4. '"What dream ye? Your own hands have built an home, Even for yourselves on a beloved shore: For some, fond eyes are pining till they come, How they will greet him when his toils are o'er, And laughing babes rush from the well-known door! _3230 Is this your care? ye toil for your own good— Ye feel and think—has some immortal power Such purposes? or in a human mood, Dream ye some Power thus builds for man in solitude?

5. '"What is that Power? Ye mock yourselves, and give 3235 A human heart to what ye cannot know: As if the cause of life could think and live! 'Twere as if man's own works should feel, and show The hopes, and fears, and thoughts from which they flow, And he be like to them! Lo! Plague is free 3240 To waste, Blight, Poison, Earthquake, Hail, and Snow, Disease, and Want, and worse Necessity Of hate and ill, and Pride, and Fear, and Tyranny!

6. '"What is that Power? Some moon-struck sophist stood Watching the shade from his own soul upthrown 3245 Fill Heaven and darken Earth, and in such mood The Form he saw and worshipped was his own, His likeness in the world's vast mirror shown; And 'twere an innocent dream, but that a faith Nursed by fear's dew of poison, grows thereon, 3250 And that men say, that Power has chosen Death On all who scorn its laws, to wreak immortal wrath.

7. '"Men say that they themselves have heard and seen, Or known from others who have known such things, A Shade, a Form, which Earth and Heaven between 3255 Wields an invisible rod—that Priests and Kings, Custom, domestic sway, ay, all that brings Man's freeborn soul beneath the oppressor's heel, Are his strong ministers, and that the stings Of death will make the wise his vengeance feel, 3260 Though truth and virtue arm their hearts with tenfold steel.

8. '"And it is said, this Power will punish wrong; Yes, add despair to crime, and pain to pain! And deepest hell, and deathless snakes among, Will bind the wretch on whom is fixed a stain, 3265 Which, like a plague, a burden, and a bane, Clung to him while he lived; for love and hate, Virtue and vice, they say are difference vain— The will of strength is right—this human state Tyrants, that they may rule, with lies thus desolate. 3270

9. '"Alas, what strength? Opinion is more frail Than yon dim cloud now fading on the moon Even while we gaze, though it awhile avail To hide the orb of truth—and every throne Of Earth or Heaven, though shadow, rests thereon, _3275 One shape of many names:—for this ye plough The barren waves of ocean, hence each one Is slave or tyrant; all betray and bow, Command, or kill, or fear, or wreak, or suffer woe.

10. '"Its names are each a sign which maketh holy 3280 All power—ay, the ghost, the dream, the shade Of power—lust, falsehood, hate, and pride, and folly; The pattern whence all fraud and wrong is made, A law to which mankind has been betrayed; And human love, is as the name well known 3285 Of a dear mother, whom the murderer laid In bloody grave, and into darkness thrown, Gathered her wildered babes around him as his own.

11. '"O Love, who to the hearts of wandering men Art as the calm to Ocean's weary waves! 3290 Justice, or Truth, or Joy! those only can From slavery and religion's labyrinth caves Guide us, as one clear star the seaman saves. To give to all an equal share of good, To track the steps of Freedom, though through graves 3295 She pass, to suffer all in patient mood, To weep for crime, though stained with thy friend's dearest blood,—

12. '"To feel the peace of self-contentment's lot, To own all sympathies, and outrage none, And in the inmost bowers of sense and thought, 3300 Until life's sunny day is quite gone down, To sit and smile with Joy, or, not alone, To kiss salt tears from the worn cheek of Woe; To live, as if to love and live were one,— This is not faith or law, nor those who bow 3305 To thrones on Heaven or Earth, such destiny may know.

13. '"But children near their parents tremble now, Because they must obey—one rules another, And as one Power rules both high and low, So man is made the captive of his brother, 3310 And Hate is throned on high with Fear her mother, Above the Highest—and those fountain-cells, Whence love yet flowed when faith had choked all other, Are darkened—Woman as the bond-slave dwells Of man, a slave; and life is poisoned in its wells. 3315

14. '"Man seeks for gold in mines, that he may weave A lasting chain for his own slavery;— In fear and restless care that he may live He toils for others, who must ever be The joyless thralls of like captivity; _3320 He murders, for his chiefs delight in ruin; He builds the altar, that its idol's fee May be his very blood; he is pursuing— O, blind and willing wretch!—his own obscure undoing.

15. '"Woman!—she is his slave, she has become 3325 A thing I weep to speak—the child of scorn, The outcast of a desolated home; Falsehood, and fear, and toil, like waves have worn Channels upon her cheek, which smiles adorn, As calm decks the false Ocean:—well ye know 3330 What Woman is, for none of Woman born Can choose but drain the bitter dregs of woe, Which ever from the oppressed to the oppressors flow.

16. '"This need not be; ye might arise, and will That gold should lose its power, and thrones their glory; 3335 That love, which none may bind, be free to fill The world, like light; and evil faith, grown hoary With crime, be quenched and die.—Yon promontory Even now eclipses the descending moon!— Dungeons and palaces are transitory— 3340 High temples fade like vapour—Man alone Remains, whose will has power when all beside is gone.

17. '"Let all be free and equal!—From your hearts I feel an echo; through my inmost frame Like sweetest sound, seeking its mate, it darts— 3345 Whence come ye, friends? Alas, I cannot name All that I read of sorrow, toil, and shame, On your worn faces; as in legends old Which make immortal the disastrous fame Of conquerors and impostors false and bold, 3350 The discord of your hearts, I in your looks behold.

18. '"Whence come ye, friends? from pouring human blood Forth on the earth? Or bring ye steel and gold, That Kings may dupe and slay the multitude? Or from the famished poor, pale, weak and cold, 3355 Bear ye the earnings of their toil? Unfold! Speak! Are your hands in slaughter's sanguine hue Stained freshly? have your hearts in guile grown old? Know yourselves thus! ye shall be pure as dew, And I will be a friend and sister unto you. 3360

19. '"Disguise it not—we have one human heart— All mortal thoughts confess a common home: Blush not for what may to thyself impart Stains of inevitable crime: the doom Is this, which has, or may, or must become _3365 Thine, and all humankind's. Ye are the spoil Which Time thus marks for the devouring tomb— Thou and thy thoughts and they, and all the toil Wherewith ye twine the rings of life's perpetual coil.

20. '"Disguise it not—ye blush for what ye hate, 3370 And Enmity is sister unto Shame; Look on your mind—it is the book of fate— Ah! it is dark with many a blazoned name Of misery—all are mirrors of the same; But the dark fiend who with his iron pen 3375 Dipped in scorn's fiery poison, makes his fame Enduring there, would o'er the heads of men Pass harmless, if they scorned to make their hearts his den.

21. '"Yes, it is Hate, that shapeless fiendly thing Of many names, all evil, some divine, 3380 Whom self-contempt arms with a mortal sting; Which, when the heart its snaky folds entwine Is wasted quite, and when it doth repine To gorge such bitter prey, on all beside It turns with ninefold rage, as with its twine 3385 When Amphisbaena some fair bird has tied, Soon o'er the putrid mass he threats on every side.

22. '"Reproach not thine own soul, but know thyself, Nor hate another's crime, nor loathe thine own. It is the dark idolatry of self, 3390 Which, when our thoughts and actions once are gone, Demands that man should weep, and bleed, and groan; Oh, vacant expiation! Be at rest.— The past is Death's, the future is thine own; And love and joy can make the foulest breast 3395 A paradise of flowers, where peace might build her nest.

23. '"Speak thou! whence come ye?"—A Youth made reply: "Wearily, wearily o'er the boundless deep We sail;—thou readest well the misery Told in these faded eyes, but much doth sleep 3400 Within, which there the poor heart loves to keep, Or dare not write on the dishonoured brow; Even from our childhood have we learned to steep The bread of slavery in the tears of woe, And never dreamed of hope or refuge until now. 3405

24. '"Yes—I must speak—my secret should have perished Even with the heart it wasted, as a brand Fades in the dying flame whose life it cherished, But that no human bosom can withstand Thee, wondrous Lady, and the mild command _3410 Of thy keen eyes:—yes, we are wretched slaves, Who from their wonted loves and native land Are reft, and bear o'er the dividing waves The unregarded prey of calm and happy graves.

25. '"We drag afar from pastoral vales the fairest 3415 Among the daughters of those mountains lone, We drag them there, where all things best and rarest Are stained and trampled:—years have come and gone Since, like the ship which bears me, I have known No thought;—but now the eyes of one dear Maid 3420 On mine with light of mutual love have shone— She is my life,—I am but as the shade Of her,—a smoke sent up from ashes, soon to fade.

26. '"For she must perish in the Tyrant's hall— Alas, alas!"—He ceased, and by the sail 3425 Sate cowering—but his sobs were heard by all, And still before the ocean and the gale The ship fled fast till the stars 'gan to fail; And, round me gathered with mute countenance, The Seamen gazed, the Pilot, worn and pale 3430 With toil, the Captain with gray locks, whose glance Met mine in restless awe—they stood as in a trance.

27. '"Recede not! pause not now! Thou art grown old, But Hope will make thee young, for Hope and Youth Are children of one mother, even Love—behold! 3435 The eternal stars gaze on us!—is the truth Within your soul? care for your own, or ruth For others' sufferings? do ye thirst to bear A heart which not the serpent Custom's tooth May violate?—Be free! and even here, 3440 Swear to be firm till death!" They cried, "We swear! We swear!"

28. 'The very darkness shook, as with a blast Of subterranean thunder, at the cry; The hollow shore its thousand echoes cast Into the night, as if the sea and sky, 3445 And earth, rejoiced with new-born liberty, For in that name they swore! Bolts were undrawn, And on the deck, with unaccustomed eye The captives gazing stood, and every one Shrank as the inconstant torch upon her countenance shone. 3450

29. 'They were earth's purest children, young and fair, With eyes the shrines of unawakened thought, And brows as bright as Spring or Morning, ere Dark time had there its evil legend wrought In characters of cloud which wither not.— _3455 The change was like a dream to them; but soon They knew the glory of their altered lot, In the bright wisdom of youth's breathless noon, Sweet talk, and smiles, and sighs, all bosoms did attune.

30. 'But one was mute; her cheeks and lips most fair, 3460 Changing their hue like lilies newly blown, Beneath a bright acacia's shadowy hair, Waved by the wind amid the sunny noon, Showed that her soul was quivering; and full soon That Youth arose, and breathlessly did look 3465 On her and me, as for some speechless boon: I smiled, and both their hands in mine I took, And felt a soft delight from what their spirits shook.

CANTO 9.

1. 'That night we anchored in a woody bay, And sleep no more around us dared to hover 3470 Than, when all doubt and fear has passed away, It shades the couch of some unresting lover, Whose heart is now at rest: thus night passed over In mutual joy:—around, a forest grew Of poplars and dark oaks, whose shade did cover 3475 The waning stars pranked in the waters blue, And trembled in the wind which from the morning flew.

2. 'The joyous Mariners, and each free Maiden Now brought from the deep forest many a bough, With woodland spoil most innocently laden; 3480 Soon wreaths of budding foliage seemed to flow Over the mast and sails, the stern and prow Were canopied with blooming boughs,—the while On the slant sun's path o'er the waves we go Rejoicing, like the dwellers of an isle 3485 Doomed to pursue those waves that cannot cease to smile.

3. 'The many ships spotting the dark blue deep With snowy sails, fled fast as ours came nigh, In fear and wonder; and on every steep Thousands did gaze, they heard the startling cry, 3490 Like Earth's own voice lifted unconquerably To all her children, the unbounded mirth, The glorious joy of thy name—Liberty! They heard!—As o'er the mountains of the earth From peak to peak leap on the beams of Morning's birth: 3495

4. 'So from that cry over the boundless hills Sudden was caught one universal sound, Like a volcano's voice, whose thunder fills Remotest skies,—such glorious madness found A path through human hearts with stream which drowned _3500 Its struggling fears and cares, dark Custom's brood; They knew not whence it came, but felt around A wide contagion poured—they called aloud On Liberty—that name lived on the sunny flood.

5. 'We reached the port.—Alas! from many spirits 3505 The wisdom which had waked that cry, was fled, Like the brief glory which dark Heaven inherits From the false dawn, which fades ere it is spread, Upon the night's devouring darkness shed: Yet soon bright day will burst—even like a chasm 3510 Of fire, to burn the shrouds outworn and dead, Which wrap the world; a wide enthusiasm, To cleanse the fevered world as with an earthquake's spasm!

6. 'I walked through the great City then, but free From shame or fear; those toil-worn Mariners 3515 And happy Maidens did encompass me; And like a subterranean wind that stirs Some forest among caves, the hopes and fears From every human soul, a murmur strange Made as I passed; and many wept, with tears 3520 Of joy and awe, and winged thoughts did range, And half-extinguished words, which prophesied of change.

7. 'For, with strong speech I tore the veil that hid Nature, and Truth, and Liberty, and Love,— As one who from some mountain's pyramid 3525 Points to the unrisen sun!—the shades approve His truth, and flee from every stream and grove. Thus, gentle thoughts did many a bosom fill,— Wisdom, the mail of tried affections wove For many a heart, and tameless scorn of ill, 3530 Thrice steeped in molten steel the unconquerable will.

8. 'Some said I was a maniac wild and lost; Some, that I scarce had risen from the grave, The Prophet's virgin bride, a heavenly ghost:— Some said, I was a fiend from my weird cave, 3535 Who had stolen human shape, and o'er the wave, The forest, and the mountain, came;—some said I was the child of God, sent down to save Woman from bonds and death, and on my head The burden of their sins would frightfully be laid. 3540

9. 'But soon my human words found sympathy In human hearts: the purest and the best, As friend with friend, made common cause with me, And they were few, but resolute;—the rest, Ere yet success the enterprise had blessed, _3545 Leagued with me in their hearts;—their meals, their slumber, Their hourly occupations, were possessed By hopes which I had armed to overnumber Those hosts of meaner cares, which life's strong wings encumber.

10. 'But chiefly women, whom my voice did waken 3550 From their cold, careless, willing slavery, Sought me: one truth their dreary prison has shaken,— They looked around, and lo! they became free! Their many tyrants sitting desolately In slave-deserted halls, could none restrain; 3555 For wrath's red fire had withered in the eye, Whose lightning once was death,—nor fear, nor gain Could tempt one captive now to lock another's chain.

11. 'Those who were sent to bind me, wept, and felt Their minds outsoar the bonds which clasped them round, 3560 Even as a waxen shape may waste and melt In the white furnace; and a visioned swound, A pause of hope and awe the City bound, Which, like the silence of a tempest's birth, When in its awful shadow it has wound 3565 The sun, the wind, the ocean, and the earth, Hung terrible, ere yet the lightnings have leaped forth.

12. 'Like clouds inwoven in the silent sky, By winds from distant regions meeting there, In the high name of truth and liberty, 3570 Around the City millions gathered were, By hopes which sprang from many a hidden lair,— Words which the lore of truth in hues of flame Arrayed, thine own wild songs which in the air Like homeless odours floated, and the name 3575 Of thee, and many a tongue which thou hadst dipped in flame.

13. 'The Tyrant knew his power was gone, but Fear, The nurse of Vengeance, bade him wait the event— That perfidy and custom, gold and prayer, And whatsoe'er, when force is impotent, 3580 To fraud the sceptre of the world has lent, Might, as he judged, confirm his failing sway. Therefore throughout the streets, the Priests he sent To curse the rebels.—To their gods did they For Earthquake, Plague, and Want, kneel in the public way. 3585

14. 'And grave and hoary men were bribed to tell From seats where law is made the slave of wrong, How glorious Athens in her splendour fell, Because her sons were free,—and that among Mankind, the many to the few belong, _3590 By Heaven, and Nature, and Necessity. They said, that age was truth, and that the young Marred with wild hopes the peace of slavery, With which old times and men had quelled the vain and free.

15. 'And with the falsehood of their poisonous lips 3595 They breathed on the enduring memory Of sages and of bards a brief eclipse; There was one teacher, who necessity Had armed with strength and wrong against mankind, His slave and his avenger aye to be; 3600 That we were weak and sinful, frail and blind, And that the will of one was peace, and we Should seek for nought on earth but toil and misery—

16. '"For thus we might avoid the hell hereafter." So spake the hypocrites, who cursed and lied; 3605 Alas, their sway was past, and tears and laughter Clung to their hoary hair, withering the pride Which in their hollow hearts dared still abide; And yet obscener slaves with smoother brow, And sneers on their strait lips, thin, blue and wide, 3610 Said that the rule of men was over now, And hence, the subject world to woman's will must bow;

17. 'And gold was scattered through the streets, and wine Flowed at a hundred feasts within the wall. In vain! the steady towers in Heaven did shine 3615 As they were wont, nor at the priestly call Left Plague her banquet in the Ethiop's hall, Nor Famine from the rich man's portal came, Where at her ease she ever preys on all Who throng to kneel for food: nor fear nor shame, 3620 Nor faith, nor discord, dimmed hope's newly kindled flame.

18. 'For gold was as a god whose faith began To fade, so that its worshippers were few, And Faith itself, which in the heart of man Gives shape, voice, name, to spectral Terror, knew 3625 Its downfall, as the altars lonelier grew, Till the Priests stood alone within the fane; The shafts of falsehood unpolluting flew, And the cold sneers of calumny were vain, The union of the free with discord's brand to stain. 3630

19. 'The rest thou knowest.—Lo! we two are here— We have survived a ruin wide and deep— Strange thoughts are mine.—I cannot grieve or fear, Sitting with thee upon this lonely steep I smile, though human love should make me weep. _3635 We have survived a joy that knows no sorrow, And I do feel a mighty calmness creep Over my heart, which can no longer borrow Its hues from chance or change, dark children of to-morrow.

20. 'We know not what will come—yet, Laon, dearest, 3640 Cythna shall be the prophetess of Love, Her lips shall rob thee of the grace thou wearest, To hide thy heart, and clothe the shapes which rove Within the homeless Future's wintry grove; For I now, sitting thus beside thee, seem 3645 Even with thy breath and blood to live and move, And violence and wrong are as a dream Which rolls from steadfast truth, an unreturning stream.

21. 'The blasts of Autumn drive the winged seeds Over the earth,—next come the snows, and rain, 3650 And frosts, and storms, which dreary Winter leads Out of his Scythian cave, a savage train; Behold! Spring sweeps over the world again, Shedding soft dews from her ethereal wings; Flowers on the mountains, fruits over the plain, 3655 And music on the waves and woods she flings, And love on all that lives, and calm on lifeless things.

22. 'O Spring, of hope, and love, and youth, and gladness Wind-winged emblem! brightest, best and fairest! Whence comest thou, when, with dark Winter's sadness 3660 The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest? Sister of joy, thou art the child who wearest Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet; Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet, 3665 Disturbing not the leaves which are her winding-sheet.

23. 'Virtue, and Hope, and Love, like light and Heaven, Surround the world.—We are their chosen slaves. Has not the whirlwind of our spirit driven Truth's deathless germs to thought's remotest caves? 3670 Lo, Winter comes!—the grief of many graves, The frost of death, the tempest of the sword, The flood of tyranny, whose sanguine waves Stagnate like ice at Faith the enchanter's word, And bind all human hearts in its repose abhorred. 3675

24. 'The seeds are sleeping in the soil: meanwhile The Tyrant peoples dungeons with his prey, Pale victims on the guarded scaffold smile Because they cannot speak; and, day by day, The moon of wasting Science wanes away _3680 Among her stars, and in that darkness vast The sons of earth to their foul idols pray, And gray Priests triumph, and like blight or blast A shade of selfish care o'er human looks is cast.

25. 'This is the winter of the world;—and here 3685 We die, even as the winds of Autumn fade, Expiring in the frore and foggy air. Behold! Spring comes, though we must pass, who made The promise of its birth,—even as the shade Which from our death, as from a mountain, flings 3690 The future, a broad sunrise; thus arrayed As with the plumes of overshadowing wings, From its dark gulf of chains, Earth like an eagle springs.

26. 'O dearest love! we shall be dead and cold Before this morn may on the world arise; 3695 Wouldst thou the glory of its dawn behold? Alas! gaze not on me, but turn thine eyes On thine own heart—it is a paradise Which everlasting Spring has made its own, And while drear Winter fills the naked skies, 3700 Sweet streams of sunny thought, and flowers fresh-blown, Are there, and weave their sounds and odours into one.

27. 'In their own hearts the earnest of the hope Which made them great, the good will ever find; And though some envious shade may interlope 3705 Between the effect and it, One comes behind, Who aye the future to the past will bind— Necessity, whose sightless strength for ever Evil with evil, good with good must wind In bands of union, which no power may sever: 3710 They must bring forth their kind, and be divided never!

28. 'The good and mighty of departed ages Are in their graves, the innocent and free, Heroes, and Poets, and prevailing Sages, Who leave the vesture of their majesty 3715 To adorn and clothe this naked world;—and we Are like to them—such perish, but they leave All hope, or love, or truth, or liberty, Whose forms their mighty spirits could conceive, To be a rule and law to ages that survive. 3720

29. 'So be the turf heaped over our remains Even in our happy youth, and that strange lot, Whate'er it be, when in these mingling veins The blood is still, be ours; let sense and thought Pass from our being, or be numbered not _3725 Among the things that are; let those who come Behind, for whom our steadfast will has bought A calm inheritance, a glorious doom, Insult with careless tread, our undivided tomb.

30. 'Our many thoughts and deeds, our life and love, 3730 Our happiness, and all that we have been, Immortally must live, and burn and move, When we shall be no more;—the world has seen A type of peace; and—as some most serene And lovely spot to a poor maniac's eye, 3735 After long years, some sweet and moving scene Of youthful hope, returning suddenly, Quells his long madness—thus man shall remember thee.

31. 'And Calumny meanwhile shall feed on us, As worms devour the dead, and near the throne 3740 And at the altar, most accepted thus Shall sneers and curses be;—what we have done None shall dare vouch, though it be truly known; That record shall remain, when they must pass Who built their pride on its oblivion; 3745 And fame, in human hope which sculptured was, Survive the perished scrolls of unenduring brass.

32. 'The while we two, beloved, must depart, And Sense and Reason, those enchanters fair, Whose wand of power is hope, would bid the heart 3750 That gazed beyond the wormy grave despair: These eyes, these lips, this blood, seems darkly there To fade in hideous ruin; no calm sleep Peopling with golden dreams the stagnant air, Seems our obscure and rotting eyes to steep 3755 In joy;—but senseless death—a ruin dark and deep!

33. 'These are blind fancies—reason cannot know What sense can neither feel, nor thought conceive; There is delusion in the world—and woe, And fear, and pain—we know not whence we live, 3760 Or why, or how, or what mute Power may give Their being to each plant, and star, and beast, Or even these thoughts.—Come near me! I do weave A chain I cannot break—I am possessed With thoughts too swift and strong for one lone human breast. 3765

34. 'Yes, yes—thy kiss is sweet, thy lips are warm— O! willingly, beloved, would these eyes, Might they no more drink being from thy form, Even as to sleep whence we again arise, Close their faint orbs in death: I fear nor prize _3770 Aught that can now betide, unshared by thee— Yes, Love when Wisdom fails makes Cythna wise: Darkness and death, if death be true, must be Dearer than life and hope, if unenjoyed with thee.

35. 'Alas, our thoughts flow on with stream, whose waters 3775 Return not to their fountain—Earth and Heaven, The Ocean and the Sun, the Clouds their daughters, Winter, and Spring, and Morn, and Noon, and Even, All that we are or know, is darkly driven Towards one gulf.—Lo! what a change is come 3780 Since I first spake—but time shall be forgiven, Though it change all but thee!'—She ceased—night's gloom Meanwhile had fallen on earth from the sky's sunless dome.

36. Though she had ceased, her countenance uplifted To Heaven, still spake, with solemn glory bright; 3785 Her dark deep eyes, her lips, whose motions gifted The air they breathed with love, her locks undight. 'Fair star of life and love,' I cried, 'my soul's delight, Why lookest thou on the crystalline skies? O, that my spirit were yon Heaven of night, 3790 Which gazes on thee with its thousand eyes!' She turned to me and smiled—that smile was Paradise!

NOTES: _3573 hues of grace edition 1818.

CANTO 10.

1. Was there a human spirit in the steed, That thus with his proud voice, ere night was gone, He broke our linked rest? or do indeed 3795 All living things a common nature own, And thought erect an universal throne, Where many shapes one tribute ever bear? And Earth, their mutual mother, does she groan To see her sons contend? and makes she bare 3800 Her breast, that all in peace its drainless stores may share?

2. I have heard friendly sounds from many a tongue Which was not human—the lone nightingale Has answered me with her most soothing song, Out of her ivy bower, when I sate pale 3805 With grief, and sighed beneath; from many a dale The antelopes who flocked for food have spoken With happy sounds, and motions, that avail Like man's own speech; and such was now the token Of waning night, whose calm by that proud neigh was broken. 3810

3. Each night, that mighty steed bore me abroad, And I returned with food to our retreat, And dark intelligence; the blood which flowed Over the fields, had stained the courser's feet; Soon the dust drinks that bitter dew,—then meet _3815 The vulture, and the wild dog, and the snake, The wolf, and the hyaena gray, and eat The dead in horrid truce: their throngs did make Behind the steed, a chasm like waves in a ship's wake.

4. For, from the utmost realms of earth came pouring 3820 The banded slaves whom every despot sent At that throned traitor's summons; like the roaring Of fire, whose floods the wild deer circumvent In the scorched pastures of the South; so bent The armies of the leagued Kings around 3825 Their files of steel and flame;—the continent Trembled, as with a zone of ruin bound, Beneath their feet, the sea shook with their Navies' sound.

5. From every nation of the earth they came, The multitude of moving heartless things, 3830 Whom slaves call men: obediently they came, Like sheep whom from the fold the shepherd brings To the stall, red with blood; their many kings Led them, thus erring, from their native land; Tartar and Frank, and millions whom the wings 3835 Of Indian breezes lull, and many a band The Arctic Anarch sent, and Idumea's sand,

6. Fertile in prodigies and lies;—so there Strange natures made a brotherhood of ill. The desert savage ceased to grasp in fear 3840 His Asian shield and bow, when, at the will Of Europe's subtler son, the bolt would kill Some shepherd sitting on a rock secure; But smiles of wondering joy his face would fill, And savage sympathy: those slaves impure, 3845 Each one the other thus from ill to ill did lure.

7. For traitorously did that foul Tyrant robe His countenance in lies,—even at the hour When he was snatched from death, then o'er the globe, With secret signs from many a mountain-tower, 3850 With smoke by day, and fire by night, the power Of Kings and Priests, those dark conspirators, He called:—they knew his cause their own, and swore Like wolves and serpents to their mutual wars Strange truce, with many a rite which Earth and Heaven abhors. 3855

8. Myriads had come—millions were on their way; The Tyrant passed, surrounded by the steel Of hired assassins, through the public way, Choked with his country's dead:—his footsteps reel On the fresh blood—he smiles. 'Ay, now I feel _3860 I am a King in truth!' he said, and took His royal seat, and bade the torturing wheel Be brought, and fire, and pincers, and the hook, And scorpions, that his soul on its revenge might look.

9. 'But first, go slay the rebels—why return 3865 The victor bands?' he said, 'millions yet live, Of whom the weakest with one word might turn The scales of victory yet;—let none survive But those within the walls—each fifth shall give The expiation for his brethren here.— 3870 Go forth, and waste and kill!'—'O king, forgive My speech,' a soldier answered—'but we fear The spirits of the night, and morn is drawing near;

10. 'For we were slaying still without remorse, And now that dreadful chief beneath my hand 3875 Defenceless lay, when on a hell-black horse, An Angel bright as day, waving a brand Which flashed among the stars, passed.'—'Dost thou stand Parleying with me, thou wretch?' the king replied; 'Slaves, bind him to the wheel; and of this band, 3880 Whoso will drag that woman to his side That scared him thus, may burn his dearest foe beside;

11. 'And gold and glory shall be his.—Go forth!' They rushed into the plain.—Loud was the roar Of their career: the horsemen shook the earth; 3885 The wheeled artillery's speed the pavement tore; The infantry, file after file, did pour Their clouds on the utmost hills. Five days they slew Among the wasted fields; the sixth saw gore Stream through the city; on the seventh, the dew 3890 Of slaughter became stiff, and there was peace anew:

12. Peace in the desert fields and villages, Between the glutted beasts and mangled dead! Peace in the silent streets! save when the cries Of victims to their fiery judgement led, 3895 Made pale their voiceless lips who seemed to dread Even in their dearest kindred, lest some tongue Be faithless to the fear yet unbetrayed; Peace in the Tyrant's palace, where the throng Waste the triumphal hours in festival and song! 3900

13. Day after day the burning sun rolled on Over the death-polluted land—it came Out of the east like fire, and fiercely shone A lamp of Autumn, ripening with its flame The few lone ears of corn;—the sky became _3905 Stagnate with heat, so that each cloud and blast Languished and died,—the thirsting air did claim All moisture, and a rotting vapour passed From the unburied dead, invisible and fast.

14. First Want, then Plague came on the beasts; their food 3910 Failed, and they drew the breath of its decay. Millions on millions, whom the scent of blood Had lured, or who, from regions far away, Had tracked the hosts in festival array, From their dark deserts; gaunt and wasting now, 3915 Stalked like fell shades among their perished prey; In their green eyes a strange disease did glow, They sank in hideous spasm, or pains severe and slow.

15. The fish were poisoned in the streams; the birds In the green woods perished; the insect race 3920 Was withered up; the scattered flocks and herds Who had survived the wild beasts' hungry chase Died moaning, each upon the other's face In helpless agony gazing; round the City All night, the lean hyaenas their sad case 3925 Like starving infants wailed; a woeful ditty! And many a mother wept, pierced with unnatural pity.

16. Amid the aereal minarets on high, The Ethiopian vultures fluttering fell From their long line of brethren in the sky, 3930 Startling the concourse of mankind.—Too well These signs the coming mischief did foretell:— Strange panic first, a deep and sickening dread Within each heart, like ice, did sink and dwell, A voiceless thought of evil, which did spread 3935 With the quick glance of eyes, like withering lightnings shed.

17. Day after day, when the year wanes, the frosts Strip its green crown of leaves, till all is bare; So on those strange and congregated hosts Came Famine, a swift shadow, and the air 3940 Groaned with the burden of a new despair; Famine, than whom Misrule no deadlier daughter Feeds from her thousand breasts, though sleeping there With lidless eyes, lie Faith, and Plague, and Slaughter, A ghastly brood; conceived of Lethe's sullen water. 3945

18. There was no food, the corn was trampled down, The flocks and herds had perished; on the shore The dead and putrid fish were ever thrown; The deeps were foodless, and the winds no more Creaked with the weight of birds, but, as before _3950 Those winged things sprang forth, were void of shade; The vines and orchards, Autumn's golden store, Were burned;—so that the meanest food was weighed With gold, and Avarice died before the god it made.

19. There was no corn—in the wide market-place 3955 All loathliest things, even human flesh, was sold; They weighed it in small scales—and many a face Was fixed in eager horror then: his gold The miser brought; the tender maid, grown bold Through hunger, bared her scorned charms in vain; 3960 The mother brought her eldest born, controlled By instinct blind as love, but turned again And bade her infant suck, and died in silent pain.

20. Then fell blue Plague upon the race of man. 'O, for the sheathed steel, so late which gave 3965 Oblivion to the dead, when the streets ran With brothers' blood! O, that the earthquake's grave Would gape, or Ocean lift its stifling wave!' Vain cries—throughout the streets thousands pursued Each by his fiery torture howl and rave, 3970 Or sit in frenzy's unimagined mood, Upon fresh heaps of dead; a ghastly multitude.

21. It was not hunger now, but thirst. Each well Was choked with rotting corpses, and became A cauldron of green mist made visible 3975 At sunrise. Thither still the myriads came, Seeking to quench the agony of the flame, Which raged like poison through their bursting veins; Naked they were from torture, without shame, Spotted with nameless scars and lurid blains, 3980 Childhood, and youth, and age, writhing in savage pains.

22. It was not thirst, but madness! Many saw Their own lean image everywhere, it went A ghastlier self beside them, till the awe Of that dread sight to self-destruction sent 3985 Those shrieking victims; some, ere life was spent, Sought, with a horrid sympathy, to shed Contagion on the sound; and others rent Their matted hair, and cried aloud, 'We tread On fire! the avenging Power his hell on earth has spread!' 3990

23. Sometimes the living by the dead were hid. Near the great fountain in the public square, Where corpses made a crumbling pyramid Under the sun, was heard one stifled prayer For life, in the hot silence of the air; _3995 And strange 'twas, amid that hideous heap to see Some shrouded in their long and golden hair, As if not dead, but slumbering quietly Like forms which sculptors carve, then love to agony.

24. Famine had spared the palace of the king:— 4000 He rioted in festival the while, He and his guards and priests; but Plague did fling One shadow upon all. Famine can smile On him who brings it food, and pass, with guile Of thankful falsehood, like a courtier gray, 4005 The house-dog of the throne; but many a mile Comes Plague, a winged wolf, who loathes alway The garbage and the scum that strangers make her prey.

25. So, near the throne, amid the gorgeous feast, Sheathed in resplendent arms, or loosely dight 4010 To luxury, ere the mockery yet had ceased That lingered on his lips, the warrior's might Was loosened, and a new and ghastlier night In dreams of frenzy lapped his eyes; he fell Headlong, or with stiff eyeballs sate upright 4015 Among the guests, or raving mad did tell Strange truths; a dying seer of dark oppression's hell.

26. The Princes and the Priests were pale with terror; That monstrous faith wherewith they ruled mankind, Fell, like a shaft loosed by the bowman's error, 4020 On their own hearts: they sought and they could find No refuge—'twas the blind who led the blind! So, through the desolate streets to the high fane, The many-tongued and endless armies wind In sad procession: each among the train 4025 To his own Idol lifts his supplications vain.

27. 'O God!' they cried, 'we know our secret pride Has scorned thee, and thy worship, and thy name; Secure in human power we have defied Thy fearful might; we bend in fear and shame 4030 Before thy presence; with the dust we claim Kindred; be merciful, O King of Heaven! Most justly have we suffered for thy fame Made dim, but be at length our sins forgiven, Ere to despair and death thy worshippers be driven. 4035

28. 'O King of Glory! thou alone hast power! Who can resist thy will? who can restrain Thy wrath, when on the guilty thou dost shower The shafts of thy revenge, a blistering rain? Greatest and best, be merciful again! _4040 Have we not stabbed thine enemies, and made The Earth an altar, and the Heavens a fane, Where thou wert worshipped with their blood, and laid Those hearts in dust which would thy searchless works have weighed?

29. 'Well didst thou loosen on this impious City 4045 Thine angels of revenge: recall them now; Thy worshippers, abased, here kneel for pity, And bind their souls by an immortal vow: We swear by thee! and to our oath do thou Give sanction, from thine hell of fiends and flame, 4050 That we will kill with fire and torments slow, The last of those who mocked thy holy name, And scorned the sacred laws thy prophets did proclaim.'

30. Thus they with trembling limbs and pallid lips Worshipped their own hearts' image, dim and vast, 4055 Scared by the shade wherewith they would eclipse The light of other minds;—troubled they passed From the great Temple;—fiercely still and fast The arrows of the plague among them fell, And they on one another gazed aghast, 4060 And through the hosts contention wild befell, As each of his own god the wondrous works did tell.

31. And Oromaze, Joshua, and Mahomet, Moses, and Buddh, Zerdusht, and Brahm, and Foh, A tumult of strange names, which never met 4065 Before, as watchwords of a single woe, Arose; each raging votary 'gan to throw Aloft his armed hands, and each did howl 'Our God alone is God!'—and slaughter now Would have gone forth, when from beneath a cowl 4070 A voice came forth, which pierced like ice through every soul.

32. 'Twas an Iberian Priest from whom it came, A zealous man, who led the legioned West, With words which faith and pride had steeped in flame, To quell the unbelievers; a dire guest 4075 Even to his friends was he, for in his breast Did hate and guile lie watchful, intertwined, Twin serpents in one deep and winding nest; He loathed all faith beside his own, and pined To wreak his fear of Heaven in vengeance on mankind. 4080

33. But more he loathed and hated the clear light Of wisdom and free thought, and more did fear, Lest, kindled once, its beams might pierce the night, Even where his Idol stood; for, far and near Did many a heart in Europe leap to hear _4085 That faith and tyranny were trampled down; Many a pale victim, doomed for truth to share The murderer's cell, or see, with helpless groan, The priests his children drag for slaves to serve their own.

34. He dared not kill the infidels with fire 4090 Or steel, in Europe; the slow agonies Of legal torture mocked his keen desire: So he made truce with those who did despise The expiation, and the sacrifice, That, though detested, Islam's kindred creed 4095 Might crush for him those deadlier enemies; For fear of God did in his bosom breed A jealous hate of man, an unreposing need.

35. 'Peace! Peace!' he cried, 'when we are dead, the Day Of Judgement comes, and all shall surely know 4100 Whose God is God, each fearfully shall pay The errors of his faith in endless woe! But there is sent a mortal vengeance now On earth, because an impious race had spurned Him whom we all adore,—a subtle foe, 4105 By whom for ye this dread reward was earned, And kingly thrones, which rest on faith, nigh overturned.

36. 'Think ye, because ye weep, and kneel, and pray, That God will lull the pestilence? It rose Even from beneath his throne, where, many a day, 4110 His mercy soothed it to a dark repose: It walks upon the earth to judge his foes; And what are thou and I, that he should deign To curb his ghastly minister, or close The gates of death, ere they receive the twain 4115 Who shook with mortal spells his undefended reign?

37. 'Ay, there is famine in the gulf of hell, Its giant worms of fire for ever yawn.— Their lurid eyes are on us! those who fell By the swift shafts of pestilence ere dawn, 4120 Are in their jaws! they hunger for the spawn Of Satan, their own brethren, who were sent To make our souls their spoil. See! see! they fawn Like dogs, and they will sleep with luxury spent, When those detested hearts their iron fangs have rent! 4125

38. 'Our God may then lull Pestilence to sleep:— Pile high the pyre of expiation now, A forest's spoil of boughs, and on the heap Pour venomous gums, which sullenly and slow, When touched by flame, shall burn, and melt, and flow, _4130 A stream of clinging fire,—and fix on high A net of iron, and spread forth below A couch of snakes, and scorpions, and the fry Of centipedes and worms, earth's hellish progeny!

39. 'Let Laon and Laone on that pyre, 4135 Linked tight with burning brass, perish!—then pray That, with this sacrifice, the withering ire Of Heaven may be appeased.' He ceased, and they A space stood silent, as far, far away The echoes of his voice among them died; 4140 And he knelt down upon the dust, alway Muttering the curses of his speechless pride, Whilst shame, and fear, and awe, the armies did divide.

40. His voice was like a blast that burst the portal Of fabled hell; and as he spake, each one 4145 Saw gape beneath the chasms of fire immortal, And Heaven above seemed cloven, where, on a throne Girt round with storms and shadows, sate alone Their King and Judge—fear killed in every breast All natural pity then, a fear unknown 4150 Before, and with an inward fire possessed, They raged like homeless beasts whom burning woods invest.

41. 'Twas morn.—At noon the public crier went forth, Proclaiming through the living and the dead, 'The Monarch saith, that his great Empire's worth 4155 Is set on Laon and Laone's head: He who but one yet living here can lead, Or who the life from both their hearts can wring, Shall be the kingdom's heir—a glorious meed! But he who both alive can hither bring, 4160 The Princess shall espouse, and reign an equal King.'

42. Ere night the pyre was piled, the net of iron Was spread above, the fearful couch below; It overtopped the towers that did environ That spacious square; for Fear is never slow 4165 To build the thrones of Hate, her mate and foe; So, she scourged forth the maniac multitude To rear this pyramid—tottering and slow, Plague-stricken, foodless, like lean herds pursued By gadflies, they have piled the heath, and gums, and wood. 4170

43. Night came, a starless and a moonless gloom. Until the dawn, those hosts of many a nation Stood round that pile, as near one lover's tomb Two gentle sisters mourn their desolation; And in the silence of that expectation, _4175 Was heard on high the reptiles' hiss and crawl— It was so deep—save when the devastation Of the swift pest, with fearful interval, Marking its path with shrieks, among the crowd would fall.

44. Morn came,—among those sleepless multitudes, 4180 Madness, and Fear, and Plague, and Famine still Heaped corpse on corpse, as in autumnal woods The frosts of many a wind with dead leaves fill Earth's cold and sullen brooks; in silence, still The pale survivors stood; ere noon, the fear 4185 Of Hell became a panic, which did kill Like hunger or disease, with whispers drear, As 'Hush! hark! Come they yet?—Just Heaven! thine hour is near!'

45. And Priests rushed through their ranks, some counterfeiting The rage they did inspire, some mad indeed 4190 With their own lies; they said their god was waiting To see his enemies writhe, and burn, and bleed,— And that, till then, the snakes of Hell had need Of human souls:—three hundred furnaces Soon blazed through the wide City, where, with speed, 4195 Men brought their infidel kindred to appease God's wrath, and, while they burned, knelt round on quivering knees.

46. The noontide sun was darkened with that smoke, The winds of eve dispersed those ashes gray. The madness which these rites had lulled, awoke 4200 Again at sunset.—Who shall dare to say The deeds which night and fear brought forth, or weigh In balance just the good and evil there? He might man's deep and searchless heart display, And cast a light on those dim labyrinths, where 4205 Hope, near imagined chasms, is struggling with despair.

47. 'Tis said, a mother dragged three children then, To those fierce flames which roast the eyes in the head, And laughed, and died; and that unholy men, Feasting like fiends upon the infidel dead, 4210 Looked from their meal, and saw an Angel tread The visible floor of Heaven, and it was she! And, on that night, one without doubt or dread Came to the fire, and said, 'Stop, I am he! Kill me!'—They burned them both with hellish mockery. 4215

48. And, one by one, that night, young maidens came, Beauteous and calm, like shapes of living stone Clothed in the light of dreams, and by the flame Which shrank as overgorged, they laid them down, And sung a low sweet song, of which alone _4220 One word was heard, and that was Liberty; And that some kissed their marble feet, with moan Like love, and died; and then that they did die With happy smiles, which sunk in white tranquillity.

NOTES: _3834 native home edition 1818. _3967 earthquakes edition 1818. _4176 reptiles']reptiles edition 1818.

CANTO 11.

1. She saw me not—she heard me not—alone 4225 Upon the mountain's dizzy brink she stood; She spake not, breathed not, moved not—there was thrown Over her look, the shadow of a mood Which only clothes the heart in solitude, A thought of voiceless depth;—she stood alone, 4230 Above, the Heavens were spread;—below, the flood Was murmuring in its caves;—the wind had blown Her hair apart, through which her eyes and forehead shone.

2. A cloud was hanging o'er the western mountains; Before its blue and moveless depth were flying 4235 Gray mists poured forth from the unresting fountains Of darkness in the North:—the day was dying:— Sudden, the sun shone forth, its beams were lying Like boiling gold on Ocean, strange to see, And on the shattered vapours, which defying 4240 The power of light in vain, tossed restlessly In the red Heaven, like wrecks in a tempestuous sea.

3. It was a stream of living beams, whose bank On either side by the cloud's cleft was made; And where its chasms that flood of glory drank, 4245 Its waves gushed forth like fire, and as if swayed By some mute tempest, rolled on HER; the shade Of her bright image floated on the river Of liquid light, which then did end and fade— Her radiant shape upon its verge did shiver; 4250 Aloft, her flowing hair like strings of flame did quiver.

4. I stood beside her, but she saw me not— She looked upon the sea, and skies, and earth; Rapture, and love, and admiration wrought A passion deeper far than tears, or mirth, 4255 Or speech, or gesture, or whate'er has birth From common joy; which with the speechless feeling That led her there united, and shot forth From her far eyes a light of deep revealing, All but her dearest self from my regard concealing. 4260

5. Her lips were parted, and the measured breath Was now heard there;—her dark and intricate eyes Orb within orb, deeper than sleep or death, Absorbed the glories of the burning skies, Which, mingling with her heart's deep ecstasies, _4265 Burst from her looks and gestures;—and a light Of liquid tenderness, like love, did rise From her whole frame, an atmosphere which quite Arrayed her in its beams, tremulous and soft and bright.

6. She would have clasped me to her glowing frame; 4270 Those warm and odorous lips might soon have shed On mine the fragrance and the invisible flame Which now the cold winds stole;—she would have laid Upon my languid heart her dearest head; I might have heard her voice, tender and sweet; 4275 Her eyes, mingling with mine, might soon have fed My soul with their own joy.—One moment yet I gazed—we parted then, never again to meet!

7. Never but once to meet on Earth again! She heard me as I fled—her eager tone 4280 Sunk on my heart, and almost wove a chain Around my will to link it with her own, So that my stern resolve was almost gone. 'I cannot reach thee! whither dost thou fly? My steps are faint—Come back, thou dearest one— 4285 Return, ah me! return!'—The wind passed by On which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly.

8. Woe! Woe! that moonless midnight!—Want and Pest Were horrible, but one more fell doth rear, As in a hydra's swarming lair, its crest 4290 Eminent among those victims—even the Fear Of Hell: each girt by the hot atmosphere Of his blind agony, like a scorpion stung By his own rage upon his burning bier Of circling coals of fire; but still there clung 4295 One hope, like a keen sword on starting threads uphung:

9. Not death—death was no more refuge or rest; Not life—it was despair to be!—not sleep, For fiends and chasms of fire had dispossessed All natural dreams: to wake was not to weep, 4300 But to gaze mad and pallid, at the leap To which the Future, like a snaky scourge, Or like some tyrant's eye, which aye doth keep Its withering beam upon his slaves, did urge Their steps; they heard the roar of Hell's sulphureous surge. 4305

10. Each of that multitude, alone, and lost To sense of outward things, one hope yet knew; As on a foam-girt crag some seaman tossed Stares at the rising tide, or like the crew Whilst now the ship is splitting through and through; _4310 Each, if the tramp of a far steed was heard, Started from sick despair, or if there flew One murmur on the wind, or if some word Which none can gather yet, the distant crowd has stirred.

11. Why became cheeks, wan with the kiss of death, 4315 Paler from hope? they had sustained despair. Why watched those myriads with suspended breath Sleepless a second night? they are not here, The victims, and hour by hour, a vision drear, Warm corpses fall upon the clay-cold dead; 4320 And even in death their lips are wreathed with fear.— The crowd is mute and moveless—overhead Silent Arcturus shines—'Ha! hear'st thou not the tread

12. 'Of rushing feet? laughter? the shout, the scream, Of triumph not to be contained? See! hark! 4325 They come, they come! give way!' Alas, ye deem Falsely—'tis but a crowd of maniacs stark Driven, like a troop of spectres, through the dark, From the choked well, whence a bright death-fire sprung, A lurid earth-star, which dropped many a spark 4330 From its blue train, and spreading widely, clung To their wild hair, like mist the topmost pines among.

13. And many, from the crowd collected there, Joined that strange dance in fearful sympathies; There was the silence of a long despair, 4335 When the last echo of those terrible cries Came from a distant street, like agonies Stifled afar.—Before the Tyrant's throne All night his aged Senate sate, their eyes In stony expectation fixed; when one 4340 Sudden before them stood, a Stranger and alone.

14. Dark Priests and haughty Warriors gazed on him With baffled wonder, for a hermit's vest Concealed his face; but when he spake, his tone, Ere yet the matter did their thoughts arrest,— 4345 Earnest, benignant, calm, as from a breast Void of all hate or terror—made them start; For as with gentle accents he addressed His speech to them, on each unwilling heart Unusual awe did fall—a spirit-quelling dart. 4350

15. 'Ye Princes of the Earth, ye sit aghast Amid the ruin which yourselves have made, Yes, Desolation heard your trumpet's blast, And sprang from sleep!—dark Terror has obeyed Your bidding—O, that I whom ye have made _4355 Your foe, could set my dearest enemy free From pain and fear! but evil casts a shade, Which cannot pass so soon, and Hate must be The nurse and parent still of an ill progeny.

16. 'Ye turn to Heaven for aid in your distress; 4360 Alas, that ye, the mighty and the wise, Who, if ye dared, might not aspire to less Than ye conceive of power, should fear the lies Which thou, and thou, didst frame for mysteries To blind your slaves:—consider your own thought, 4365 An empty and a cruel sacrifice Ye now prepare, for a vain idol wrought Out of the fears and hate which vain desires have brought.

17. 'Ye seek for happiness—alas, the day! Ye find it not in luxury nor in gold, 4370 Nor in the fame, nor in the envied sway For which, O willing slaves to Custom old, Severe taskmistress! ye your hearts have sold. Ye seek for peace, and when ye die, to dream No evil dreams: all mortal things are cold 4375 And senseless then; if aught survive, I deem It must be love and joy, for they immortal seem.

18. 'Fear not the future, weep not for the past. Oh, could I win your ears to dare be now Glorious, and great, and calm! that ye would cast 4380 Into the dust those symbols of your woe, Purple, and gold, and steel! that ye would go Proclaiming to the nations whence ye came, That Want, and Plague, and Fear, from slavery flow; And that mankind is free, and that the shame 4385 Of royalty and faith is lost in freedom's fame!

19. 'If thus, 'tis well—if not, I come to say That Laon—' while the Stranger spoke, among The Council sudden tumult and affray Arose, for many of those warriors young, 4390 Had on his eloquent accents fed and hung Like bees on mountain-flowers; they knew the truth, And from their thrones in vindication sprung; The men of faith and law then without ruth Drew forth their secret steel, and stabbed each ardent youth. 4395

20. They stabbed them in the back and sneered—a slave Who stood behind the throne, those corpses drew Each to its bloody, dark, and secret grave; And one more daring raised his steel anew To pierce the Stranger. 'What hast thou to do _4400 With me, poor wretch?'—Calm, solemn and severe, That voice unstrung his sinews, and he threw His dagger on the ground, and pale with fear, Sate silently—his voice then did the Stranger rear.

21. 'It doth avail not that I weep for ye— 4405 Ye cannot change, since ye are old and gray, And ye have chosen your lot—your fame must be A book of blood, whence in a milder day Men shall learn truth, when ye are wrapped in clay: Now ye shall triumph. I am Laon's friend, 4410 And him to your revenge will I betray, So ye concede one easy boon. Attend! For now I speak of things which ye can apprehend.

22. 'There is a People mighty in its youth, A land beyond the Oceans of the West, 4415 Where, though with rudest rites, Freedom and Truth Are worshipped; from a glorious Mother's breast, Who, since high Athens fell, among the rest Sate like the Queen of Nations, but in woe, By inbred monsters outraged and oppressed, 4420 Turns to her chainless child for succour now, It draws the milk of Power in Wisdom's fullest flow.

23. 'That land is like an Eagle, whose young gaze Feeds on the noontide beam, whose golden plume Floats moveless on the storm, and in the blaze 4425 Of sunrise gleams when Earth is wrapped in gloom; An epitaph of glory for the tomb Of murdered Europe may thy fame be made, Great People! as the sands shalt thou become; Thy growth is swift as morn, when night must fade; 4430 The multitudinous Earth shall sleep beneath thy shade.

24. 'Yes, in the desert there is built a home For Freedom. Genius is made strong to rear The monuments of man beneath the dome Of a new Heaven; myriads assemble there, 4435 Whom the proud lords of man, in rage or fear, Drive from their wasted homes: the boon I pray Is this—that Cythna shall be convoyed there— Nay, start not at the name—America! And then to you this night Laon will I betray. 4440

25. 'With me do what ye will. I am your foe!' The light of such a joy as makes the stare Of hungry snakes like living emeralds glow, Shone in a hundred human eyes—'Where, where Is Laon? Haste! fly! drag him swiftly here! _4445 We grant thy boon.'—'I put no trust in ye, Swear by the Power ye dread.'—'We swear, we swear!' The Stranger threw his vest back suddenly, And smiled in gentle pride, and said, 'Lo! I am he!'

NOTES: 4321 wreathed]writhed. "Poetical Works" 1839. 1st edition. 4361 the mighty]tho' mighty edition 1818. 4362 ye]he edition 1818. 4432 there]then edition 1818.

CANTO 12.

1. The transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness 4450 Spread through the multitudinous streets, fast flying Upon the winds of fear; from his dull madness The starveling waked, and died in joy; the dying, Among the corpses in stark agony lying, Just heard the happy tidings, and in hope 4455 Closed their faint eyes; from house to house replying With loud acclaim, the living shook Heaven's cope, And filled the startled Earth with echoes: morn did ope

2. Its pale eyes then; and lo! the long array Of guards in golden arms, and Priests beside, 4460 Singing their bloody hymns, whose garbs betray The blackness of the faith it seems to hide; And see, the Tyrant's gem-wrought chariot glide Among the gloomy cowls and glittering spears— A Shape of light is sitting by his side, 4465 A child most beautiful. I' the midst appears Laon,—exempt alone from mortal hopes and fears.

3. His head and feet are bare, his hands are bound Behind with heavy chains, yet none do wreak Their scoffs on him, though myriads throng around; 4470 There are no sneers upon his lip which speak That scorn or hate has made him bold; his cheek Resolve has not turned pale,—his eyes are mild And calm, and, like the morn about to break, Smile on mankind—his heart seems reconciled 4475 To all things and itself, like a reposing child.

4. Tumult was in the soul of all beside, Ill joy, or doubt, or fear; but those who saw Their tranquil victim pass, felt wonder glide Into their brain, and became calm with awe.— 4480 See, the slow pageant near the pile doth draw. A thousand torches in the spacious square, Borne by the ready slaves of ruthless law, Await the signal round: the morning fair Is changed to a dim night by that unnatural glare. 4485

5. And see! beneath a sun-bright canopy, Upon a platform level with the pile, The anxious Tyrant sit, enthroned on high, Girt by the chieftains of the host; all smile In expectation, but one child: the while _4490 I, Laon, led by mutes, ascend my bier Of fire, and look around: each distant isle Is dark in the bright dawn; towers far and near, Pierce like reposing flames the tremulous atmosphere.

6. There was such silence through the host, as when 4495 An earthquake trampling on some populous town, Has crushed ten thousand with one tread, and men Expect the second; all were mute but one, That fairest child, who, bold with love, alone Stood up before the King, without avail, 4500 Pleading for Laon's life—her stifled groan Was heard—she trembled like one aspen pale Among the gloomy pines of a Norwegian vale.

7. What were his thoughts linked in the morning sun, Among those reptiles, stingless with delay, 4505 Even like a tyrant's wrath?—The signal-gun Roared—hark, again! In that dread pause he lay As in a quiet dream—the slaves obey— A thousand torches drop,—and hark, the last Bursts on that awful silence; far away, 4510 Millions, with hearts that beat both loud and fast, Watch for the springing flame expectant and aghast.

8. They fly—the torches fall—a cry of fear Has startled the triumphant!—they recede! For, ere the cannon's roar has died, they hear 4515 The tramp of hoofs like earthquake, and a steed Dark and gigantic, with the tempest's speed, Bursts through their ranks: a woman sits thereon, Fairer, it seems, than aught that earth can breed, Calm, radiant, like the phantom of the dawn, 4520 A spirit from the caves of daylight wandering gone.

9. All thought it was God's Angel come to sweep The lingering guilty to their fiery grave; The Tyrant from his throne in dread did leap,— Her innocence his child from fear did save; 4525 Scared by the faith they feigned, each priestly slave Knelt for his mercy whom they served with blood, And, like the refluence of a mighty wave Sucked into the loud sea, the multitude With crushing panic, fled in terror's altered mood. 4530

10. They pause, they blush, they gaze,—a gathering shout Bursts like one sound from the ten thousand streams Of a tempestuous sea:—that sudden rout One checked, who, never in his mildest dreams Felt awe from grace or loveliness, the seams _4535 Of his rent heart so hard and cold a creed Had seared with blistering ice—but he misdeems That he is wise, whose wounds do only bleed Inly for self,—thus thought the Iberian Priest indeed,

11. And others, too, thought he was wise to see, 4540 In pain, and fear, and hate, something divine; In love and beauty, no divinity.— Now with a bitter smile, whose light did shine Like a fiend's hope upon his lips and eyne, He said, and the persuasion of that sneer 4545 Rallied his trembling comrades—'Is it mine To stand alone, when kings and soldiers fear A woman? Heaven has sent its other victim here.'

12. 'Were it not impious,' said the King, 'to break Our holy oath?'—'Impious to keep it, say!' 4550 Shrieked the exulting Priest:—'Slaves, to the stake Bind her, and on my head the burden lay Of her just torments:—at the Judgement Day Will I stand up before the golden throne Of Heaven, and cry, "To Thee did I betray 4555 An infidel; but for me she would have known Another moment's joy! the glory be thine own."'

13. They trembled, but replied not, nor obeyed, Pausing in breathless silence. Cythna sprung From her gigantic steed, who, like a shade 4560 Chased by the winds, those vacant streets among Fled tameless, as the brazen rein she flung Upon his neck, and kissed his mooned brow. A piteous sight, that one so fair and young, The clasp of such a fearful death should woo 4565 With smiles of tender joy as beamed from Cythna now.

14. The warm tears burst in spite of faith and fear From many a tremulous eye, but like soft dews Which feed Spring's earliest buds, hung gathered there, Frozen by doubt,—alas! they could not choose 4570 But weep; for when her faint limbs did refuse To climb the pyre, upon the mutes she smiled; And with her eloquent gestures, and the hues Of her quick lips, even as a weary child Wins sleep from some fond nurse with its caresses mild, 4575

15. She won them, though unwilling, her to bind Near me, among the snakes. When there had fled One soft reproach that was most thrilling kind, She smiled on me, and nothing then we said, But each upon the other's countenance fed _4580 Looks of insatiate love; the mighty veil Which doth divide the living and the dead Was almost rent, the world grew dim and pale,— All light in Heaven or Earth beside our love did fail.—

16. Yet—yet—one brief relapse, like the last beam 4585 Of dying flames, the stainless air around Hung silent and serene—a blood-red gleam Burst upwards, hurling fiercely from the ground The globed smoke,—I heard the mighty sound Of its uprise, like a tempestuous ocean; 4590 And through its chasms I saw, as in a swound, The tyrant's child fall without life or motion Before his throne, subdued by some unseen emotion.—

17. And is this death?—The pyre has disappeared, The Pestilence, the Tyrant, and the throng; 4595 The flames grow silent—slowly there is heard The music of a breath-suspending song, Which, like the kiss of love when life is young, Steeps the faint eyes in darkness sweet and deep; With ever-changing notes it floats along, 4600 Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap.

18. The warm touch of a soft and tremulous hand Wakened me then; lo! Cythna sate reclined Beside me, on the waved and golden sand 4605 Of a clear pool, upon a bank o'ertwined With strange and star-bright flowers, which to the wind Breathed divine odour; high above, was spread The emerald heaven of trees of unknown kind, Whose moonlike blooms and bright fruit overhead 4610 A shadow, which was light, upon the waters shed.

19. And round about sloped many a lawny mountain With incense-bearing forests and vast caves Of marble radiance, to that mighty fountain; And where the flood its own bright margin laves, 4615 Their echoes talk with its eternal waves, Which, from the depths whose jagged caverns breed Their unreposing strife, it lifts and heaves,— Till through a chasm of hills they roll, and feed A river deep, which flies with smooth but arrowy speed. 4620

20. As we sate gazing in a trance of wonder, A boat approached, borne by the musical air Along the waves which sung and sparkled under Its rapid keel—a winged shape sate there, A child with silver-shining wings, so fair, _4625 That as her bark did through the waters glide, The shadow of the lingering waves did wear Light, as from starry beams; from side to side, While veering to the wind her plumes the bark did guide.

21. The boat was one curved shell of hollow pearl, 4630 Almost translucent with the light divine Of her within; the prow and stern did curl Horned on high, like the young moon supine, When o'er dim twilight mountains dark with pine, It floats upon the sunset's sea of beams, 4635 Whose golden waves in many a purple line Fade fast, till borne on sunlight's ebbing streams, Dilating, on earth's verge the sunken meteor gleams.

22. Its keel has struck the sands beside our feet;— Then Cythna turned to me, and from her eyes 4640 Which swam with unshed tears, a look more sweet Than happy love, a wild and glad surprise, Glanced as she spake: 'Ay, this is Paradise And not a dream, and we are all united! Lo, that is mine own child, who in the guise 4645 Of madness came, like day to one benighted In lonesome woods: my heart is now too well requited!'

23. And then she wept aloud, and in her arms Clasped that bright Shape, less marvellously fair Than her own human hues and living charms; 4650 Which, as she leaned in passion's silence there, Breathed warmth on the cold bosom of the air, Which seemed to blush and tremble with delight; The glossy darkness of her streaming hair Fell o'er that snowy child, and wrapped from sight 4655 The fond and long embrace which did their hearts unite.

24. Then the bright child, the plumed Seraph came, And fixed its blue and beaming eyes on mine, And said, 'I was disturbed by tremulous shame When once we met, yet knew that I was thine 4660 From the same hour in which thy lips divine Kindled a clinging dream within my brain, Which ever waked when I might sleep, to twine Thine image with HER memory dear—again We meet; exempted now from mortal fear or pain. 4665

25. 'When the consuming flames had wrapped ye round, The hope which I had cherished went away; I fell in agony on the senseless ground, And hid mine eyes in dust, and far astray My mind was gone, when bright, like dawning day, _4670 The Spectre of the Plague before me flew, And breathed upon my lips, and seemed to say, "They wait for thee, beloved!"—then I knew The death-mark on my breast, and became calm anew.

26. 'It was the calm of love—for I was dying. 4675 I saw the black and half-extinguished pyre In its own gray and shrunken ashes lying; The pitchy smoke of the departed fire Still hung in many a hollow dome and spire Above the towers, like night,—beneath whose shade 4680 Awed by the ending of their own desire The armies stood; a vacancy was made In expectation's depth, and so they stood dismayed.

27. 'The frightful silence of that altered mood, The tortures of the dying clove alone, 4685 Till one uprose among the multitude, And said—"The flood of time is rolling on; We stand upon its brink, whilst THEY are gone To glide in peace down death's mysterious stream. Have ye done well? They moulder, flesh and bone, 4690 Who might have made this life's envenomed dream A sweeter draught than ye will ever taste, I deem.

28. '"These perish as the good and great of yore Have perished, and their murderers will repent,— Yes, vain and barren tears shall flow before 4695 Yon smoke has faded from the firmament Even for this cause, that ye who must lament The death of those that made this world so fair, Cannot recall them now; but there is lent To man the wisdom of a high despair, 4700 When such can die, and he live on and linger here.

29. '"Ay, ye may fear not now the Pestilence, From fabled hell as by a charm withdrawn; All power and faith must pass, since calmly hence In pain and fire have unbelievers gone; 4705 And ye must sadly turn away, and moan In secret, to his home each one returning; And to long ages shall this hour be known; And slowly shall its memory, ever burning, Fill this dark night of things with an eternal morning. 4710

30. '"For me that world is grown too void and cold, Since Hope pursues immortal Destiny With steps thus slow—therefore shall ye behold How those who love, yet fear not, dare to die; Tell to your children this!" Then suddenly _4715 He sheathed a dagger in his heart and fell; My brain grew dark in death, and yet to me There came a murmur from the crowd, to tell Of deep and mighty change which suddenly befell.

31. 'Then suddenly I stood, a winged Thought, 4720 Before the immortal Senate, and the seat Of that star-shining spirit, whence is wrought The strength of its dominion, good and great, The better Genius of this world's estate. His realm around one mighty Fane is spread, 4725 Elysian islands bright and fortunate, Calm dwellings of the free and happy dead, Where I am sent to lead!' These winged words she said,

32. And with the silence of her eloquent smile, Bade us embark in her divine canoe; 4730 Then at the helm we took our seat, the while Above her head those plumes of dazzling hue Into the winds' invisible stream she threw, Sitting beside the prow: like gossamer On the swift breath of morn, the vessel flew 4735 O'er the bright whirlpools of that fountain fair, Whose shores receded fast, while we seemed lingering there;

33. Till down that mighty stream, dark, calm, and fleet, Between a chasm of cedarn mountains riven, Chased by the thronging winds whose viewless feet 4740 As swift as twinkling beams, had, under Heaven, From woods and waves wild sounds and odours driven, The boat fled visibly—three nights and days, Borne like a cloud through morn, and noon, and even, We sailed along the winding watery ways 4745 Of the vast stream, a long and labyrinthine maze.

34. A scene of joy and wonder to behold That river's shapes and shadows changing ever, Where the broad sunrise filled with deepening gold Its whirlpools, where all hues did spread and quiver; 4750 And where melodious falls did burst and shiver Among rocks clad with flowers, the foam and spray Sparkled like stars upon the sunny river, Or when the moonlight poured a holier day, One vast and glittering lake around green islands lay. 4755

35. Morn, noon, and even, that boat of pearl outran The streams which bore it, like the arrowy cloud Of tempest, or the speedier thought of man, Which flieth forth and cannot make abode; Sometimes through forests, deep like night, we glode, _4760 Between the walls of mighty mountains crowned With Cyclopean piles, whose turrets proud, The homes of the departed, dimly frowned O'er the bright waves which girt their dark foundations round.

36. Sometimes between the wide and flowering meadows, 4765 Mile after mile we sailed, and 'twas delight To see far off the sunbeams chase the shadows Over the grass; sometimes beneath the night Of wide and vaulted caves, whose roofs were bright With starry gems, we fled, whilst from their deep 4770 And dark-green chasms, shades beautiful and white, Amid sweet sounds across our path would sweep, Like swift and lovely dreams that walk the waves of sleep.

37. And ever as we sailed, our minds were full Of love and wisdom, which would overflow 4775 In converse wild, and sweet, and wonderful, And in quick smiles whose light would come and go Like music o'er wide waves, and in the flow Of sudden tears, and in the mute caress— For a deep shade was cleft, and we did know, 4780 That virtue, though obscured on Earth, not less Survives all mortal change in lasting loveliness.

38. Three days and nights we sailed, as thought and feeling Number delightful hours—for through the sky The sphered lamps of day and night, revealing 4785 New changes and new glories, rolled on high, Sun, Moon and moonlike lamps, the progeny Of a diviner Heaven, serene and fair: On the fourth day, wild as a windwrought sea The stream became, and fast and faster bare 4790 The spirit-winged boat, steadily speeding there.

39. Steady and swift, where the waves rolled like mountains Within the vast ravine, whose rifts did pour Tumultuous floods from their ten thousand fountains, The thunder of whose earth-uplifting roar 4795 Made the air sweep in whirlwinds from the shore, Calm as a shade, the boat of that fair child Securely fled, that rapid stress before, Amid the topmost spray, and sunbows wild, Wreathed in the silver mist: in joy and pride we smiled. 4800

40. The torrent of that wide and raging river Is passed, and our aereal speed suspended. We look behind; a golden mist did quiver When its wild surges with the lake were blended,— Our bark hung there, as on a line suspended _4805 Between two heavens,—that windless waveless lake Which four great cataracts from four vales, attended By mists, aye feed; from rocks and clouds they break, And of that azure sea a silent refuge make.

41. Motionless resting on the lake awhile, 4810 I saw its marge of snow-bright mountains rear Their peaks aloft, I saw each radiant isle, And in the midst, afar, even like a sphere Hung in one hollow sky, did there appear The Temple of the Spirit; on the sound 4815 Which issued thence, drawn nearer and more near, Like the swift moon this glorious earth around, The charmed boat approached, and there its haven found.

NOTES: _4577 there]then edition 1818. _4699 there]then edition 1818. _4749 When]Where edition 1818. _4804 Where]When edition 1818. _4805 on a line]one line edition 1818.

NOTE ON THE "REVOLT OF ISLAM", BY MRS. SHELLEY.

Shelley possessed two remarkable qualities of intellect—a brilliant imagination, and a logical exactness of reason. His inclinations led him (he fancied) almost alike to poetry and metaphysical discussions. I say 'he fancied,' because I believe the former to have been paramount, and that it would have gained the mastery even had he struggled against it. However, he said that he deliberated at one time whether he should dedicate himself to poetry or metaphysics; and, resolving on the former, he educated himself for it, discarding in a great measure his philosophical pursuits, and engaging himself in the study of the poets of Greece, Italy, and England. To these may be added a constant perusal of portions of the old Testament—the Psalms, the Book of Job, the Prophet Isaiah, and others, the sublime poetry of which filled him with delight.

As a poet, his intellect and compositions were powerfully influenced by exterior circumstances, and especially by his place of abode. He was very fond of travelling, and ill-health increased this restlessness. The sufferings occasioned by a cold English winter made him pine, especially when our colder spring arrived, for a more genial climate. In 1816 he again visited Switzerland, and rented a house on the banks of the Lake of Geneva; and many a day, in cloud or sunshine, was passed alone in his boat—sailing as the wind listed, or weltering on the calm waters. The majestic aspect of Nature ministered such thoughts as he afterwards enwove in verse. His lines on the Bridge of the Arve, and his "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty", were written at this time. Perhaps during this summer his genius was checked by association with another poet whose nature was utterly dissimilar to his own, yet who, in the poem he wrote at that time, gave tokens that he shared for a period the more abstract and etherealised inspiration of Shelley. The saddest events awaited his return to England; but such was his fear to wound the feelings of others that he never expressed the anguish he felt, and seldom gave vent to the indignation roused by the persecutions he underwent; while the course of deep unexpressed passion, and the sense of injury, engendered the desire to embody themselves in forms defecated of all the weakness and evil which cling to real life.

He chose therefore for his hero a youth nourished in dreams of liberty, some of whose actions are in direct opposition to the opinions of the world; but who is animated throughout by an ardent love of virtue, and a resolution to confer the boons of political and intellectual freedom on his fellow-creatures. He created for this youth a woman such as he delighted to imagine—full of enthusiasm for the same objects; and they both, with will unvanquished, and the deepest sense of the justice of their cause, met adversity and death. There exists in this poem a memorial of a friend of his youth. The character of the old man who liberates Laon from his tower prison, and tends on him in sickness, is founded on that of Doctor Lind, who, when Shelley was at Eton, had often stood by to befriend and support him, and whose name he never mentioned without love and veneration.

During the year 1817 we were established at Marlow in Buckinghamshire. Shelley's choice of abode was fixed chiefly by this town being at no great distance from London, and its neighbourhood to the Thames. The poem was written in his boat, as it floated under the beech groves of Bisham, or during wanderings in the neighbouring country, which is distinguished for peculiar beauty. The chalk hills break into cliffs that overhang the Thames, or form valleys clothed with beech; the wilder portion of the country is rendered beautiful by exuberant vegetation; and the cultivated part is peculiarly fertile. With all this wealth of Nature which, either in the form of gentlemen's parks or soil dedicated to agriculture, flourishes around, Marlow was inhabited (I hope it is altered now) by a very poor population. The women are lacemakers, and lose their health by sedentary labour, for which they were very ill paid. The Poor-laws ground to the dust not only the paupers, but those who had risen just above that state, and were obliged to pay poor-rates. The changes produced by peace following a long war, and a bad harvest, brought with them the most heart-rending evils to the poor. Shelley afforded what alleviation he could. In the winter, while bringing out his poem, he had a severe attack of ophthalmia, caught while visiting the poor cottages. I mention these things,—for this minute and active sympathy with his fellow-creatures gives a thousandfold interest to his speculations, and stamps with reality his pleadings for the human race.

The poem, bold in its opinions and uncompromising in their expression, met with many censurers, not only among those who allow of no virtue but such as supports the cause they espouse, but even among those whose opinions were similar to his own. I extract a portion of a letter written in answer to one of these friends. It best details the impulses of Shelley's mind, and his motives: it was written with entire unreserve; and is therefore a precious monument of his own opinion of his powers, of the purity of his designs, and the ardour with which he clung, in adversity and through the valley of the shadow of death, to views from which he believed the permanent happiness of mankind must eventually spring.

'Marlowe, December 11, 1817.

'I have read and considered all that you say about my general powers, and the particular instance of the poem in which I have attempted to develop them. Nothing can be more satisfactory to me than the interest which your admonitions express. But I think you are mistaken in some points with regard to the peculiar nature of my powers, whatever be their amount. I listened with deference and self-suspicion to your censures of "The Revolt of Islam"; but the productions of mine which you commend hold a very low place in my own esteem; and this reassures me, in some degree at least. The poem was produced by a series of thoughts which filled my mind with unbounded and sustained enthusiasm. I felt the precariousness of my life, and I engaged in this task, resolved to leave some record of myself. Much of what the volume contains was written with the same feeling—as real, though not so prophetic—as the communications of a dying man. I never presumed indeed to consider it anything approaching to faultless; but, when I consider contemporary productions of the same apparent pretensions, I own I was filled with confidence. I felt that it was in many respects a genuine picture of my own mind. I felt that the sentiments were true, not assumed. And in this have I long believed that my power consists; in sympathy, and that part of the imagination which relates to sentiment and contemplation. I am formed, if for anything not in common with the herd of mankind, to apprehend minute and remote distinctions of feeling, whether relative to external nature or the living beings which surround us, and to communicate the conceptions which result from considering either the moral or the material universe as a whole. Of course, I believe these faculties, which perhaps comprehend all that is sublime in man, to exist very imperfectly in my own mind. But, when you advert to my Chancery-paper, a cold, forced, unimpassioned, insignificant piece of cramped and cautious argument, and to the little scrap about "Mandeville", which expressed my feelings indeed, but cost scarcely two minutes' thought to express, as specimens of my powers more favourable than that which grew as it were from "the agony and bloody sweat" of intellectual travail; surely I must feel that, in some manner, either I am mistaken in believing that I have any talent at all, or you in the selection of the specimens of it. Yet, after all, I cannot but be conscious, in much of what I write, of an absence of that tranquillity which is the attribute and accompaniment of power. This feeling alone would make your most kind and wise admonitions, on the subject of the economy of intellectual force, valuable to me. And, if I live, or if I see any trust in coming years, doubt not but that I shall do something, whatever it may be, which a serious and earnest estimate of my powers will suggest to me, and which will be in every respect accommodated to their utmost limits.

[Shelley to Godwin.]

***

PRINCE ATHANASE.

A FRAGMENT.

(The idea Shelley had formed of Prince Athanase was a good deal modelled on "Alastor". In the first sketch of the poem, he named it "Pandemos and Urania". Athanase seeks through the world the One whom he may love. He meets, in the ship in which he is embarked, a lady who appears to him to embody his ideal of love and beauty. But she proves to be Pandemos, or the earthly and unworthy Venus; who, after disappointing his cherished dreams and hopes, deserts him. Athanase, crushed by sorrow, pines and dies. 'On his deathbed, the lady who can really reply to his soul comes and kisses his lips' ("The Deathbed of Athanase"). The poet describes her [in the words of the final fragment, page 164]. This slender note is all we have to aid our imagination in shaping out the form of the poem, such as its author imagined. [Mrs. Shelley's Note.])

[Written at Marlow in 1817, towards the close of the year; first published in "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Part 1 is dated by Mrs. Shelley, 'December, 1817,' the remainder, 'Marlow, 1817.' The verses were probably rehandled in Italy during the following year. Sources of the text are (1) "Posthumous Poems", 1824; (2) "Poetical Works" 1839, editions 1st and 2nd; (3) a much-tortured draft amongst the Bodleian manuscripts, collated by Mr. C.D. Locock. For (1) and (2) Mrs. Shelley is responsible. Our text (enlarged by about thirty lines fro the Bodleian manuscript) follows for the most part the "Poetical Works", 1839; verbal exceptions are pointed out in the footnotes. See also the Editor's Notes at the end of this volume, and Mr. Locock's "Examination of Shelley Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library", Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903.]

PART 1.

There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel, Had grown quite weak and gray before his time; Nor any could the restless griefs unravel

Which burned within him, withering up his prime And goading him, like fiends, from land to land. _5 Not his the load of any secret crime,

For nought of ill his heart could understand, But pity and wild sorrow for the same;— Not his the thirst for glory or command,

Baffled with blast of hope-consuming shame; _10 Nor evil joys which fire the vulgar breast, And quench in speedy smoke its feeble flame,

Had left within his soul their dark unrest: Nor what religion fables of the grave Feared he,—Philosophy's accepted guest. _15

For none than he a purer heart could have, Or that loved good more for itself alone; Of nought in heaven or earth was he the slave.

What sorrow, strange, and shadowy, and unknown, Sent him, a hopeless wanderer, through mankind?— _20 If with a human sadness he did groan,

He had a gentle yet aspiring mind; Just, innocent, with varied learning fed; And such a glorious consolation find

In others' joy, when all their own is dead: _25 He loved, and laboured for his kind in grief, And yet, unlike all others, it is said

That from such toil he never found relief. Although a child of fortune and of power, Of an ancestral name the orphan chief, _30

His soul had wedded Wisdom, and her dower Is love and justice, clothed in which he sate Apart from men, as in a lonely tower,

Pitying the tumult of their dark estate.— Yet even in youth did he not e'er abuse _35 The strength of wealth or thought, to consecrate

Those false opinions which the harsh rich use To blind the world they famish for their pride; Nor did he hold from any man his dues,