A piteous sight, that one so fair and young,
4565
The clasp of such a fearful death should woo
With smiles of tender joy as beamed from Cythna now.
XIV
The warm tears burst in spite of faith and fear
From many a tremulous eye, but like soft dews
Which feed Spring’s earliest buds, hung gathered there,
4570
Frozen by doubt,—alas! they could not choose
But weep; for when her faint limbs did refuse
To climb the pyre, upon the mutes she smiled;
And with her eloquent gestures, and the hues
Of her quick lips, even as a weary child
4575
Wins sleep from some fond nurse with its caresses mild,
XV
She won them, though unwilling, her to bind
Near me, among the snakes. When there had fled
One soft reproach that was most thrilling kind,
She smiled on me, and nothing then we said,
4580
But each upon the other’s countenance fed
Looks of insatiate love; the mighty veil
Which doth divide the living and the dead
Was almost rent, the world grew dim and pale,—
All light in Heaven or Earth beside our love did fail.—
XVI
4585
Yet—yet—one brief relapse, like the last beam
Of dying flames, the stainless air around
Hung silent and serene—a blood-red gleam
Burst upwards, hurling fiercely from the ground
The globèd smoke,—I heard the mighty sound
4590
Of its uprise, like a tempestuous ocean;
And through its chasms I saw, as in a swound,
The tyrant’s child fall without life or motion
Before his throne, subdued by some unseen emotion.
XVII
And is this death?—The pyre has disappeared,
4595
The Pestilence, the Tyrant, and the throng;
The flames grow silent—slowly there is heard
The 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:
4600
With ever-changing notes it floats along,
Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep
A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap.
XVIII
The warm touch of a soft and tremulous hand
Wakened me then; lo! Cythna sate reclined
4605
Beside me, on the waved and golden sand
Of a clear pool, upon a bank o’ertwined
With strange and star-bright flowers, which to the wind
Breathed divine odour; high above, was spread
The emerald heaven of trees of unknown kind,
4610
Whose moonlike blooms and bright fruit overhead
A shadow, which was light, upon the waters shed.
XIX
And round about sloped many a lawny mountain
With incense-bearing forests, and vast caves
Of marble radiance, to that mighty fountain;
4615
And where the flood its own bright margin laves,
Their echoes talk with its eternal waves,
Which, from the depths whose jaggèd caverns breed
Their unreposing strife, it lifts and heaves,—
Till through a chasm of hills they roll, and feed
4620
A river deep, which flies with smooth but arrowy speed.
XX
As we sate gazing in a trance of wonder,
A boat approached, borne by the musical air
Along the waves which sung and sparkled under
Its rapid keel—a wingèd shape sate there,
4625
A child with silver-shining wings, so fair,
That as her bark did through the waters glide,
The shadow of the lingering waves did wear
Light, as from starry beams; from side to side,
While veering to the wind her plumes the bark did guide.
XXI
4630
The boat was one curved shell of hollow pearl,
Almost translucent with the light divine
Of her within; the prow and stern did curl
Hornèd on high, like the young moon supine,
When o’er dim twilight mountains dark with pine,
4635
It floats upon the sunset’s sea of beams,
Whose golden waves in many a purple line
Fade fast, till borne on sunlight’s ebbing streams,
Dilating, on earth’s verge the sunken meteor gleams.
XXII
Its keel has struck the sands beside our feet;—
4640
Then Cythna turned to me, and from her eyes
Which swam with unshed tears, a look more sweet
Than happy love, a wild and glad surprise,
Glanced as she spake: ‘Ay, this is Paradise
And not a dream, and we are all united!
4645
Lo, that is mine own child, who in the guise
Of madness came, like day to one benighted
In lonesome woods: my heart is now too well requited!’
XXIII
And then she wept aloud, and in her arms
Clasped that bright Shape, less marvellously fair
4650
Than her own human hues and living charms;
Which, 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 hair
4655
Fell o’er that snowy child, and wrapped from sight
The fond and long embrace which did their hearts unite.
XXIV
Then the bright child, the plumèd Seraph came,
And fixed its blue and beaming eyes on mine,
And said, ‘I was disturbed by tremulous shame
4660
When once we met, yet knew that I was thine
From the same hour in which thy lips divine
Kindled a clinging dream within my brain,
Which ever waked when I might sleep, to twine
Thine image with her memory dear—again
4665
We meet; exempted now from mortal fear or pain.
XXV
‘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 astray
My mind was gone, when bright, like dawning day,
The Spectre of the Plague before me flew,
And breathed upon my lips, and seemed to say,
“They wait for thee, belovèd!”—then I knew
The death-mark on my breast, and became calm anew.
XXVI
4675
‘It was the calm of love—for I was dying.
I saw the black and half-extinguished pyre
In its own gray and shrunken ashes lying;
The pitchy smoke of the departed fire
Still hung in many a hollow dome and spire
4680
Above the towers, like night; beneath whose shade
Awed by the ending of their own desire
The armies stood; a vacancy was made
In expectation’s depth, and so they stood dismayed.
XXVII
‘The frightful silence of that altered mood,
4685
The tortures of the dying clove alone,
Till one uprose among the multitude,
And said—“The flood of time is rolling on,
<
br /> We stand upon its brink, whilst they are gone
To glide in peace down death’s mysterious stream.
Have ye done well? They moulder flesh and bone,
Who might have made this life’s envenomed dream
A sweeter draught than ye will ever taste, I deem.
XXVIII
‘ “These perish as the good and great of yore
Have perished, and their murderers will repent,—
4695
Yes, vain and barren tears shall flow before
Yon smoke has faded from the firmament
Even for this cause, that ye who must lament
The death of those that made this world so fair,
Cannot recall them now; but there is lent
4700
To man the wisdom of a high despair,
When such can die, and he live on and linger here.
XXIX
‘ “Ay, ye may fear not now the Pestilence,
From fabled hell as by a charm withdrawn;
All power and faith must pass, since calmly hence
4705
In pain and fire have unbelievers gone;
And ye must sadly turn away, and moan
In secret, to his home each one returning,
And to long ages shall this hour be known;
And slowly shall its memory, ever burning,
4710
Fill this dark night of things with an eternal morning.
XXX
‘ “For me the world is grown too void and cold,
Since Hope pursues immortal Destiny
With steps thus slow—therefore shall ye behold
How those who love, yet fear not, dare to die;
4715
Tell to your children this!” Then suddenly
He sheathed a dagger in his heart and fell;
My brain grew dark in death, and yet to me
There came a murmur from the crowd, to tell
Of deep and mighty change which suddenly befell.
XXXI
4720
‘Then suddenly I stood, a wingèd Thought,
Before the immortal Senate, and the seat
Of that star-shining spirit, whence is wrought
The strength of its dominion, good and great,
The better Genius of this world’s estate.
4725
His realm around one mighty Fane is spread,
Elysian islands bright and fortunate,
Calm dwellings of the free and happy dead,
Where I am sent to lead!’ These wingèd words she said,
XXXII
And with the silence of her eloquent smile,
4730
Bade us embark in her divine canoe;
Then at the helm we took our seat, the while
Above her head those plumes of dazzling hue
Into the winds’ invisible stream she threw,
Sitting beside the prow: like gossamer
4735
On the swift breath of morn, the vessel flew
O’er the bright whirlpools of that fountain fair,
Whose shores receded fast, whilst we seemed lingering there;
XXXIII
Till down that mighty stream, dark, calm, and fleet,
Between a chasm of cedarn mountains riven,
4740
Chased by the thronging winds whose viewless feet
As 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,
4745
We sailed along the winding watery ways
Of the vast stream, a long and labyrinthine maze.
XXXIV
A scene of joy and wonder to behold
That river’s shapes and shadows changing ever,
When the broad sunrise filled with deepening gold
Its whirlpools, where all hues did spread and quiver;
And where melodious falls did burst and shiver
Among rocks clad with flowers, the foam and spray
Sparkled like stars upon the sunny river,
Or when the moonlight poured a holier day,
4755
One vast and glittering lake around green islands lay.
XXXV
Morn, noon, and even, that boat of pearl outran
The streams which bore it, like the arrowy cloud
Of tempest, or the speedier thought of man,
Which flieth forth and cannot make abode;
Sometimes through forests, deep like night, we glode,
Between the walls of mighty mountains crowned
With Cyclopean piles, whose turrets proud,
The homes of the departed, dimly frowned
O’er the bright waves which girt their dark foundations round,
XXXVI
Sometimes between the wide and flowering meadows,
Mile after mile we sailed, and ’twas delight
To see far off the sunbeams chase the shadows
Over the grass; sometimes beneath the night
Of wide and vaulted caves, whose roofs were bright
4770
With starry gems, we fled, whilst from their deep
And 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.
XXXVII
And ever as we sailed, our minds were full
4775
Of love and wisdom, which would overflow
In converse wild, and sweet, and wonderful,
And in quick smiles whose light would come and go
Like music o’er wide waves, and in the flow
Of sudden tears, and in the mute caress—
4780
For a deep shade was cleft, and we did know,
That virtue, though obscured on Earth, not less
Survives all mortal change in lasting loveliness.
XXXVIII
Three days and nights we sailed, as thought and feeling
Number delightful hours—for through the sky
4785
The spherèd lamps of day and night, revealing
New changes and new glories, rolled on high,
Sun, Moon, and moonlike lamps, the progeny
Of a diviner Heaven, serene and fair:
On the fourth day, wild as a windwrought sea
4790
The stream became, and fast and faster bare
The spirit-wingèd boat, steadily speeding there.
XXXIX
Steady and swift, where the waves rolled like mountains
Within the vast ravine, whose rifts did pour
Tumultuous floods from their ten thousand fountains,
4795
The thunder of whose earth-uplifting roar
Made the air sweep in whirlwinds from the shore,
Calm as a shade, the boat of that fair child
Securely fled, that rapid stress before,
Amid the topmost spray, and sunbows wild,
4800
Wreathed in the silver mist: in joy and pride we smiled.
XL
The torrent of that wide and raging river
Is passed, and our aëreal speed suspended.
We look behind; a golden mist did quiver
Where its wild surges with the lake were blended.—
4805
Our bark hung there, as on a line suspended
Between two heavens,—that windless waveless lake
Which four great cataracts from four vales, attended
By mists, aye feed; from rocks and clouds they break,
And of that azure sea a silent refuge make.
XLI
4810
Motionless resting on the lake awhile,
I saw its marge of snow-bright mountains rear
Their peaks aloft, I saw each radiant isle,
And in the midst, afar, even like a sphere
Hung in one hollow sky, did there appear
4815
The Temple of the Spirit; on the sound
Which issued thence, drawn nearer and more near,
Like the swift moon this glorious earth around,
The charmèd boat approached, and there its haven found.
NOTE ON THE REVOLT OF ISLAM, BY MRS. SHELLEY
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.
The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley: (A Modern Library E-Book) Page 25
