But follow thou, and from spectator turn
Actor or victim in this wretchedness,
‘And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learn
From thee. Now listen:—In the April prime,
When all the forest-tips began to burn
310
‘With kindling green, touched by the azure clime
Of the young season, I was laid asleep
Under a mountain, which from unknown time
‘Had yawned into a cavern, high and deep;
And from it came a gentle rivulet,
315
Whose water, like clear air, in its calm sweep
‘Bent the soft grass, and kept for ever wet
The stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the grove
With sounds, which whoso hears must needs forget
‘All pleasure and all pain, all hate and love,
320
Which they had known before that hour of rest;
A sleeping mother then would dream not of
‘Her only child who died upon the breast
At eventide—a king would mourn no more
The crown of which his brows were dispossessed
325
‘When the sun lingered o’er his ocean floor
To gild his rival’s new prosperity.
Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore
‘Ills, which if ills can find no cure from thee,
The thought of which no other sleep will quell,
330
Nor other music blot from memory,
‘So sweet and deep is the oblivious spell;
And whether life had been before that sleep
The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell
‘Like this harsh world in which I wake to weep,
335
I know not. I arose, and for a space
The scene of woods and waters seemed to keep,
‘Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace
Of light diviner than the common sun
Sheds on the common earth, and all the place
340
‘Was filled with magic sounds woven into one
Oblivious melody, confusing sense
Amid the gliding waves and shadows dun;
‘And, as I looked, the bright omnipresence
Of morning through the orient cavern flowed,
345
And the sun’s image radiantly intense
‘Burned on the waters of the well that glowed
Like gold, and threaded all the forest’s maze
With winding paths of emerald fire; there stood
‘Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze
350
Of his own glory, on the vibrating
Floor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays,
‘A Shape all light, which with one hand did fling
Dew on the earth, as if she were the dawn,
And the invisible rain did ever sing
355
‘A silver music on the mossy lawn;
And still before me on the dusky grass,
Iris her many-coloured scarf had drawn:
‘In her right hand she bore a crystal glass,
Mantling with bright Nepenthe; the fierce splendour
360
Fell from her as she moved under the mass
‘Of the deep cavern, and with palms so tender,
Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow,
Glided along the river, and did bend her
‘Head under the dark boughs, till like a willow
365
Her fair hair swept the bosom of the stream
That whispered with delight to be its pillow.
‘As one enamoured is upborne in dream
O’er lily-paven lakes, mid silver mist,
To wondrous music, so this shape might seem
370
‘Partly to tread the waves with feet which kissed
The dancing foam; partly to glide along
The air which roughened the moist amethyst,
‘Or the faint morning beams that fell among
The trees or the soft shadows of the trees;
375
And her feet, ever to the ceaseless song
‘Of leaves, and winds, and waves, and birds, and bees,
And falling drops, moved in a measure new
Yet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze,
‘Up from the lake a shape of golden dew
380
Between two rocks, athwart the rising moon,
Dances i’ the wind, where never eagle flew;
‘And still her feet, no less than the sweet tune
To which they moved, seemed as they moved to blot
The thoughts of him who gazed on them; and soon
385
‘All that was, seemed as if it had been not;
And all the gazer’s mind was strewn beneath
Her feet like embers; and she, thought by thought,
‘Trampled its sparks into the dust of death;
As day upon the threshold of the east
390
Treads out the lamps of night, until the breath
‘Of darkness re-illumine even the least
Of heaven’s living eyes—like day she came,
Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased
‘To move, as one between desire and shame
395
Suspended, I said—If, as it doth seem,
Thou comest from the realm without a name
‘Into this valley of perpetual dream,
Show whence I came, and where I am, and why—
Pass not away upon the passing stream.
400
‘Arise and quench thy thirst, was her reply.
And as a shut lily stricken by the wand
Of dewy morning’s vital alchemy,
‘I rose; and, bending at her sweet command,
Touched with faint lips the cup she raised,
405
And suddenly my brain became as sand
‘Where the first wave had more than half erased
The track of deer on desert Labrador;
Whilst the wolf, from which they fled amazed,
‘Leaves his stamp visibly upon the shore,
410
Until the second bursts;—so on my sight
Burst a new vision, never seen before,
‘And the fair shape waned in the coming light,
As veil by veil the silent splendour drops
From Lucifer, amid the chrysolite
415
‘Of sunrise, ere it tinge the mountain-tops;
And as the presence of that fairest planet,
Although unseen, is felt by one who hopes
‘That his day’s path may end as he began it,
In that star’s smile, whose light is like the scent
420
Of a jonquil when evening breezes fan it,
‘Or the soft note in which his dear lament
The Brescian1 shepherd breathes, or the caress
That turned his weary slumber to content;
‘So knew I in that light’s severe excess
425
The presence of that Shape which on the stream
Moved, as I moved along the wilderness,
‘More dimly than a day-appearing dream,
The ghost of a forgotten form of sleep;
A light of heaven, whose half-extinguished beam
430
‘Through the sick day in which we wake to weep
Glimmers, for ever sought, for ever lost;
So did that shape its obscure tenour keep
‘Beside my path, as silent as a ghost;
But the new Vision, and the cold bright car,
435
With solemn speed and stunning music, crossed
‘The forest, and as if from some dread war
Triumphantly returning, the loud million
‘A moving arch of victory, the vermilion
440
And green and azure plumes of Iris had
Built high over her wind-wingèd pavilion,
‘And underneath aethereal glory clad
The wilderness, and far before her flew
The tempest of the splendour, which forbade
445
‘Shadow to fall from leaf and stone; the crew
Seemed in that light, like atomies to dance
Within a sunbeam;—some upon the new
‘Embroidery of flowers, that did enhance
The grassy vesture of the desert, played,
450
Forgetful of the chariot’s swift advance;
‘Others stood gazing, till within the shade
Of the great mountain its light left them dim;
Others outspeeded it; and others made
‘Circles around it, like the clouds that swim
455
Round the high moon in a bright sea of air;
And more did follow, with exulting hymn,
‘The chariot and the captives fettered there:—
But all like bubbles on an eddying flood
Fell into the same track at last, and were
460
‘Borne onward.—I among the multitude
Was swept—me, sweetest flowers delayed not long;
Me, not the shadow nor the solitude;
‘Me, not that falling stream’s Lethean song;
Me, not the phantom of that early Form
465
Which moved upon its motion—but among
‘The thickest billows of that living storm
I plunged, and bared my bosom to the clime
Of that cold light, whose airs too soon deform.
‘Before the chariot had begun to climb
470
The opposing steep of that mysterious dell,
Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme
‘Of him who from the lowest depths of hell,
Through every paradise and through all glory,
Love led serene, and who returned to tell
475
‘The words of hate and awe; the wondrous story
How all things are transfigured except Love;
For deaf as is a sea, which wrath makes hoary,
‘The world can hear not the sweet notes that move
The sphere whose light is melody to lovers—
480
A wonder worthy of his rhyme.—The grove
‘Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers,
The earth was gray with phantoms, and the air
Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers
‘A flock of vampire-bats before the glare
485
Of the tropic sun, bringing, ere evening,
Strange night upon some Indian isle;—thus were
‘Phantoms diffused around; and some did fling
Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves,
Behind them; some like eaglets on the wing
490
‘Were lost in the white day; others like elves
Danced in a thousand unimagined shapes
Upon the sunny streams and grassy shelves;
‘And others sate chattering like restless apes
On vulgar hands, …
495
Some made a cradle of the ermined capes
‘Of kingly mantles; some across the tiar
Of pontiffs sate like vultures; others played
Under the crown which girt with empire
‘A baby’s or an idiot’s brow, and made
500
Their nests in it. The old anatomies
Sate hatching their bare broods under the shade
‘Of daemon wings, and laughed from their dead eyes
To reassume the delegated power,
Arrayed in which those worms did monarchize,
505
‘Who made this earth their charnel. Others more
Humble, like falcons, sate upon the fist
Of common men, and round their heads did soar;
‘Or like small gnats and flies, as thick as mist
On evening marshes, thronged about the brow
510
Of lawyers, statesmen, priest and theorist;—
‘And others, like discoloured flakes of snow
On fairest bosoms and the sunniest hair,
Fell, and were melted by the youthful glow
‘Which they extinguished; and, like tears, they were
515
A veil to those from whose faint lids they rained
In drops of sorrow. I became aware
‘Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stained
The track in which we moved. After brief space,
From every form the beauty slowly waned;
520
‘From every firmest limb and fairest face
The strength and freshness fell like dust, and left
The action and the shape without the grace
‘Of life. The marble brow of youth was cleft
With care; and in those eyes where once hope shone,
525
Desire, like a lioness bereft
‘Of her last cub, glared ere it died; each one
Of that great crowd sent forth incessantly
These shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown
‘In autumn evening from a poplar tree.
530
Each like himself and like each other were
At first; but some distorted seemed to be
‘Obscure clouds, moulded by the casual air;
And of this stuff the car’s creative ray
Wrought all the busy phantoms that were there,
535
‘As the sun shapes the clouds; thus on the way
Mask after mask fell from the countenance
And form of all; and long before the day
‘Was old, the joy which waked like heaven’s glance
The sleepers in the oblivious valley, died;
540
And some grew weary of the ghastly dance,
‘And fell, as I have fallen, by the wayside;—
Those soonest from whose forms most shadows passed,
And least of strength and beauty did abide.
‘Then, what is life? I cried.’—
* * *
1 The favourite song, Stanco di pascolar le pecorelle, is a Brescian national air.—[MRS. SHELLEY’S NOTE.]
EARLY POEMS [1814, 1815]
STANZA, WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL
THY dewy looks sink in my breast;
Thy gentle words stir poison there;
Thou hast disturbed the only rest
That was the portion of despair!
5
Subdued to Duty’s hard control,
I could have borne my wayward lot:
The chains that bind this ruined soul
Had cankered then—but crushed it not.
STANZAS.—APRIL, 1814
AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon.
Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even:
Away the gathering winds will call the darkness soon.
And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven,
5
Pause not! the time is past! Every voice cries, Away!
Tempt not with one last tear thy friend’s ungentle mood:
Thy lover’s eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay:
Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;
10
Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth;
Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come,
And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth.
The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head:
The bl
ooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet:
15
But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead,
Ere midnight’s frown and morning’s smile, ere thou and peace may meet.
The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose,
For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep:
Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows;
20
Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep.
Thou in the grave shalt rest—yet till the phantoms flee
Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile,
Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free
From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile.
TO HARRIET
The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley Page 80
