Oh, ye, who have your eye-balls vex'd and tir'd,
Feast them upon the wideness of the sea; 10 O, ye, whose ears are dinn'd with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody,
Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood
Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quir'd!
When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 5 Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour! That I shall never look upon thee more, 10 Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. 5 Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, 11 Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils 15 With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms 20 We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
"This river does not see the naked sky, 540 Till it begins to progress silverly Around the western border of the wood, Whence, from a certain spot, its winding flood Seems at the distance like a crescent moon: And in that nook, the very pride of June, 545 Had I been us'd to pass my weary eyes; The rather for the sun unwilling leaves So dear a picture of his sovereign power, And I could witness his most kingly hour, When he doth tighten up the golden reins, 550 And paces leisurely down amber plains His snorting four. Now when his chariot last Its beams against the zodiac-lion 1 cast,
1 the zodiacal sign Leo, in which the sun travels from July 21 to August 21
Not thy soft hand, fair sister! let me shun Such follying before thee - yet she had, Indeed, locks bright enough to make me mad; And they were simply gordian'd up and braided,
Leaving, in naked comeliness, unshaded, 615 Her pearl round ears, white neck, and orbèd brow;
The which were blended in, I know not how, With such a paradise of lips and eyes, Blush-tinted cheeks, half smiles, and faintest sighs,
That, when I think thereon, my spirit clings And plays about its fancy, till the stings 621 Of human neighbourhood envenom all. Unto what awful power shall I call?
1 a flower of Greece, supposed to possess magical properties
And then, towards me, like a very maid, Came blushing, waning, willing, and afraid, And press'd me by the hand: Ah! 'twas too much; 636 Methought I fainted at the charmed touch, Yet held my recollection, even as one Who dives three fathoms where the waters run Gurgling in beds of coral: for anon, I felt upmounted in that region Where falling stars dart their artillery forth, And eagles struggle with the buffeting north That balances the heavy meteor-stone; Felt too, I was not fearful, nor alone; But lapp'd and lull'd along the dangerous sky. Soon, as it seem'd, we left our journeying high, And straightway into frightful eddies swoop'd; Such as ay muster where grey time has scoop'd Huge dens and caverns in a mountain's side: There hollow sounds arous'd me, and I sigh'd To faint once more by looking on my bliss I was distracted; madly did I kiss The wooing arms which held me, and did give My eyes at once to death: but 'twas to live, To take in draughts of life from the gold fount Of kind and passionate looks; to count, and
The moments, by some greedy help that seem'd A second self, that each might be redeem'd And plunder'd of its load of blessedness. Ah, desperate mortal! I e'en dar'd to press Her very cheek against my crowned lip, And, at that moment, felt my body dip Into a warmer air: a moment more, Our feet were soft in flowers. There was store Of newest joys upon that alp. Sometimes 666 A scent of violets, and blossoming limes, Loiter'd around us; then of honey cells, Made delicate from all white-flower bells; And once, above the edges of our nest, An arch face peep'd, an Oread as I guess'd.
But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. A stream went voiceless by, still deadened
By reason of his fallen divinity Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.
Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went,
No further than to where his feet had stray'd, And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth,
His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.
She was a Goddess of the infant world; By her in stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en
Achilles by the hair and bent his neck; Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel. Her face was large as that of Memphian
Pedestal'd haply in a palace court, When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore. But oh! how unlike marble was that face: How beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self. There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun;
As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear 40 Was with its stored thunder labouring up. One hand she press'd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain: The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his ear Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
In solemn tenor and deep organ tone: Some mourning words, which in our feeble
Would come in these like accents; O how frail To that large utterance of the early Gods! 51 "Saturn, look up! — though wherefore, poor
I have no comfort for thee, no, not one: I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?' For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God; 56 And ocean too, with all its solemn noise, Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air Is emptied of thine hoary majesty. Thy thunder, conscious of the new command, Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house; And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands Scorches and burns our once serene domain. O aching time! O moments big as years! All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth, And press it so upon our weary griefs That unbelief has not a space to breathe. Saturn, sleep on: - O thoughtless, why did I Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude? Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes? Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep.'
The frozen God still couchant on the earth, And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet: Until at length old Saturn lifted up His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone, 90 And all the gloom and sorrow of the place, And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake,
As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard Shook horrid with such aspen-malady: "O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face; Look up, and let me see our doom in it; Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow, 100 Naked and bare of its great diadem,
Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power
To make me desolate? whence came the strength?
How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth, While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp?
But it is so; and I am smother'd up,
Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting, 110 And all those acts which Deity supreme Doth ease its heart of love in. I am gone Away from my own bosom: I have left My strong identity, my real self, Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit, 115
Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search!
Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round Upon all space space starr'd, and lorn of light; Space region'd with life-air; and barren void; Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell. - 120 Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest A certain shape or shadow, making way With wings or chariot fierce to repossess A heaven he lost erewhile: it must
Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue
Flatter'd to tears this agèd man and poor; But no already had his deathbell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung: His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve: Another way he went, and soon among 25 Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.
That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;
And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, 30 The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide: The level chambers, ready with their pride, Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: The carved angels, ever eager-eyed, Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice
With hair blown back, and wings put crosswise on their breasts.
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