Imágenes de páginas

Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might
Satiate the void circumference; then shrink
Even to a point within our day and night;

And keep thy heart light, lest it make thee sink When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to

the brink.


Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre,

, not of him, but of our joy : 'tis nought That ages, empires, and religions, there Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought ; For such as he can lend,—they borrow not Glory from those who made the world their

prey ; And he is gathered to the kings of thought

Who waged contention with their times' decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away.


Go thou to Rome,-at once the Paradise,
The grave, the city, and the wilderness ;
And where its wrecks like shattered mountains

And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress
The bones of Desolation's nakedness,
Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead
Thy footsteps to a slope of green access,

Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is



And gray walls moulder round, on which dull

Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a boary brand ; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble; and bencath A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of ,

death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce-extinguished



Here pause : these graves are all too young as

yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned Its charge to each ; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, Break it not thou ! too surely shalt thou find Thine own well full, if thou returnest home, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind

Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb: Wbat Adonais is, why fear we to become ?


The One remains, the many change and pass ; Heaven's light for ever shines, Earth's shadows

fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,



Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost

seek! Follow where all is fled !—Rome's azure sky,

Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.


Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my

heart? Thy hopes are gone before : from all things here They have dejarted; thou shouldst now depart! A light is past from the revolving year, And man, and woman; and what still is dear Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. The soft sky smiles,-the low wind whispers


'Tis Adonais calls ! O, hasten thither, No more let Life divide what Death can join to



That light whose smile kindles the Universe,
That Beauty in which all things work and move,
That Benediction which the eclipsing curse
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
Which through the web of being blindly wove
By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of

The fire for which all thirst, now beams or me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.


The breath whose inight I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling

throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given ; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully afar; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of

Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.



SWIFTLY walk over the western wave,

Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,

Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,

Star-in wrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand.

Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,

I sighed for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,

Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,

Murmured like a noontide bee.

« AnteriorContinuar »