Selected Poems and Prose
Page 18
No proud exemption in the blighting curse
680He bears, over the world wanders for ever,
Lone as incarnate death! O, that the dream
Of dark magician in his visioned cave,
Raking the cinders of a crucible
For life and power, even when his feeble hand
685Shakes in its last decay, were the true law
Of this so lovely world! But thou art fled
Like some frail exhalation; which the dawn
Robes in its golden beams,—ah! thou hast fled!
The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful,
690The child of grace and genius. Heartless things
Are done and said i’ the world, and many worms
And beasts and men live on, and mighty Earth
From sea and mountain, city and wilderness,
In vesper low or joyous orison,
695Lifts still its solemn voice:—but thou art fled—
Thou canst no longer know or love the shapes
Of this phantasmal scene, who have to thee
Been purest ministers, who are, alas!
Now thou art not. Upon those pallid lips
700So sweet even in their silence, on those eyes
That image sleep in death, upon that form
Yet safe from the worm’s outrage, let no tear
Be shed—not even in thought. Nor, when those hues
Are gone, and those divinest lineaments,
705Worn by the senseless wind, shall live alone
In the frail pauses of this simple strain,
Let not high verse, mourning the memory
Of that which is no more, or painting’s woe
Or sculpture, speak in feeble imagery
710Their own cold powers. Art and eloquence,
And all the shews o’ the world are frail and vain
To weep a loss that turns their lights to shade.
It is a woe too ‘deep for tears,’ when all
Is reft at once, when some surpassing Spirit,
715Whose light adorned the world around it, leaves
Those who remain behind, not sobs or groans,
The passionate tumult of a clinging hope;
But pale despair and cold tranquillity,
Nature’s vast frame, the web of human things,
720Birth and the grave, that are not as they were.
Verses written on receiving a Celandine in a letter from England
I thought of thee, fair Celandine,
As of a flower aery blue
Yet small—thy leaves methought were wet
With the light of morning dew;
5In the same glen thy star did shine
As the primrose and the violet,
And the wild briar bent over thee
And the woodland brook danced under thee.
Lovely thou wert in thine own glen
10 Ere thou didst dwell in song or story,
Ere the moonlight of a Poet’s mind
Had arrayed thee with the glory
Whose fountains are the hearts of men—
Many a thing of vital kind
15Had fed and sheltered under thee,
Had nourished their thoughts near to thee.
Yes, gentle flower, in thy recess
None might a sweeter aspect wear:
Thy young bud drooped so gracefully,
20 Thou wert so very fair—
Among the fairest ere the stress
Of exile, death and injury
Thus withering and deforming thee
Had made a mournful type of thee;
25A type of that whence I and thou
Are thus familiar, Celandine—
A deathless Poet whose young prime
Was as serene as thine,
But he is changed and withered now,
30Fallen on a cold and evil time;
His heart is gone—his fame is dim
And Infamy sits mocking him.
Celandine! Thou art pale and dead,
Changed from thy fresh and woodland state.
35Oh! that thy bard were cold, but he
Has lived too long and late.
Would he were in an honoured grave,
But that, men say, now must not be
Since he for impious gold could sell
40The love of those who loved him well.
That he, with all hope else of good,
Should be thus transitory
I marvel not—but that his lays
Have spared not their own glory,
45That blood, even the foul god of blood,
With most inexpiable praise,
Freedom and truth left desolate,
He has been bought to celebrate!
They were his hopes which he doth scorn,
50 They were his foes the fight that won;
That sanction and that condemnation
Are now forever gone.
They need them not! Truth may not mourn
That with a liar’s inspiration
55Her majesty he did disown
Ere he could overlive his own.
They need them not, for Liberty,
Justice and philosophic truth
From his divine and simple song
60 Shall draw immortal youth
When he and thou shall cease to be,
Or be some other thing, so long
As men may breathe or flowers may blossom
O’er the wide Earth’s maternal bosom.
65The stem whence thou wert disunited
Since thy poor self was banished hither,
Now by that priest of Nature’s care
Who sent thee forth to wither
His window with its blooms has lighted,
70And I shall see thy brethren there,
And each like thee will aye betoken
Love sold, hope dead, and honour broken.
Hymn to Intellectual Beauty
[Version A]
1
The awful shadow of some unseen Power
Floats tho’ unseen amongst us,—visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to flower.—
5Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower,
It visits with inconstant glance
Each human heart and countenance;
Like hues and harmonies of evening,—
Like clouds in starlight widely spread,—
10 Like memory of music fled,—
Like aught that for its grace may be
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.
2
Spirit of BEAUTY, that doth consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon
15 Of human thought or form,—where art thou gone?
Why dost thou pass away and leave our state,
This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate?
Ask why the sunlight not forever
Weaves rainbows o’er yon mountain river,
20Why aught should fail and fade that once is shewn,
Why fear and dream and death and birth
Cast on the daylight of this earth
Such gloom,—why man has such a scope
For love and hate, despondency and hope?
3
25No voice from some sublimer world hath ever
To sage or poet these responses given—
Therefore the name of God and ghosts, and Heaven,
Remain the records of their vain endeavour,
Frail spells—whose uttered charm might not avail to sever,
30 From all we hear and all we see,
Doubt, chance, and mutability.
Thy light alone—like mist o’er mountains driven,
Or music by the night wind sent
Thro’ strings of some still instrument,
35 Or moonlight on a midnight stream,
Gives grace and truth to life’s unquiet dream.
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nbsp; 4
Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds depart
And come, for some uncertain moments lent.
Man were immortal, and omnipotent,
40Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art,
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,
45 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.
5
While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped
50 Thro’ many a listening chamber, cave and ruin,
And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing
Hopes of high talk with the departed dead.
I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed,
I was not heard—I saw them not—
55 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 buds and blossoming,—
Sudden, thy shadow fell on me;
60I shrieked, and clasped my hands in extacy!
6
I vowed 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
65Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers
Of studious zeal or love’s delight
Outwatched with me the envious night—
They know that never joy illumed my brow
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free
70 This world from its dark slavery,
That thou—O awful LOVELINESS,
Wouldst give whate’er these words cannot express.
7
The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past—there is a harmony
75 In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which thro’ 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
80Descended, 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.
Hymn to Intellectual Beauty
[Version B]
1
The Lovely shadow of some awful Power
Walks though unseen amongst us, visiting
This peopled world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to flower,
5Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower
It visits with a wavering glance
Each human heart & countenance;—
Like hues and harmonies of evening—
Like clouds in starlight widely spread
10 Like memory of music fled
Like aught that for its grace might be
Dear, & yet dearer for its mystery.
2
Shadow of Beauty!—that doth consecrate
With thine own hues all thou dost fall upon
15 Of human thought or form, Where art thou gone
Why dost thou pass away & leave our state
A dark deep vale of tears, vacant & desolate?
Ask why the sun light not forever
Weaves rainbows o’er yon mountain river
20Ask why aught fades away that once is shewn
Ask wherefore dream & death & birth
Cast on the daylight of this earth
Such gloom,—why man has such a scope
For love & joy despondency & hope.
3
25No voice from some sublimer world hath ever
To wisest poets these responses given
Therefore the name of God & Ghosts & Heaven
Remain yet records of their vain Endeavour—
Frail spells, whose uttered charm might not avail to sever
30 From what we feel & what we see
Doubt, Chance & mutability.
Thy shade alone like mists o’er mountains driven
Or Music by the night-wind sent
Thro’ strings of some mute instrument
35Or Moonlight on a forest stream
Gives truth & grace to life’s tumultuous dream
4
Love, hope & self-esteem like clouds depart—
And come, for some uncertain moments lent.—
Man were immortal & omnipotent
40Didst thou, unknown & awful as thou art
Keep with this glorious train firm state within his heart.
Thou messenger of sympathies
That wax & wane in lovers’ eyes
Thou that to the poets thought art nourishment
45 As darkness to a dying flame
Depart not as thy shadow came!
Depart not!—lest the grave should be
Like life & fear a dark reality
5
While yet a boy I sought for Ghosts, & sped
50 Thro’ many a lonely chamber, vault & ruin
And starlight wood, with fearful step pursuing
Hopes of strange converse with the storied dead
I called on that false name with which our youth is fed
He heard me not—I saw them not—
55 When musing deeply on the lot
Of Life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing
All vocal things that live to bring
News of buds & blossoming—
Sudden thy shadow fell on me
60I shrieked & clasped my hands in extasy.
6
I vowed that I would dedicate my powers
To thee & thine—have I not kept the vow?
With streaming eyes & panting heart even now
I call the spectres of a thousand hours
65Each from his voiceless grave, who have in visioned bowers
Of studious zeal or love’s delight
Outwatched with me the waning night
To tell that never joy illumed my brow
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free
70 This world from its dark slavery
That thou, O, awful Loveliness!
Would give whate’er these words cannot express.
7
The day becomes more solemn & serene
When Noon is past—there is a harmony
75 In Autumn & a lustre in the sky
Which thro’ the summer is not heard or seen
As if it could not be—as if it had not been—
Thus let thy shade—which like the truth
Of Nature on my passive youth
80Descended, to my onward life supply
Its hues, to one that worships thee
And every form containing thee
Whom fleeting power! thy spells did bind
To fear himself & love all human Kind.
Mont Blanc
[Version A]
Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni
I
The everlasting universe of things
Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,
Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—
Now lending splendour, where from secret springs
5The 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,
10Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river
Over its rocks c
easelessly bursts and raves.
II
Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine—
Thou many-coloured, many-voiced vale,
Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail
15Fast cloud shadows and sunbeams: awful scene,
Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down
From the ice gulphs that gird his secret throne,
Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame
Of lightning thro’ the tempest;—thou dost lie,
20Thy 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 odours, and their mighty swinging
To hear—an old and solemn harmony;
25Thine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep
Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil
Robes some unsculptured image; the strange sleep
Which when the voices of the desart fail
Wraps all in its own deep eternity;—
30Thy 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
35I 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
40With 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,
45Seeking 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!
III
Some say that gleams of a remoter world