Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart.
Thou messenger of sympathies That wax and wane in lovers' eyes; Thou, that to human thought art nourishment, Like darkness to a dying flame! Depart not as thy shadow came; Depart not, lest the grave should be, Like life and fear, a dark reality.
While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped Through many a listening chamber, cave and ruin, And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead :
I call'd on poisonous names with which our youth is fed: I was not heard: I saw them not. When musing deeply on the lot
Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing All vital things that wake to bring News of birds and blossoming, Sudden, thy shadow fell on me:
I shriek'd, and clasp'd my hands in ecstasy!
I vow'd that I would dedicate my powers
To thee and thine: have I not kept the vow? With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now I call the phantoms of a thousand hours Each from his voiceless grave: they have in vision'd bowers
Of studious zeal or love's delight Outwatch'd with me the envious night: They know that never joy illumed my brow, Unlink'd with hope that thou wouldst free This world from its dark slavery, That thou, O awful LOVELINESS, Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express.
The day becomes more solemn and serene When noon is past: there is a harmony In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Thus let thy power, which like the truth Of nature on my passive youth Descended, to my onward life supply
Its calm, to one who worships thee, And every form containing thee,
Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind To fear himself, and love all human-kind.
MARIANNE'S DREAM.
A PALE dream came to a Lady fair, And said, A boon, a boon, I pray! I know the secrets of the air, And things lost in the glare of day, Which I can make the sleeping see, If they will put their trust in me.
And thou shalt know of things unknown If thou wilt let me rest between The veiny lids, whose fringe is thrown Over thine eyes so dark and sheen: And half in hope, and half in fright, The Lady closed her eyes so bright. 31
At first all deadly shapes were driven Tumultuously across her sleep,
And o'er the vast cope of bending Heaven All ghastly visaged clouds did sweep; And the Lady ever look'd to spy
If the gold sun shone forth on high.
And as towards the east she turn'd, She saw aloft in the morning air, Which now with hues of sunrise burn'd, A great black Anchor rising there; And wherever the Lady turn'd her eyes, It hung betre her in the skies.
The sky was blue as the summer sea, The depths were cloudless overhead, The air was calm as it could be,
There was no sight or sound of dread, But that black Anchor floating still Over the piny eastern hill.
The Lady grew sick with a weight of fear, To see that Anchor ever hanging And veil'd her eyes; she then did hear
The sound as of a dim low clanging, And look'd abroad if she might know Was it aught else, or but the flow
Of the blood in her own veins, to and fro.
There was a mist in the sunless air, Which shook as it were with an earthquake's shock,
But the very weeds that blossom'd there
Were moveless, and each mighty rock Stood on its basis stedfastly;
The Anchor was seen no more on high.
But piled around, with summits hid In lines of cloud at intervals, Stood many a mountain pyramid,
Among whose everlasting walls Two mighty cities shone, and ever Through the red mist their domes did quiver,
On two dread mountains, from whose crest, Might seem, the eagle, for her brood, Would ne'er have hung her dizzy nest, Those tower-encircled cities stood. A vision strange such towers to see, Sculptured and wrought so gorgeously, Where human art could never be.
And columns framed of marble white, And giant fanes, dome over dome Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright With workmanship, which could not come From touch of mortal instrument, Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lent From its own shapes magnificent.
But still the Lady heard that clang Filling the wide air far away; And still the mist whose light did hang Among the mountains shook alway,
So that the Lady's heart beat fast, As, half in joy and half aghast, On those high domes her look she cast.
Sudden, from out that city sprung
A light that made the earth grow red; Two flames that each with quivering tongue Lick'd its high domes, and overhead Among those mighty towers and fanes Dropp'd fire, as a volcano rains Its sulphurous ruin on the plains.
And hark! a rush as if the deep
Had burst its bounds; she look'd behind, And saw over the western steep
A raging flood descend, and wind Through that wide vale; she felt no fear, But said within herself. 't is clear These towers are Nature's own, and she To save them has sent forth the sea.
And now those raging billows came
Where that fair Lady sate, and she Was borne towards the showering flame By the wild waves heap'd tumultuously, And on a little plank, the flow
Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.
The waves were fiercely vomited From every tower and every dome, And dreary light did widely shed
O'er that vast flood's suspended foam, Beneath the smoke which hung its night On the stain'd cope of Heaven's light.
The plank whereon that Lady sate
Of his own mind did there endure After the touch, whose power had braided Such grace, was in some sad change faded.
She look'd, the flames were dim, the flood Grew tranquil as a woodland river Winding through hills in solitude;
Those marble shapes then seem'd to quiver And their fair limbs to float in motion, Like weeds unfolding in the ocean.
And their lips moved; one seem'd to speak, When suddenly the mountain crackt, And through the chasm the flood did break With an earth-uplifting cataract : The statues gave a joyous scream, And on its wings the pale thin dream Lifted the Lady from the stream.
The dizzy flight of that phantom pale Waked the fair Lady from her sleep, And she arose, while from the veil
Of her dark eyes the dream did creep, And she walk'd about as one who knew That sleep has sights as clear and true As any waking eyes can view.
LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNL
THE everlasting universe of things
Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,
Was driven through the chasms, about and about, Now dark-now glittering-now reflecting gloom→→ Between the peaks so desolate
Of the drowning mountain, in and out, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sailsWhile the flood was filling those hollow vales.
At last her plank an eddy crost,
And bore her to the city's wall, Which now the flood had reach'd almost : It might the stoutest heart appal
To hear the fire roar and hiss Through the domes of those mighty palaces.
The eddy whirl'd her round and round
Before a gorgeous gate, which stood Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound Its aery arch with light like blood; She look'd on that gate of marble clear, With wonder that extinguish'd fear.
For it was fill'd with sculptures rarest, Of forms most beautiful and strange, Like nothing human, but the fairest
Of winged shapes, whose legions range Throughout the sleep of those that are, Like this same Lady, good and fair.
And as she look'd, still lovelier grew Those marble forms;-the sculptor sure
Was a strong spirit, and the hue
Now lending splendor, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters,-with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume
In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.
Thus thou, Ravine of Arve-dark, deep Ravine- Thou many-color'd, many-voiced vale, Over whose pines and crags and caverns sail Fast clouds, shadows, and sunbeams: awful scene, Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down From the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne, Bursting through these dark mountains, like the flame Of lightning through the tempest; thou dost lie, Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging, Children of elder time, in whose devotion The chainless winds still come and ever came To drink their odors, and their mighty swinging To hear-an old and solemn harmony: Thine earthly rainbows stretch'd across the sweep Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil Robes some unsculptured image; the strange sleep Which, when the voices of the desert fail, Wraps all in its own deep eternity;- Thy caverns, echoing to the Arve's commotion A loud lone sound, no other sound can tame :
Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion, Thou art the path of that unresting sound- Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee I seem as in a trance sublime and strange To muse on my own separate phantasy, My own, my human mind, which passively Now renders and receives fast influencings, Holding an unremitting interchange With the clear universe of things around;
One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings Now float above thy darkness, and now rest Where that or thou art no unbidden guest, In the still cave of the witch Poesy, Seeking among the shadows that pass by,
Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee, Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!
Some say that gleams of a remoter world Visit the soul in sleep,-that death is slumber, And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber Of those who wake and live.-I look on high; Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl'd The veil of life and death? or do I lie In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep Spread far around and inaccessibly Its circles? For the very spirit fails, Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep That vanishes among the viewless gales! Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky, Mont Blanc appears,-still, snowy, and serene- Its subject mountains their unearthly forms Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps, Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread And wind among the accumulated steeps; A desert peopled by the storms alone, Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone, And the wolf tracks her there-how hideously Its shapes are heap'd around! rude, bare, and high, Ghastly, and scarr'd, and riven.-Is this the scene Where the old Earthquake-demon taught her young Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea Of fire envelop once this silent snow? None can reply-all seems eternal now. The wilderness has a mysterious tongue Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild, So solemn, so serene, that man may be But for such faith with nature reconciled: Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood By all, but which the wise, and great, and good Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.
The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams, Ocean, and all the living things that dwell Within the dædal earth; lightning, and rain, Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane, The torpor of the year when feeble dreams Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep Holds every future leaf and flower;-the bound With which from that detested trance they leap; The works and ways of man, their death and birth, And that of him and all that his may be;
All things that move and breathe with toil and sound Are born and die, revolve, subside and swell. Power dwells apart in its tranquillity, Remote, serene, and inaccessible:
And this, the naked countenance of earth, On which I gaze, even these primeval mountains, Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep, Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains,
Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power Have piled-dome, pyramid, and pinnacle, |A city of death, distinct with many a tower And wall impregnable of beaming ice. Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin
Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing Its destined path, or in the mangled soil Branchless and shatter'd stand; the rocks, drawn down From yon remotest waste, have overthrown The limits of the dead and living world, Never to be reclaim'd. The dwelling-place Of insects, beasts, and birds becomes its spoil; Their food and their retreat for ever gone, So much of life and joy is lost. The race Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling Vanish, like smoke before the tempest's stream, And their place is not known. Below, vast caves Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam, Which, from those secret chasms in tumult welling, Meet in the vale, and one majestic River, The breath and blood of distant lands, for ever Rolls its loud waters to the ocean waves, Breathes its swift vapors to the circling air.
Mont Blanc yet gleams on high-the power is there, The still and solemn power of many sights And many sounds, and much of life and death. In the calm darkness of the moonless nights, In the lone glare of day, the snows descend Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there, Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun, Or the star-beams dart through them:-Winds contend Silently there, and heap the snow with breath Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home The voiceless lightning in these solitudes Keeps innocently, and like vapor broods Over the snow. The secret strength of things Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome Of heaven is as a law, inhabits thee!
And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea, If to the human mind's imaginings Silence and solitude were vacancy? SWITZERLAND, June 23, 1816.
ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI, IN THE FLORENTINE GALLERY.
IT lieth, gazing on the midnight sky, Upon the cloudy mountain peak supine ; Below, far lands are seen but tremblingly; Its horror and its beauty are divine. Upon its lips and eyelids seems to lie Loveliness like a shadow, from which shrine,
As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies.
I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song Flows on, and fills all things with melody.- Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, On which, like one in trance upborne,
Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn.
Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which, when the starry waters sleep,
Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.
THE waters are flashing, The white hail is dashing, The lightnings are glancing, The hoar-spray is dancingAway!
The whirlwind is rolling, The thunder is tolling,
The forest is swinging, The minster-bells ringing- Come away!
The Earth is like Ocean, Wreck-strewn and in motion: Bird, beast, man and worm Have crept out of the stormCome away!
"Our boat has one sail, And the helmsman is pale ;- A bold pilot I trpw, Who should follow us now,"- Shouted He-
And she cried: "Ply the oar! Put off gaily from shore !"— As she spoke, bolts of death Mix'd with hail speck'd their path O'er the sea.
And from isle, tower and rock, The blue beacon cloud broke, And though dumb in the blast, The red cannon flash'd fast From the lee.
"And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou? And see'st thou, and hear'st thou? And drive we not free
O'er the terrible sea,
I and thou?"
One boat-cloak did cover The loved and the lover-
Their blood beats one measure They murmur proud pleasure Soft and low ;—
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