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The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley

Page 39

by Percy Bysshe Shelley


  Such, the alleviations of his state,

  Prometheus gave to man, for which he hangs

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  Withering in destined pain: but who rains down

  Evil, the immedicable plague, which, while

  Man looks on his creation like a God

  And sees that it is glorious, drives him on,

  The wreck of his own will, the scorn of earth,

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  The outcast, the abandoned, the alone?

  Not Jove: while yet his frown shook Heaven, ay, when

  His adversary from adamantine chains

  Cursed him, he trembled like a slave. Declare

  Who is his master? Is he too a slave?

  Demogorgon. All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil:

  Thou knowest if Jupiter be such or no.

  Asia. Whom calledst thou God?

  Demogorgon. I spoke but as ye speak,

  For Jove is the supreme of living things.

  Asia. Who is the master of the slave?

  Demogorgon. If the abysm

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  Could vomit forth its secrets.… But a voice

  Is wanting, the deep truth is imageless;

  For what would it avail to bid thee gaze

  On the revolving world? What to bid speak

  Fate, Time, Occasion, Chance, and Change? To these

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  All things are subject but eternal Love.

  Asia. So much I asked before, and my heart gave

  The response thou hast given; and of such truths

  Each to itself must be the oracle.

  One more demand; and do thou answer me

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  As mine own soul would answer, did it know

  That which I ask. Prometheus shall arise

  Henceforth the sun of this rejoicing world:

  When shall the destined hour arrive?

  Demogorgon. Behold!

  Asia. The rocks are cloven, and through the purple night

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  I see cars drawn by rainbow-wingèd steeds

  Which trample the dim winds: in each there stands

  A wild-eyed charioteer urging their flight.

  Some look behind, as fiends pursued them there,

  And yet I see no shapes but the keen stars:

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  Others, with burning eyes, lean forth, and drink

  With eager lips the wind of their own speed,

  As if the thing they loved fled on before,

  And now, even now, they clasped it. Their bright locks

  Stream like a comet’s flashing hair: they all

  Sweep onward.

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  Demogorgon. These are the immortal Hours,

  Of whom thou didst demand. One waits for thee.

  Asia. A spirit with a dreadful countenance

  Checks its dark chariot by the craggy gulf.

  Unlike thy brethren, ghastly charioteer,

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  Who art thou? Whither wouldst thou bear me? Speak!

  Spirit. I am the shadow of a destiny

  More dread than is my aspect: ere yon planet

  Has set, the darkness which ascends with me

  Shall wrap in lasting night heaven’s kingless throne.

  Asia. What meanest thou?

  Panthea. That terrible shadow floats

  Up from its throne, as may the lurid smoke

  Of earthquake-ruined cities o’er the sea.

  Lo! it ascends the car; the coursers fly

  Terrified: watch its path among the stars

  Blackening the night!

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  Asia. Thus I am answered: strange!

  Panthea. See, near the verge, another chariot stays;

  An ivory shell inlaid with crimson fire,

  Which comes and goes within its sculptured rim

  Of delicate strange tracery; the young spirit

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  That guides it has the dove-like eyes of hope;

  How its soft smiles attract the soul! as light

  Lures wingèd insects through the lampless air.

  Spirit.

  My coursers are fed with the lightning,

  They drink of the whirlwind’s stream,

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  And when the red morning is bright’ning

  They bathe in the fresh sunbeam;

  They have strength for their swiftness I deem,

  Then ascend with me, daughter of Ocean.

  I desire: and their speed makes night kindle;

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  I fear: they outstrip the Typhoon;

  Ere the cloud piled on Atlas can dwindle

  We encircle the earth and the moon:

  We shall rest from long labours at noon:

  Then ascend with me, daughter of Ocean.

  SCENE V.—The Car pauses within a Cloud on the top of a snowy Mountain. ASIA, PANTHEA, and the SPIRIT OF THE HOUR.

  Spirit.

  On the brink of the night and the morning

  My coursers are wont to respire;

  But the Earth has just whispered a warning

  That their flight must be swifter than fire:

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  They shall drink the hot speed of desire!

  Asia. Thou breathest on their nostrils, but my breath

  Would give them swifter speed.

  Spirit. Alas! it could not.

  Panthea. Oh Spirit! pause, and tell whence is the light

  Which fills this cloud? the sun is yet unrisen.

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  Spirit. The sun will rise not until noon. Apollo

  Is held in heaven by wonder; and the light

  Which fills this vapour, as the aëreal hue

  Of fountain-gazing roses fills the water,

  Flows from thy mighty sister.

  Panthea. Yes, I feel—

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  Asia. What is it with thee, sister? Thou art pale.

  Panthea. How thou art changed! I dare not look on thee;

  I feel but see thee not. I scarce endure

  The radiance of thy beauty. Some good change

  Is working in the elements, which suffer

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  Thy presence thus unveiled. The Nereids tell

  That on the day when the clear hyaline

  Was cloven at thine uprise, and thou didst stand

  Within a veinèd shell, which floated on

  Over the calm floor of the crystal sea,

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  Among the Ægean isles, and by the shores

  Which bear thy name; love, like the atmosphere

  Of the sun’s fire filling the living world,

  Burst from thee, and illumined earth and heaven

  And the deep ocean and the sunless caves

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  And all that dwells within them; till grief cast

  Eclipse upon the soul from which it came:

  Such art thou now; nor is it I alone,

  Thy sister, thy companion, thine own chosen one,

  But the whole world which seeks thy sympathy.

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  Hearest thou not sounds i’ the air which speak the love

  Of all articulate beings? Feelest thou not

  The inanimate winds enamoured of thee? List!

  [Music.

  Asia. Thy words are sweeter than aught else but his

  Whose echoes they are: yet all love is sweet,

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  Given or returned. Common as light is love,

  And its familiar voice wearies not ever.

  Like the wide heaven, the all-sustaining air,

  It makes the reptile equal to the God:

  They who inspire it most are fortunate,

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  As I am now; but those who feel it most

  Are happier still, after long sufferings,

  As I shall soon become.

  Panthea. List! Spirits speak.

  Voices in the Air, singing.

  Life of Life! thy lips enkindle

  With their
love the breath between them;

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  And thy smiles before they dwindle

  Make the cold air fire; then screen them

  In those looks, where whoso gazes

  Faints, entangled in their mazes.

  Child of Light! thy limbs are burning

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  Through the vest which seems to hide them;

  As the radiant lines of morning

  Through the clouds ere they divide them;

  And this atmosphere divinest

  Shrouds thee wheresoe’er thou shinest.

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  Fair are others; none beholds thee,

  But thy voice sounds low and tender

  Like the fairest, for it folds thee

  From the sight, that liquid splendour,

  And all feel, yet see thee never,

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  As I feel now, lost for ever!

  Lamp of Earth! where’er thou movest

  Its dim shapes are clad with brightness,

  And the souls of whom thou lovest

  Walk upon the winds with lightness,

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  Till they fail, as I am failing,

  Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing!

  Asia.

  My soul is an enchanted boat,

  Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float

  Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;

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  And thine doth like an angel sit

  Beside a helm conducting it,

  Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing.

  It seems to float ever, for ever,

  Upon that many-winding river,

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  Between mountains, woods, abysses,

  A paradise of wildernesses!

  Till, like one in slumber bound,

  Borne to the ocean, I float down, around,

  Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound:

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  Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions

  In music’s most serene dominions;

  Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven.

  And we sail on, away, afar,

  Without a course, without a star,

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  But, by the instinct of sweet music driven;

  Till through Elysian garden islets

  By thee, most beautiful of pilots,

  Where never mortal pinnace glided,

  The boat of my desire is guided:

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  Realms where the air we breathe is love,

  Which in the winds and on the waves doth move,

  Harmonizing this earth with what we feel above.

  We have passed Age’s icy caves,

  And Manhood’s dark and tossing waves,

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  And Youth’s smooth ocean, smiling to betray:

  Beyond the glassy gulfs we flee

  Of shadow-peopled Infancy,

  Through Death and Birth, to a diviner day;

  A paradise of vaulted bowers,

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  Lit by downward-gazing flowers,

  And watery paths that wind between

  Wildernesses calm and green,

  Peopled by shapes too bright to see,

  And rest, having beheld; somewhat like thee;

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  Which walk upon the sea, and chant melodiously!

  END OF THE SECOND ACT.

  ACT III

  SCENE I.—Heaven. JUPITER on his Throne; THETIS and the other Deities assembled.

  Jupiter. Ye congregated powers of heaven, who share

  The glory and the strength of him ye serve,

  Rejoice! henceforth I am omnipotent.

  All else had been subdued to me; alone

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  The soul of man, like unextinguished fire,

  Yet burns towards heaven with fierce reproach, and doubt,

  And lamentation, and reluctant prayer,

  Hurling up insurrection, which might make

  Our antique empire insecure, though built

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  On eldest faith, and hell’s coeval, fear;

  And though my curses through the pendulous air,

  Like snow on herbless peaks, fall flake by flake,

  And cling to it; though under my wrath’s night

  It climbs the crags of life, step after step,

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  Which wound it, as ice wounds unsandalled feet,

  It yet remains supreme o’er misery,

  Aspiring, unrepressed, yet soon to fall:

  Even now have I begotten a strange wonder,

  That fatal child, the terror of the earth,

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  Who waits but till the destined hour arrive,

  Bearing from Demogorgon’s vacant throne

  The dreadful might of ever-living limbs

  Which clothed that awful spirit unbeheld,

  To redescend, and trample out the spark.

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  Pour forth heaven’s wine, Idæan Ganymede,

  And let it fill the Dædal cups like fire,

  And from the flower-inwoven soil divine

  Ye all-triumphant harmonies arise,

  As dew from earth under the twilight stars:

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  Drink! be the nectar circling through your veins

  The soul of joy, ye ever-living Gods,

  Till exultation burst in one wide voice

  Like music from Elysian winds.

  And thou

  Ascend beside me, veilèd in the light

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  Of the desire which makes thee one with me,

  Thetis, bright image of eternity!

  When thou didst cry, ‘Insufferable might!

  God! Spare me! I sustain not the quick flames,

  The penetrating presence; all my being,

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  Like him whom the Numidian seps did thaw

  Into a dew with poison, is dissolved,

  Sinking through its foundations:’ even then

  Two mighty spirits, mingling, made a third

  Mightier than either, which, unbodied now,

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  Between us floats, felt, although unbeheld,

  Waiting the incarnation, which ascends.

  (Hear ye the thunder of the fiery wheels

  Griding the winds?) from Demogorgon’s throne.

  Victory! victory! Feel’st thou not, O world,

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  The earthquake of his chariot thundering up

  Olympus?

  [The Car of the HOUR arrives. DEMOGORGON descends. and moves towards the Throne of JUPITER.

  Awful shape, what art thou? Speak!

  Demogorgon. Eternity. Demand no direr name.

  Descend, and follow me down the abyss.

  I am thy child, as thou wert Saturn’s child;

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  Mightier than thee: and we must dwell together

  Henceforth in darkness. Lift thy lightnings not.

  The tyranny of heaven none may retain,

  Or reassume, or hold, succeeding thee:

  Yet if thou wilt, as ’tis the destiny

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  Of trodden worms to writhe till they are dead,

  Put forth thy might.

  Jupiter. Detested prodigy!

  Even thus beneath the deep Titanian prisons

  I trample thee! thou lingerest?

  Mercy! mercy!

  No pity, no release, no respite! Oh,

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  That thou wouldst make mine enemy my judge,

  Even where he hangs, seared by my long revenge,

  On Caucasus! he would not doom me thus.

  Gentle, and just, and dreadless, is he not

  The monarch of the world? What then art thou?

  No refuge! no appeal!

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  Sink with me then,

  We two will sink on the wide waves of ruin,

  Even as a vulture and a snake outspent

  Drop, twisted in inextricable fight,

  Into a shoreless sea.
Let hell unlock

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  Its mounded oceans of tempestuous fire,

  And whelm on them into the bottomless void

  This desolated world, and thee, and me,

  The conqueror and the conquered, and the wreck

  Of that for which they combated.

  Ai! Ai!

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  The elements obey me not. I sink

  Dizzily down, ever, for ever, down.

  And, like a cloud, mine enemy above

  Darkens my fall with victory! Ai, Ail

  SCENE II.—The Mouth of a great River in the Island Atlantis. OCEAN is discovered reclining near the Shore; APOLLO stands beside him.

  Ocean. He fell, thou sayest, beneath his conqueror’s frown?

  Apollo. Ay, when the strife was ended which made dim

  The orb I rule, and shook the solid stars,

  The terrors of his eye illumined heaven

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  With sanguine light, through the thick ragged skirts

  Of the victorious darkness, as he fell:

  Like the last glare of day’s red agony,

  Which, from a rent among the fiery clouds,

  Burns far along the tempest-wrinkled deep.

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  Ocean. He sunk to the abyss? To the dark void?

  Apollo. An eagle so caught in some bursting cloud

  On Caucasus, his thunder-baffled wings

  Entangled in the whirlwind, and his eyes

  Which gazed on the undazzling sun, now blinded

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  By the white lightning, while the ponderous hail

  Beats on his struggling form, which sinks at length

  Prone, and the aëreal ice clings over it.

  Ocean. Henceforth the fields of heaven-reflecting sea

  Which are my realm, will heave, unstained with blood,

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  Beneath the uplifting winds, like plains of corn

  Swayed by the summer air; my streams will flow

  Round many-peopled continents, and round

  Fortunate isles; and from their glassy thrones

 

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