, and the hook,And scorpions, that his soul on its revenge might look.
9.‘But first, go slay the rebels—why return _3865The victor bands?’ he said, ‘millions yet live,Of whom the weakest with one word might turnThe scales of victory yet;—let none surviveBut those within the walls—each fifth shall giveThe expiation for his brethren here.— _3870Go forth, and waste and kill!’—‘O king, forgiveMy speech,’ a soldier answered—‘but we fearThe spirits of the night, and morn is drawing near;
10.‘For we were slaying still without remorse,And now that dreadful chief beneath my hand _3875Defenceless lay, when on a hell-black horse,An Angel bright as day, waving a brandWhich flashed among the stars, passed.’—‘Dost thou standParleying with me, thou wretch?’ the king replied;‘Slaves, bind him to the wheel; and of this band, _3880Whoso will drag that woman to his sideThat scared him thus, may burn his dearest foe beside;
11.‘And gold and glory shall be his.—Go forth!’They rushed into the plain.—Loud was the roarOf their career: the horsemen shook the earth; _3885The wheeled artillery’s speed the pavement tore;The infantry, file after file, did pourTheir clouds on the utmost hills. Five days they slewAmong the wasted fields; the sixth saw goreStream through the city; on the seventh, the dew _3890Of slaughter became stiff, and there was peace anew:
12.Peace in the desert fields and villages,Between the glutted beasts and mangled dead!Peace in the silent streets! save when the criesOf victims to their fiery judgement led, _3895Made pale their voiceless lips who seemed to dreadEven in their dearest kindred, lest some tongueBe faithless to the fear yet unbetrayed;Peace in the Tyrant’s palace, where the throngWaste the triumphal hours in festival and song! _3900
13.Day after day the burning sun rolled onOver the death-polluted land—it cameOut of the east like fire, and fiercely shoneA lamp of Autumn, ripening with its flameThe few lone ears of corn;—the sky became _3905Stagnate with heat, so that each cloud and blastLanguished and died,—the thirsting air did claimAll moisture, and a rotting vapour passedFrom the unburied dead, invisible and fast.
14.First Want, then Plague came on the beasts; their food _3910Failed, and they drew the breath of its decay.Millions on millions, whom the scent of bloodHad lured, or who, from regions far away,Had tracked the hosts in festival array,From their dark deserts; gaunt and wasting now, _3915Stalked like fell shades among their perished prey;In their green eyes a strange disease did glow,They sank in hideous spasm, or pains severe and slow.
15.The fish were poisoned in the streams; the birdsIn the green woods perished; the insect race _3920Was withered up; the scattered flocks and herdsWho had survived the wild beasts’ hungry chaseDied moaning, each upon the other’s faceIn helpless agony gazing; round the CityAll night, the lean hyaenas their sad case _3925Like starving infants wailed; a woeful ditty!And many a mother wept, pierced with unnatural pity.
16.Amid the aereal minarets on high,The Ethiopian vultures fluttering fellFrom their long line of brethren in the sky, _3930Startling the concourse of mankind.—Too wellThese signs the coming mischief did foretell:—Strange panic first, a deep and sickening dreadWithin each heart, like ice, did sink and dwell,A voiceless thought of evil, which did spread _3935With the quick glance of eyes, like withering lightnings shed.
17.Day after day, when the year wanes, the frostsStrip its green crown of leaves, till all is bare;So on those strange and congregated hostsCame Famine, a swift shadow, and the air _3940Groaned with the burden of a new despair;Famine, than whom Misrule no deadlier daughterFeeds from her thousand breasts, though sleeping thereWith lidless eyes, lie Faith, and Plague, and Slaughter,A ghastly brood; conceived of Lethe’s sullen water. _3945
18.There was no food, the corn was trampled down,The flocks and herds had perished; on the shoreThe dead and putrid fish were ever thrown;The deeps were foodless, and the winds no moreCreaked with the weight of birds, but, as before _3950Those winged things sprang forth, were void of shade;The vines and orchards, Autumn’s golden store,Were burned;—so that the meanest food was weighedWith gold, and Avarice died before the god it made.
19.There was no corn—in the wide market-place _3955All loathliest things, even human flesh, was sold;They weighed it in small scales—and many a faceWas fixed in eager horror then: his goldThe miser brought; the tender maid, grown boldThrough hunger, bared her scorned charms in vain; _3960The mother brought her eldest born, controlledBy instinct blind as love, but turned againAnd bade her infant suck, and died in silent pain.
20.Then fell blue Plague upon the race of man.‘O, for the sheathed steel, so late which gave _3965Oblivion to the dead, when the streets ranWith brothers’ blood! O, that the earthquake’s graveWould gape, or Ocean lift its stifling wave!’Vain cries—throughout the streets thousands pursuedEach by his fiery torture howl and rave, _3970Or sit in frenzy’s unimagined mood,Upon fresh heaps of dead; a ghastly multitude.
21.It was not hunger now, but thirst. Each wellWas choked with rotting corpses, and becameA cauldron of green mist made visible _3975At sunrise. Thither still the myriads came,Seeking to quench the agony of the flame,Which raged like poison through their bursting veins;Naked they were from torture, without shame,Spotted with nameless scars and lurid blains, _3980Childhood, and youth, and age, writhing in savage pains.
22.It was not thirst, but madness! Many sawTheir own lean image everywhere, it wentA ghastlier self beside them, till the aweOf that dread sight to self-destruction sent _3985Those shrieking victims; some, ere life was spent,Sought, with a horrid sympathy, to shedContagion on the sound; and others rentTheir matted hair, and cried aloud, ‘We treadOn fire! the avenging Power his hell on earth has spread!’ _3990
23.Sometimes the living by the dead were hid.Near the great fountain in the public square,Where corpses made a crumbling pyramidUnder the sun, was heard one stifled prayerFor life, in the hot silence of the air; _3995And strange ’twas, amid that hideous heap to seeSome shrouded in their long and golden hair,As if not dead, but slumbering quietlyLike forms which sculptors carve, then love to agony.
24.Famine had spared the palace of the king:— _4000He rioted in festival the while,He and his guards and priests; but Plague did flingOne shadow upon all. Famine can smileOn him who brings it food, and pass, with guileOf thankful falsehood, like a courtier gray, _4005The house-dog of the throne; but many a mileComes Plague, a winged wolf, who loathes alwayThe garbage and the scum that strangers make her prey.
25.So, near the throne, amid the gorgeous feast,Sheathed in resplendent arms, or loosely dight _4010To luxury, ere the mockery yet had ceasedThat lingered on his lips, the warrior’s mightWas loosened, and a new and ghastlier nightIn dreams of frenzy lapped his eyes; he fellHeadlong, or with stiff eyeballs sate upright _4015Among the guests, or raving mad did tellStrange truths; a dying seer of dark oppression’s hell.
26.The Princes and the Priests were pale with terror;That monstrous faith wherewith they ruled mankind,Fell, like a shaft loosed by the bowman’s error, _4020On their own hearts: they sought and they could findNo refuge—’twas the blind who led the blind!So, through the desolate streets to the high fane,The many-tongued and endless armies windIn sad procession: each among the train _4025To his own Idol lifts his supplications vain.
27.‘O God!’ they cried, ‘we know our secret prideHas scorned thee, and thy worship, and thy name;Secure in human power we have defiedThy fearful might; we bend in fear and shame _4030Before thy presence; with the dust we claimKindred; be merciful, O King of Heaven!Most justly have we suffered for thy fameMade dim, but be at length our sins forgiven,Ere to despair and death thy worshippers be driven. _4035
28.‘O King of Glory! thou alone hast power!Who can resist thy will? who can restrainThy wrath, when on the guilty thou dost showerThe shafts of thy revenge, a blistering rain?Greatest and best, be merciful again! _4040Have we not stabbed thine enemies, and madeThe Earth an altar, and the Heavens a fane,Where thou wert worshipped with their blood, and laidThose hearts in dust which would thy searchless works have weighed?
29.‘Well didst thou loosen on this impious City _4045Thine angels of revenge: recall them now;Thy worshippers, abased, here kneel for pity,And bind their souls by an immortal vow:We swear by thee! and to our oath do thouGive sanction, from thine hell of fiends and flame, _4050That we will kill with fire and torments slow,The last of those who mocked thy holy name,And scorned the sacred laws thy prophets did proclaim.’
30.Thus they with trembling limbs and pallid lipsWorshipped their own hearts’ image, dim and vast, _4055Scared by the shade wherewith they would eclipseThe light of other minds;—troubled they passedFrom the great Temple;—fiercely still and fastThe arrows of the plague among them fell,And they on one another gazed aghast, _4060And through the hosts contention wild befell,As each of his own god the wondrous works did tell.
31.And Oromaze, Joshua, and Mahomet,Moses, and Buddh, Zerdusht, and Brahm, and Foh,A tumult of strange names, which never met _4065Before, as watchwords of a single woe,Arose; each raging votary ‘gan to throwAloft his armed hands, and each did howl‘Our God alone is God!’—and slaughter nowWould have gone forth, when from beneath a cowl _4070A voice came forth, which pierced like ice through every soul.
32.’Twas an Iberian Priest from whom it came,A zealous man, who led the legioned West,With words which faith and pride had steeped in flame,To quell the unbelievers; a dire guest _4075Even to his friends was he, for in his breastDid hate and guile lie watchful, intertwined,Twin serpents in one deep and winding nest;He loathed all faith beside his own, and pinedTo wreak his fear of Heaven in vengeance on mankind. _4080
33.But more he loathed and hated the clear lightOf wisdom and free thought, and more did fear,Lest, kindled once, its beams might pierce the night,Even where his Idol stood; for, far and nearDid many a heart in Europe leap to hear _4085That faith and tyranny were trampled down;Many a pale victim, doomed for truth to shareThe murderer’s cell, or see, with helpless groan,The priests his children drag for slaves to serve their own.
34.He dared not kill the infidels with fire _4090Or steel, in Europe; the slow agoniesOf legal torture mocked his keen desire:So he made truce with those who did despiseThe expiation, and the sacrifice,That, though detested, Islam’s kindred creed _4095Might crush for him those deadlier enemies;For fear of God did in his bosom breedA jealous hate of man, an unreposing need.
35.‘Peace! Peace!’ he cried, ‘when we are dead, the DayOf Judgement comes, and all shall surely know _4100Whose God is God, each fearfully shall payThe errors of his faith in endless woe!But there is sent a mortal vengeance nowOn earth, because an impious race had spurnedHim whom we all adore,—a subtle foe, _4105By whom for ye this dread reward was earned,And kingly thrones, which rest on faith, nigh overturned.
36.‘Think ye, because ye weep, and kneel, and pray,That God will lull the pestilence? It roseEven from beneath his throne, where, many a day, _4110His mercy soothed it to a dark repose:It walks upon the earth to judge his foes;And what are thou and I, that he should deignTo curb his ghastly minister, or closeThe gates of death, ere they receive the twain _4115Who shook with mortal spells his undefended reign?
37.‘Ay, there is famine in the gulf of hell,Its giant worms of fire for ever yawn.—Their lurid eyes are on us! those who fellBy the swift shafts of pestilence ere dawn, _4120Are in their jaws! they hunger for the spawnOf Satan, their own brethren, who were sentTo make our souls their spoil. See! see! they fawnLike dogs, and they will sleep with luxury spent,When those detested hearts their iron fangs have rent! _4125
38.‘Our God may then lull Pestilence to sleep:—Pile high the pyre of expiation now,A forest’s spoil of boughs, and on the heapPour venomous gums, which sullenly and slow,When touched by flame, shall burn, and melt, and flow, _4130A stream of clinging fire,—and fix on highA net of iron, and spread forth belowA couch of snakes, and scorpions, and the fryOf centipedes and worms, earth’s hellish progeny!
39.‘Let Laon and Laone on that pyre, _4135Linked tight with burning brass, perish!—then prayThat, with this sacrifice, the withering ireOf Heaven may be appeased.’ He ceased, and theyA space stood silent, as far, far awayThe echoes of his voice among them died; _4140And he knelt down upon the dust, alwayMuttering the curses of his speechless pride,Whilst shame, and fear, and awe, the armies did divide.
40.His voice was like a blast that burst the portalOf fabled hell; and as he spake, each one _4145Saw gape beneath the chasms of fire immortal,And Heaven above seemed cloven, where, on a throneGirt round with storms and shadows, sate aloneTheir King and Judge—fear killed in every breastAll natural pity then, a fear unknown _4150Before, and with an inward fire possessed,They raged like homeless beasts whom burning woods invest.
41.’Twas morn.—At noon the public crier went forth,Proclaiming through the living and the dead,‘The Monarch saith, that his great Empire’s worth _4155Is set on Laon and Laone’s head:He who but one yet living here can lead,Or who the life from both their hearts can wring,Shall be the kingdom’s heir—a glorious meed!But he who both alive can hither bring, _4160The Princess shall espouse, and reign an equal King.’
42.Ere night the pyre was piled, the net of ironWas spread above, the fearful couch below;It overtopped the towers that did environThat spacious square; for Fear is never slow _4165To build the thrones of Hate, her mate and foe;So, she scourged forth the maniac multitudeTo rear this pyramid—tottering and slow,Plague-stricken, foodless, like lean herds pursuedBy gadflies, they have piled the heath, and gums, and wood. _4170
43.Night came, a starless and a moonless gloom.Until the dawn, those hosts of many a nationStood round that pile, as near one lover’s tombTwo gentle sisters mourn their desolation;And in the silence of that expectation, _4175Was heard on high the reptiles’ hiss and crawl—It was so deep—save when the devastationOf the swift pest, with fearful interval,Marking its path with shrieks, among the crowd would fall.
44.Morn came,—among those sleepless multitudes, _4180Madness, and Fear, and Plague, and Famine stillHeaped corpse on corpse, as in autumnal woodsThe frosts of many a wind with dead leaves fillEarth’s cold and sullen brooks; in silence, stillThe pale survivors stood; ere noon, the fear _4185Of Hell became a panic, which did killLike hunger or disease, with whispers drear,As ‘Hush! hark! Come they yet?—Just Heaven! thine hour is near!’
45.And Priests rushed through their ranks, some counterfeitingThe rage they did inspire, some mad indeed _4190With their own lies; they said their god was waitingTo see his enemies writhe, and burn, and bleed,—And that, till then, the snakes of Hell had needOf human souls:—three hundred furnacesSoon blazed through the wide City, where, with speed, _4195Men brought their infidel kindred to appeaseGod’s wrath, and, while they burned, knelt round on quivering knees.
46.The noontide sun was darkened with that smoke,The winds of eve dispersed those ashes gray.The madness which these rites had lulled, awoke _4200Again at sunset.—Who shall dare to sayThe deeds which night and fear brought forth, or weighIn balance just the good and evil there?He might man’s deep and searchless heart display,And cast a light on those dim labyrinths, where _4205Hope, near imagined chasms, is struggling with despair.
47.’Tis said, a mother dragged three children then,To those fierce flames which roast the eyes in the head,And laughed, and died; and that unholy men,Feasting like fiends upon the infidel dead, _4210Looked from their meal, and saw an Angel treadThe visible floor of Heaven, and it was she!And, on that night, one without doubt or dreadCame to the fire, and said, ‘Stop, I am he!Kill me!’—They burned them both with hellish mockery. _4215
48.And, one by one, that night, young maidens came,Beauteous and calm, like shapes of living stoneClothed in the light of dreams, and by the flameWhich shrank as overgorged, they laid them down,And sung a low sweet song, of which alone _4220One word was heard, and that was Liberty;And that some kissed their marble feet, with moanLike love, and died; and then that they did dieWith happy smiles, which sunk in white tranquillity.
NOTES: _3834 native home edition 1818. _3967 earthquakes edition 1818. _4176 reptiles’]reptiles edition 1818.
1.She saw me not—she heard me not—alone _4225Upon the mountain’s dizzy brink she stood;She spake not, breathed not, moved not—there was thrownOver her look, the shadow of a moodWhich only clothes the heart in solitude,A thought of voiceless depth;—she stood alone, _4230Above, the Heavens were spread;—below, the floodWas murmuring in its caves;—the wind had blownHer hair apart, through which her eyes and forehead shone.
2.A cloud was hanging o’er the western mountains;Before its blue and moveless depth were flying _4235Gray mists poured forth from the unresting fountainsOf darkness in the North:—the day was dying:—Sudden, the sun shone forth, its beams were lyingLike boiling gold on Ocean, strange to see,And on the shattered vapours, which defying _4240The power of light in vain, tossed restlesslyIn the red Heaven, like wrecks in a tempestuous sea.
3.It was a stream of living beams, whose bankOn either side by the cloud’s cleft was made;And where its chasms that flood of glory drank, _4245Its waves gushed forth like fire, and as if swayedBy some mute tempest, rolled on HER; the shadeOf her bright image floated on the riverOf liquid light, which then did end and fade—Her radiant shape upon its verge did shiver; _4250Aloft, her flowing hair like strings of flame did quiver.
4.I stood beside her, but she saw me not—She looked upon the sea, and skies, and earth;Rapture, and love, and admiration wroughtA passion deeper far than tears, or mirth, _4255Or speech, or gesture, or whate’er has birthFrom common joy; which with the speechless feelingThat led her there united, and shot forthFrom her far eyes a light of deep revealing,All but her dearest self from my regard concealing. _4260
5.Her lips were parted, and the measured breathWas now heard there;—her dark and intricate eyesOrb within orb, deeper than sleep or death,Absorbed the glories of the burning skies,Which, mingling with her heart’s deep ecstasies, _4265Burst from her looks and gestures;—and a lightOf liquid tenderness, like love, did riseFrom her whole frame, an atmosphere which quiteArrayed her in its beams, tremulous and soft and bright.
6.She would have clasped me to her glowing frame; _4270Those warm and odorous lips might soon have shedOn mine the fragrance and the invisible flameWhich now the cold winds stole;—she would have laidUpon my languid heart her dearest head;I might have heard her voice, tender and sweet; _4275Her eyes, mingling with mine, might soon have fedMy soul with their own joy.—One moment yetI gazed—we parted then, never again to meet!
7.Never but once to meet on Earth again!She heard me as I fled—her eager tone _4280Sunk on my heart, and almost wove a chainAround my will to link it with her own,So that my stern resolve was almost gone.‘I cannot reach thee! whither dost thou fly?My steps are faint—Come back, thou dearest one— _4285Return, ah me! return!’—The wind passed byOn which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly.
8.Woe! Woe! that moonless midnight!—Want and PestWere horrible, but one more fell doth rear,As in a hydra’s swarming lair, its crest _4290Eminent among those victims—even the FearOf Hell: each girt by the hot atmosphereOf his blind agony, like a scorpion stungBy his own rage upon his burning bierOf circling coals of fire; but still there clung _4295One hope, like a keen sword on starting threads uphung:
9.Not death—death was no more refuge or rest;Not life—it was despair to be!—not sleep,For fiends and chasms of fire had dispossessedAll natural dreams: to wake was not to weep, _4300But to gaze mad and pallid, at the leapTo which the Future, like a snaky scourge,Or like some tyrant’s eye, which aye doth keepIts withering beam upon his slaves, did urgeTheir steps; they heard the roar of Hell’s sulphureous surge. _4305
10.Each of that multitude, alone, and lostTo sense of outward things, one hope yet knew;As on a foam-girt crag some seaman tossedStares at the rising tide, or like the crewWhilst now the ship is splitting through and through; _4310Each, if the tramp of a far steed was heard,Started from sick despair, or if there flewOne murmur on the wind, or if some wordWhich none can gather yet, the distant crowd has stirred.
11.Why became cheeks, wan with the kiss of death, _4315Paler from hope? they had sustained despair.Why watched those myriads with suspended breathSleepless a second night? they are not here,The victims, and hour by hour, a vision drear,Warm corpses fall upon the clay-cold dead; _4320And even in death their lips are wreathed with fear.—The crowd is mute and moveless—overheadSilent Arcturus shines—‘Ha! hear’st thou not the tread
12.‘Of rushing feet? laughter? the shout, the scream,Of triumph not to be contained? See! hark! _4325They come, they come! give way!’ Alas, ye deemFalsely—’tis but a crowd of maniacs starkDriven, like a troop of spectres, through the dark,From the choked well, whence a bright death-fire sprung,A lurid earth-star, which dropped many a spark _4330From its blue train, and spreading widely, clungTo their wild hair, like mist the topmost pines among.
13.And many, from the crowd collected there,Joined that strange dance in fearful sympathies;There was the silence of a long despair, _4335When the last echo of those terrible criesCame from a distant street, like agoniesStifled afar.—Before the Tyrant’s throneAll night his aged Senate sate, their eyesIn stony expectation fixed; when one _4340Sudden before them stood, a Stranger and alone.
14.Dark Priests and haughty Warriors gazed on himWith baffled wonder, for a hermit’s vestConcealed his face; but when he spake, his tone,Ere yet the matter did their thoughts arrest,— _4345Earnest, benignant, calm, as from a breastVoid of all hate or terror—made them start;For as with gentle accents he addressedHis speech to them, on each unwilling heartUnusual awe did fall—a spirit-quelling dart. _4350
15.‘Ye Princes of the Earth, ye sit aghastAmid the ruin which yourselves have made,Yes, Desolation heard your trumpet’s blast,And sprang from sleep!—dark Terror has obeyedYour bidding—O, that I whom ye have made _4355Your foe, could set my dearest enemy freeFrom pain and fear! but evil casts a shade,Which cannot pass so soon, and Hate must beThe nurse and parent still of an ill progeny.
16.‘Ye turn to Heaven for aid in your distress; _4360Alas, that ye, the mighty and the wise,Who, if ye dared, might not aspire to lessThan ye conceive of power, should fear the liesWhich thou, and thou, didst frame for mysteriesTo blind your slaves:—consider your own thought, _4365An empty and a cruel sacrificeYe now prepare, for a vain idol wroughtOut of the fears and hate which vain desires have brought.
17.‘Ye seek for happiness—alas, the day!Ye find it not in luxury nor in gold, _4370Nor in the fame, nor in the envied swayFor which, O willing slaves to Custom old,Severe taskmistress! ye your hearts have sold.Ye seek for peace, and when ye die, to dreamNo evil dreams: all mortal things are cold _4375And senseless then; if aught survive, I deemIt must be love and joy, for they immortal seem.
18.‘Fear not the future, weep not for the past.Oh, could I win your ears to dare be nowGlorious, and great, and calm! that ye would cast _4380Into the dust those symbols of your woe,Purple, and gold, and steel! that ye would goProclaiming to the nations whence ye came,That Want, and Plague, and Fear, from slavery flow;And that mankind is free, and that the shame _4385Of royalty and faith is lost in freedom’s fame!
19.‘If thus, ’tis well—if not, I come to sayThat Laon—’ while the Stranger spoke, amongThe Council sudden tumult and affrayArose, for many of those warriors young, _4390Had on his eloquent accents fed and hungLike bees on mountain-flowers; they knew the truth,And from their thrones in vindication sprung;The men of faith and law then without ruthDrew forth their secret steel, and stabbed each ardent youth. _4395
20.They stabbed them in the back and sneered—a slaveWho stood behind the throne, those corpses drewEach to its bloody, dark, and secret grave;And one more daring raised his steel anewTo pierce the Stranger. ‘What hast thou to do _4400With me, poor wretch?’—Calm, solemn and severe,That voice unstrung his sinews, and he threwHis dagger on the ground, and pale with fear,Sate silently—his voice then did the Stranger rear.
21.‘It doth avail not that I weep for ye— _4405Ye cannot change, since ye are old and gray,And ye have chosen your lot—your fame must beA book of blood, whence in a milder dayMen shall learn truth, when ye are wrapped in clay:Now ye shall triumph. I am Laon’s friend, _4410And him to your revenge will I betray,So ye concede one easy boon. Attend!For now I speak of things which ye can apprehend.
22.‘There is a People mighty in its youth,A land beyond the Oceans of the West, _4415Where, though with rudest rites, Freedom and TruthAre worshipped; from a glorious Mother’s breast,Who, since high Athens fell, among the restSate like the Queen of Nations, but in woe,By inbred monsters outraged and oppressed, _4420Turns to her chainless child for succour now,It draws the milk of Power in Wisdom’s fullest flow.
23.‘That land is like an Eagle, whose young gazeFeeds on the noontide beam, whose golden plumeFloats moveless on the storm, and in the blaze _4425Of sunrise gleams when Earth is wrapped in gloom;An epitaph of glory for the tombOf murdered Europe may thy fame be made,Great People! as the sands shalt thou become;Thy growth is swift as morn, when night must fade; _4430The multitudinous Earth shall sleep beneath thy shade.
24.‘Yes, in the desert there is built a homeFor Freedom. Genius is made strong to rearThe monuments of man beneath the domeOf a new Heaven; myriads assemble there, _4435Whom the proud lords of man, in rage or fear,Drive from their wasted homes: the boon I prayIs this—that Cythna shall be convoyed there—Nay, start not at the name—America!And then to you this night Laon will I betray. _4440
25.‘With me do what ye will. I am your foe!’The light of such a joy as makes the stareOf hungry snakes like living emeralds glow,Shone in a hundred human eyes—‘Where, whereIs Laon? Haste! fly! drag him swiftly here! _4445We grant thy boon.’—‘I put no trust in ye,Swear by the Power ye dread.’—‘We swear, we swear!’The Stranger threw his vest back suddenly,And smiled in gentle pride, and said, ‘Lo! I am he!’
NOTES: _4321 wreathed]writhed. “Poetical Works” 1839. 1st edition. _4361 the mighty]tho’ mighty edition 1818. _4362 ye]he edition 1818. _4432 there]then edition 1818.
1.The transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness _4450Spread through the multitudinous streets, fast flyingUpon the winds of fear; from his dull madnessThe starveling waked, and died in joy; the dying,Among the corpses in stark agony lying,Just heard the happy tidings, and in hope _4455Closed their faint eyes; from house to house replyingWith loud acclaim, the living shook Heaven’s cope,And filled the startled Earth with echoes: morn did ope
2.Its pale eyes then; and lo! the long arrayOf guards in golden arms, and Priests beside, _4460Singing their bloody hymns, whose garbs betrayThe blackness of the faith it seems to hide;And see, the Tyrant’s gem-wrought chariot glideAmong the gloomy cowls and glittering spears—A Shape of light is sitting by his side, _4465A child most beautiful. I’ the midst appearsLaon,—exempt alone from mortal hopes and fears.
3.His head and feet are bare, his hands are boundBehind with heavy chains, yet none do wreakTheir scoffs on him, though myriads throng around; _4470There are no sneers upon his lip which speakThat scorn or hate has made him bold; his cheekResolve has not turned pale,—his eyes are mildAnd calm, and, like the morn about to break,Smile on mankind—his heart seems reconciled _4475To all things and itself, like a reposing child.
4.Tumult was in the soul of all beside,Ill joy, or doubt, or fear; but those who sawTheir tranquil victim pass, felt wonder glideInto their brain, and became calm with awe.— _4480See, the slow pageant near the pile doth draw.A thousand torches in the spacious square,Borne by the ready slaves of ruthless law,Await the signal round: the morning fairIs changed to a dim night by that unnatural glare. _4485
5.And see! beneath a sun-bright canopy,Upon a platform level with the pile,The anxious Tyrant sit, enthroned on high,Girt by the chieftains of the host; all smileIn expectation, but one child: the while _4490I, Laon, led by mutes, ascend my bierOf fire, and look around: each distant isleIs dark in the bright dawn; towers far and near,Pierce like reposing flames the tremulous atmosphere.
6.There was such silence through the host, as when _4495An earthquake trampling on some populous town,Has crushed ten thousand with one tread, and menExpect the second; all were mute but one,That fairest child, who, bold with love, aloneStood up before the King, without avail, _4500Pleading for Laon’s life—her stifled groanWas heard—she trembled like one aspen paleAmong the gloomy pines of a Norwegian vale.
7.What were his thoughts linked in the morning sun,Among those reptiles, stingless with delay, _4505Even like a tyrant’s wrath?—The signal-gunRoared—hark, again! In that dread pause he layAs in a quiet dream—the slaves obey—A thousand torches drop,—and hark, the lastBursts on that awful silence; far away, _4510Millions, with hearts that beat both loud and fast,Watch for the springing flame expectant and aghast.
8.They fly—the torches fall—a cry of fearHas startled the triumphant!—they recede!For, ere the cannon’s roar has died, they hear _4515The tramp of hoofs like earthquake, and a steedDark and gigantic, with the tempest’s speed,Bursts through their ranks: a woman sits thereon,Fairer, it seems, than aught that earth can breed,Calm, radiant, like the phantom of the dawn, _4520A spirit from the caves of daylight wandering gone.
9.All thought it was God’s Angel come to sweepThe lingering guilty to their fiery grave;The Tyrant from his throne in dread did leap,—Her innocence his child from fear did save; _4525Scared by the faith they feigned, each priestly slaveKnelt for his mercy whom they served with blood,And, like the refluence of a mighty waveSucked into the loud sea, the multitudeWith crushing panic, fled in terror’s altered mood. _4530
10.They pause, they blush, they gaze,—a gathering shoutBursts like one sound from the ten thousand streamsOf a tempestuous sea:—that sudden routOne checked, who, never in his mildest dreamsFelt awe from grace or loveliness, the seams _4535Of his rent heart so hard and cold a creedHad seared with blistering ice—but he misdeemsThat he is wise, whose wounds do only bleedInly for self,—thus thought the Iberian Priest indeed,
11.And others, too, thought he was wise to see, _4540In pain, and fear, and hate, something divine;In love and beauty, no divinity.—Now with a bitter smile, whose light did shineLike a fiend’s hope upon his lips and eyne,He said, and the persuasion of that sneer _4545Rallied his trembling comrades—‘Is it mineTo stand alone, when kings and soldiers fearA woman? Heaven has sent its other victim here.’
12.‘Were it not impious,’ said the King, ‘to breakOur holy oath?’—‘Impious to keep it, say!’ _4550Shrieked the exulting Priest:—‘Slaves, to the stakeBind her, and on my head the burden layOf her just torments:—at the Judgement DayWill I stand up before the golden throneOf Heaven, and cry, “To Thee did I betray _4555An infidel; but for me she would have knownAnother moment’s joy! the glory be thine own.”’
13.They trembled, but replied not, nor obeyed,Pausing in breathless silence. Cythna sprungFrom her gigantic steed, who, like a shade _4560Chased by the winds, those vacant streets amongFled tameless, as the brazen rein she flungUpon his neck, and kissed his mooned brow.A piteous sight, that one so fair and young,The clasp of such a fearful death should woo _4565With smiles of tender joy as beamed from Cythna now.
14.The warm tears burst in spite of faith and fearFrom many a tremulous eye, but like soft dewsWhich feed Spring’s earliest buds, hung gathered there,Frozen by doubt,—alas! they could not choose _4570But weep; for when her faint limbs did refuseTo climb the pyre, upon the mutes she smiled;And with her eloquent gestures, and the huesOf her quick lips, even as a weary childWins sleep from some fond nurse with its caresses mild, _4575
15.She won them, though unwilling, her to bindNear me, among the snakes. When there had fledOne soft reproach that was most thrilling kind,She smiled on me, and nothing then we said,But each upon the other’s countenance fed _4580Looks of insatiate love; the mighty veilWhich doth divide the living and the deadWas almost rent, the world grew dim and pale,—All light in Heaven or Earth beside our love did fail.—
16.Yet—yet—one brief relapse, like the last beam _4585Of dying flames, the stainless air aroundHung silent and serene—a blood-red gleamBurst upwards, hurling fiercely from the groundThe globed smoke,—I heard the mighty soundOf its uprise, like a tempestuous ocean; _4590And through its chasms I saw, as in a swound,The tyrant’s child fall without life or motionBefore his throne, subdued by some unseen emotion.—
17.And is this death?—The pyre has disappeared,The Pestilence, the Tyrant, and the throng; _4595The flames grow silent—slowly there is heardThe music of a breath-suspending song,Which, like the kiss of love when life is young,Steeps the faint eyes in darkness sweet and deep;With ever-changing notes it floats along, _4600Till on my passive soul there seemed to creepA melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap.
18.The warm touch of a soft and tremulous handWakened me then; lo! Cythna sate reclinedBeside me, on the waved and golden sand _4605Of a clear pool, upon a bank o’ertwinedWith strange and star-bright flowers, which to the windBreathed divine odour; high above, was spreadThe emerald heaven of trees of unknown kind,Whose moonlike blooms and bright fruit overhead _4610A shadow, which was light, upon the waters shed.
19.And round about sloped many a lawny mountainWith incense-bearing forests and vast cavesOf marble radiance, to that mighty fountain;And where the flood its own bright margin laves, _4615Their echoes talk with its eternal waves,Which, from the depths whose jagged caverns breedTheir unreposing strife, it lifts and heaves,—Till through a chasm of hills they roll, and feedA river deep, which flies with smooth but arrowy speed. _4620
20.As we sate gazing in a trance of wonder,A boat approached, borne by the musical airAlong the waves which sung and sparkled underIts rapid keel—a winged shape sate there,A child with silver-shining wings, so fair, _4625That as her bark did through the waters glide,The shadow of the lingering waves did wearLight, as from starry beams; from side to side,While veering to the wind her plumes the bark did guide.
21.The boat was one curved shell of hollow pearl, _4630Almost translucent with the light divineOf her within; the prow and stern did curlHorned on high, like the young moon supine,When o’er dim twilight mountains dark with pine,It floats upon the sunset’s sea of beams, _4635Whose golden waves in many a purple lineFade fast, till borne on sunlight’s ebbing streams,Dilating, on earth’s verge the sunken meteor gleams.
22.Its keel has struck the sands beside our feet;—Then Cythna turned to me, and from her eyes _4640Which swam with unshed tears, a look more sweetThan happy love, a wild and glad surprise,Glanced as she spake: ‘Ay, this is ParadiseAnd not a dream, and we are all united!Lo, that is mine own child, who in the guise _4645Of madness came, like day to one benightedIn lonesome woods: my heart is now too well requited!’
23.And then she wept aloud, and in her armsClasped that bright Shape, less marvellously fairThan her own human hues and living charms; _4650Which, as she leaned in passion’s silence there,Breathed warmth on the cold bosom of the air,Which seemed to blush and tremble with delight;The glossy darkness of her streaming hairFell o’er that snowy child, and wrapped from sight _4655The fond and long embrace which did their hearts unite.
24.Then the bright child, the plumed Seraph came,And fixed its blue and beaming eyes on mine,And said, ‘I was disturbed by tremulous shameWhen once we met, yet knew that I was thine _4660From the same hour in which thy lips divineKindled a clinging dream within my brain,Which ever waked when I might sleep, to twineThine image with HER memory dear—againWe meet; exempted now from mortal fear or pain. _4665
25.‘When the consuming flames had wrapped ye round,The hope which I had cherished went away;I fell in agony on the senseless ground,And hid mine eyes in dust, and far astrayMy mind was gone, when bright, like dawning day, _4670The Spectre of the Plague before me flew,And breathed upon my lips, and seemed to say,“They wait for thee, beloved!”—then I knewThe death-mark on my breast, and became calm anew.
26.‘It was the calm of love—for I was dying. _4675I saw the black and half-extinguished pyreIn its own gray and shrunken ashes lying;The pitchy smoke of the departed fireStill hung in many a hollow dome and spireAbove the towers, like night,—beneath whose shade _4680Awed by the ending of their own desireThe armies stood; a vacancy was madeIn expectation’s depth, and so they stood dismayed.
27.‘The frightful silence of that altered mood,The tortures of the dying clove alone, _4685Till one uprose among the multitude,And said—“The flood of time is rolling on;We stand upon its brink, whilst THEY are goneTo glide in peace down death’s mysterious stream.Have ye done well? They moulder, flesh and bone, _4690Who might have made this life’s envenomed dreamA sweeter draught than ye will ever taste, I deem.
28.‘“These perish as the good and great of yoreHave perished, and their murderers will repent,—Yes, vain and barren tears shall flow before _4695Yon smoke has faded from the firmamentEven for this cause, that ye who must lamentThe death of those that made this world so fair,Cannot recall them now; but there is lentTo man the wisdom of a high despair, _4700When such can die, and he live on and linger here.
29.‘“Ay, ye may fear not now the Pestilence,From fabled hell as by a charm withdrawn;All power and faith must pass, since calmly henceIn pain and fire have unbelievers gone; _4705And ye must sadly turn away, and moanIn secret, to his home each one returning;And to long ages shall this hour be known;And slowly shall its memory, ever burning,Fill this dark night of things with an eternal morning. _4710
30.‘“For me that world is grown too void and cold,Since Hope pursues immortal DestinyWith steps thus slow—therefore shall ye beholdHow those who love, yet fear not, dare to die;Tell to your children this!” Then suddenly _4715He sheathed a dagger in his heart and fell;My brain grew dark in death, and yet to meThere came a murmur from the crowd, to tellOf deep and mighty change which suddenly befell.
31.‘Then suddenly I stood, a winged Thought, _4720Before the immortal Senate, and the seatOf that star-shining spirit, whence is wroughtThe strength of its dominion, good and great,The better Genius of this world’s estate.His realm around one mighty Fane is spread, _4725Elysian islands bright and fortunate,Calm dwellings of the free and happy dead,Where I am sent to lead!’ These winged words she said,
32.And with the silence of her eloquent smile,Bade us embark in her divine canoe; _4730Then at the helm we took our seat, the whileAbove her head those plumes of dazzling hueInto the winds’ invisible stream she threw,Sitting beside the prow: like gossamerOn the swift breath of morn, the vessel flew _4735O’er the bright whirlpools of that fountain fair,Whose shores receded fast, while we seemed lingering there;
33.Till down that mighty stream, dark, calm, and fleet,Between a chasm of cedarn mountains riven,Chased by the thronging winds whose viewless feet _4740As swift as twinkling beams, had, under Heaven,From woods and waves wild sounds and odours driven,The boat fled visibly—three nights and days,Borne like a cloud through morn, and noon, and even,We sailed along the winding watery ways _4745Of the vast stream, a long and labyrinthine maze.
34.A scene of joy and wonder to beholdThat river’s shapes and shadows changing ever,Where the broad sunrise filled with deepening goldIts whirlpools, where all hues did spread and quiver; _4750And where melodious falls did burst and shiverAmong rocks clad with flowers, the foam and spraySparkled like stars upon the sunny river,Or when the moonlight poured a holier day,One vast and glittering lake around green islands lay. _4755
35.Morn, noon, and even, that boat of pearl outranThe streams which bore it, like the arrowy cloudOf tempest, or the speedier thought of man,Which flieth forth and cannot make abode;Sometimes through forests, deep like night, we glode, _4760Between the walls of mighty mountains crownedWith Cyclopean piles, whose turrets proud,The homes of the departed, dimly frownedO’er the bright waves which girt their dark foundations round.
36.Sometimes between the wide and flowering meadows, _4765Mile after mile we sailed, and ’twas delightTo see far off the sunbeams chase the shadowsOver the grass; sometimes beneath the nightOf wide and vaulted caves, whose roofs were brightWith starry gems, we fled, whilst from their deep _4770And dark-green chasms, shades beautiful and white,Amid sweet sounds across our path would sweep,Like swift and lovely dreams that walk the waves of sleep.
37.And ever as we sailed, our minds were fullOf love and wisdom, which would overflow _4775In converse wild, and sweet, and wonderful,And in quick smiles whose light would come and goLike music o’er wide waves, and in the flowOf sudden tears, and in the mute caress—For a deep shade was cleft, and we did know, _4780That virtue, though obscured on Earth, not lessSurvives all mortal change in lasting loveliness.
38.Three days and nights we sailed, as thought and feelingNumber delightful hours—for through the skyThe sphered lamps of day and night, revealing _4785New changes and new glories, rolled on high,Sun, Moon and moonlike lamps, the progenyOf a diviner Heaven, serene and fair:On the fourth day, wild as a windwrought seaThe stream became, and fast and faster bare _4790The spirit-winged boat, steadily speeding there.
39.Steady and swift, where the waves rolled like mountainsWithin the vast ravine, whose rifts did pourTumultuous floods from their ten thousand fountains,The thunder of whose earth-uplifting roar _4795Made the air sweep in whirlwinds from the shore,Calm as a shade, the boat of that fair childSecurely fled, that rapid stress before,Amid the topmost spray, and sunbows wild,Wreathed in the silver mist: in joy and pride we smiled. _4800
40.The torrent of that wide and raging riverIs passed, and our aereal speed suspended.We look behind; a golden mist did quiverWhen its wild surges with the lake were blended,—Our bark hung there, as on a line suspended _4805Between two heavens,—that windless waveless lakeWhich four great cataracts from four vales, attendedBy mists, aye feed; from rocks and clouds they break,And of that azure sea a silent refuge make.
41.Motionless resting on the lake awhile, _4810I saw its marge of snow-bright mountains rearTheir peaks aloft, I saw each radiant isle,And in the midst, afar, even like a sphereHung in one hollow sky, did there appearThe Temple of the Spirit; on the sound _4815Which issued thence, drawn nearer and more near,Like the swift moon this glorious earth around,The charmed boat approached, and there its haven found.
NOTES: _4577 there]then edition 1818. _4699 there]then edition 1818. _4749 When]Where edition 1818. _4804 Where]When edition 1818. _4805 on a line]one line edition 1818.
Shelley possessed two remarkable qualities of intellect—a brilliant imagination, and a logical exactness of reason. His inclinations led him (he fancied) almost alike to poetry and metaphysical discussions. I say ‘he fancied,’ because I believe the former to have been paramount, and that it would have gained the mastery even had he struggled against it. However, he said that he deliberated at one time whether he should dedicate himself to poetry or metaphysics; and, resolving on the former, he educated himself for it, discarding in a great measure his philosophical pursuits, and engaging himself in the study of the poets of Greece, Italy, and England. To these may be added a constant perusal of portions of the old Testament—the Psalms, the Book of Job, the Prophet Isaiah, and others, the sublime poetry of which filled him with delight.
As a poet, his intellect and compositions were powerfully influenced by exterior circumstances, and especially by his place of abode. He was very fond of travelling, and ill-health increased this restlessness. The sufferings occasioned by a cold English winter made him pine, especially when our colder spring arrived, for a more genial climate. In 1816 he again visited Switzerland, and rented a house on the banks of the Lake of Geneva; and many a day, in cloud or sunshine, was passed alone in his boat—sailing as the wind listed, or weltering on the calm waters. The majestic aspect of Nature ministered such thoughts as he afterwards enwove in verse. His lines on the Bridge of the Arve, and his “Hymn to Intellectual Beauty”, were written at this time. Perhaps during this summer his genius was checked by association with another poet whose nature was utterly dissimilar to his own, yet who, in the poem he wrote at that time, gave tokens that he shared for a period the more abstract and etherealised inspiration of Shelley. The saddest events awaited his return to England; but such was his fear to wound the feelings of others that he never expressed the anguish he felt, and seldom gave vent to the indignation roused by the persecutions he underwent; while the course of deep unexpressed passion, and the sense of injury, engendered the desire to embody themselves in forms defecated of all the weakness and evil which cling to real life.
He chose therefore for his hero a youth nourished in dreams of liberty, some of whose actions are in direct opposition to the opinions of the world; but who is animated throughout by an ardent love of virtue, and a resolution to confer the boons of political and intellectual freedom on his fellow-creatures. He created for this youth a woman such as he delighted to imagine—full of enthusiasm for the same objects; and they both, with will unvanquished, and the deepest sense of the justice of their cause, met adversity and death. There exists in this poem a memorial of a friend of his youth. The character of the old man who liberates Laon from his tower prison, and tends on him in sickness, is founded on that of Doctor Lind, who, when Shelley was at Eton, had often stood by to befriend and support him, and whose name he never mentioned without love and veneration.
During the year 1817 we were established at Marlow in Buckinghamshire. Shelley’s choice of abode was fixed chiefly by this town being at no great distance from London, and its neighbourhood to the Thames. The poem was written in his boat, as it floated under the beech groves of Bisham, or during wanderings in the neighbouring country, which is distinguished for peculiar beauty. The chalk hills break into cliffs that overhang the Thames, or form valleys clothed with beech; the wilder portion of the country is rendered beautiful by exuberant vegetation; and the cultivated part is peculiarly fertile. With all this wealth of Nature which, either in the form of gentlemen’s parks or soil dedicated to agriculture, flourishes around, Marlow was inhabited (I hope it is altered now) by a very poor population. The women are lacemakers, and lose their health by sedentary labour, for which they were very ill paid. The Poor-laws ground to the dust not only the paupers, but those who had risen just above that state, and were obliged to pay poor-rates. The changes produced by peace following a long war, and a bad harvest, brought with them the most heart-rending evils to the poor. Shelley afforded what alleviation he could. In the winter, while bringing out his poem, he had a severe attack of ophthalmia, caught while visiting the poor cottages. I mention these things,—for this minute and active sympathy with his fellow-creatures gives a thousandfold interest to his speculations, and stamps with reality his pleadings for the human race.
The poem, bold in its opinions and uncompromising in their expression, met with many censurers, not only among those who allow of no virtue but such as supports the cause they espouse, but even among those whose opinions were similar to his own. I extract a portion of a letter written in answer to one of these friends. It best details the impulses of Shelley’s mind, and his motives: it was written with entire unreserve; and is therefore a precious monument of his own opinion of his powers, of the purity of his designs, and the ardour with which he clung, in adversity and through the valley of the shadow of death, to views from which he believed the permanent happiness of mankind must eventually spring.
‘Marlowe, December 11, 1817.
‘I have read and considered all that you say about my general powers, and the particular instance of the poem in which I have attempted to develop them. Nothing can be more satisfactory to me than the interest which your admonitions express. But I think you are mistaken in some points with regard to the peculiar nature of my powers, whatever be their amount. I listened with deference and self-suspicion to your censures of “The Revolt of Islam”; but the productions of mine which you commend hold a very low place in my own esteem; and this reassures me, in some degree at least. The poem was produced by a series of thoughts which filled my mind with unbounded and sustained enthusiasm. I felt the precariousness of my life, and I engaged in this task, resolved to leave some record of myself. Much of what the volume contains was written with the same feeling—as real, though not so prophetic—as the communications of a dying man. I never presumed indeed to consider it anything approaching to faultless; but, when I consider contemporary productions of the same apparent pretensions, I own I was filled with confidence. I felt that it was in many respects a genuine picture of my own mind. I felt that the sentiments were true, not assumed. And in this have I long believed that my power consists; in sympathy, and that part of the imagination which relates to sentiment and contemplation. I am formed, if for anything not in common with the herd of mankind, to apprehend minute and remote distinctions of feeling, whether relative to external nature or the living beings which surround us, and to communicate the conceptions which result from considering either the moral or the material universe as a whole. Of course, I believe these faculties, which perhaps comprehend all that is sublime in man, to exist very imperfectly in my own mind. But, when you advert to my Chancery-paper, a cold, forced, unimpassioned, insignificant piece of cramped and cautious argument, and to the little scrap about “Mandeville”, which expressed my feelings indeed, but cost scarcely two minutes’ thought to express, as specimens of my powers more favourable than that which grew as it were from “the agony and bloody sweat” of intellectual travail; surely I must feel that, in some manner, either I am mistaken in believing that I have any talent at all, or you in the selection of the specimens of it. Yet, after all, I cannot but be conscious, in much of what I write, of an absence of that tranquillity which is the attribute and accompaniment of power. This feeling alone would make your most kind and wise admonitions, on the subject of the economy of intellectual force, valuable to me. And, if I live, or if I see any trust in coming years, doubt not but that I shall do something, whatever it may be, which a serious and earnest estimate of my powers will suggest to me, and which will be in every respect accommodated to their utmost limits.
[Shelley to Godwin.]
***
(The idea Shelley had formed of Prince Athanase was a good deal modelled on “Alastor”. In the first sketch of the poem, he named it “Pandemos and Urania”. Athanase seeks through the world the One whom he may love. He meets, in the ship in which he is embarked, a lady who appears to him to embody his ideal of love and beauty. But she proves to be Pandemos, or the earthly and unworthy Venus; who, after disappointing his cherished dreams and hopes, deserts him. Athanase, crushed by sorrow, pines and dies. ‘On his deathbed, the lady who can really reply to his soul comes and kisses his lips’ (“The Deathbed of Athanase”). The poet describes her [in the words of the final fragment, page 164]. This slender note is all we have to aid our imagination in shaping out the form of the poem, such as its author imagined. [Mrs. Shelley’s Note.])
[Written at Marlow in 1817, towards the close of the year; first published in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Part 1 is dated by Mrs. Shelley, ‘December, 1817,’ the remainder, ‘Marlow, 1817.’ The verses were probably rehandled in Italy during the following year. Sources of the text are (1) “Posthumous Poems”, 1824; (2) “Poetical Works” 1839, editions 1st and 2nd; (3) a much-tortured draft amongst the Bodleian manuscripts, collated by Mr. C.D. Locock. For (1) and (2) Mrs. Shelley is responsible. Our text (enlarged by about thirty lines from the Bodleian manuscript) follows for the most part the “Poetical Works”, 1839; verbal exceptions are pointed out in the footnotes. See also the Editor’s Notes at the end of this volume, and Mr. Locock’s “Examination of Shelley Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library”, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903.]
There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel,Had grown quite weak and gray before his time;Nor any could the restless griefs unravel
Which burned within him, withering up his primeAnd goading him, like fiends, from land to land. _5Not his the load of any secret crime,
For nought of ill his heart could understand,But pity and wild sorrow for the same;—Not his the thirst for glory or command,
Baffled with blast of hope-consuming shame; _10Nor evil joys which fire the vulgar breast,And quench in speedy smoke its feeble flame,
Had left within his soul their dark unrest:Nor what religion fables of the graveFeared he,—Philosophy’s accepted guest. _15
For none than he a purer heart could have,Or that loved good more for itself alone;Of nought in heaven or earth was he the slave.
What sorrow, strange, and shadowy, and unknown,Sent him, a hopeless wanderer, through mankind?— _20If with a human sadness he did groan,
He had a gentle yet aspiring mind;Just, innocent, with varied learning fed;And such a glorious consolation find
In others’ joy, when all their own is dead: _25He loved, and laboured for his kind in grief,And yet, unlike all others, it is said
That from such toil he never found relief.Although a child of fortune and of power,Of an ancestral name the orphan chief, _30
His soul had wedded Wisdom, and her dowerIs love and justice, clothed in which he sateApart from men, as in a lonely tower,
Pitying the tumult of their dark estate.—Yet even in youth did he not e’er abuse _35The strength of wealth or thought, to consecrate
Those false opinions which the harsh rich useTo blind the world they famish for their pride;Nor did he hold from any man his dues,
But, like a steward in honest dealings tried, _40With those who toiled and wept, the poor and wise,His riches and his cares he did divide.
Fearless he was, and scorning all disguise,What he dared do or think, though men might start,He spoke with mild yet unaverted eyes; _45