SONG OF PROSERPINE, WHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF ENNA. I. SACRED Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom Gods and men and beasts have birth, Leaf and blade and bud and blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine. II. If with mists of evening dew Thou dost nourish these young flowers Till they grow, in scent and hue, Fairest children of the hours, Breathe thine influence most divine HYMN OF APOLLO. 1820. 5 10 I. THE sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie, Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes, - 5 II. Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome, I walk over the mountains and the waves, Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam; My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the caves 10 Are filled with my bright presence, and the air Leaves the green earth to my embraces bare. III. The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill Fly me, and from the glory of my ray IV. I feed the clouds, the rainbows and the flowers Are cinctured with my power as with a robe; V. I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven, Into the clouds of the Atlantic even; 15 20 25 For grief that I depart they weep and frown: 30 VI. I am the eye with which the Universe Victory and praise in their own right belong. HYMN OF PAN. I. FROM the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes, The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, II. Liquid Peneus was flowing, In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing Speeded by my sweet pipings. 1820. 35 5 10 15 The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns, And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow 20 And Love, and Death, and Birth, And then I changed my pipings,Singing how down the vale of Menalus 25 30 I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed: Gods and men, we are all deluded thus! It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed: All wept, as I think both ye now would, If envy or age had not frozen your blood, 35 1820. LETTER TO MARIA GISBORNE. LEGHORN, July 1, 1820. THE spider spreads her webs, whether she be In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree; 5 From the fine threads of rare and subtle thought – To catch the idle buzzers of the day— But a soft cell, where when that fades away, Which in those hearts which must remember me Whoever should behold me now, I wist, Would think I were a mighty mechanist, Of some machine portentous, or strange gin, For round the walls are hung dread engines, such Who thought to pay some interest for the debt With thumbscrews, wheels, with tooth and spike and jag, 35 Of Cornwall and the storm-encompassed isles, Unless in treacherous wrath, as on the morn |