But slowly, fled, like dew beneath the beams of noon.
VI
I could not choose but gaze; a fascination
Dwelt in that moon, and sky, and clouds, which drew
My fancy thither, and in expectation
Of what I knew not, I remained. The hue
Of the white moon, amid that heaven so blue
Suddenly stained with shadow did appear;
A speck, a cloud, a shape, approaching grew,
Like a great ship in the sun’s sinking sphere
Beheld afar at sea, and swift it came anear.
VII
Even like a bark, which from a chasm of mountains,
Dark, vast and overhanging, on a river
Which there collects the strength of all its fountains,
Comes forth, whilst with the speed its frame doth quiver,
Sails, oars and stream, tending to one endeavor;
So, from that chasm of light a wingèd Form
On all the winds of heaven approaching ever
Floated, dilating as it came; the storm
Pursued it with fierce blasts, and lightnings swift and warm.
VIII
A course precipitous, of dizzy speed,
Suspending thought and breath; a monstrous sight!
For in the air do I behold indeed
An Eagle and a Serpent wreathed in fight: —
And now, relaxing its impetuous flight,
Before the aërial rock on which I stood,
The Eagle, hovering, wheeled to left and right,
And hung with lingering wings over the flood,
And startled with its yells the wide air’s solitude.
IX
A shaft of light upon its wings descended,
And every golden feather gleamed therein —
Feather and scale inextricably blended.
The Serpent’s mailed and many-colored skin
Shone through the plumes its coils were twined within
By many a swollen and knotted fold, and high
And far, the neck receding lithe and thin,
Sustained a crested head, which warily
Shifted and glanced before the Eagle’s steadfast eye.
X
Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheeling
With clang of wings and scream, the Eagle sailed
Incessantly — sometimes on high concealing
Its lessening orbs, sometimes as if it failed,
Drooped through the air; and still it shrieked and wailed,
And casting back its eager head, with beak
And talon unremittingly assailed
The wreathèd Serpent, who did ever seek
Upon his enemy’s heart a mortal wound to wreak.
XI
What life, what power, was kindled and arose
Within the sphere of that appalling fray!
For, from the encounter of those wondrous foes,
A vapor like the sea’s suspended spray
Hung gathered; in the void air, far away,
Floated the shattered plumes; bright scales did leap,
Where’er the Eagle’s talons made their way,
Like sparks into the darkness; — as they sweep,
Blood stains the snowy foam of the tumultuous deep.
XII
Swift chances in that combat — many a check,
And many a change, a dark and wild turmoil!
Sometimes the Snake around his enemy’s neck
Locked in stiff rings his adamantine coil,
Until the Eagle, faint with pain and toil,
Remitted his strong flight, and near the sea
Languidly fluttered, hopeless so to foil
His adversary, who then reared on high
His red and burning crest, radiant with victory.
XIII
Then on the white edge of the bursting surge,
Where they had sunk together, would the Snake
Relax his suffocating grasp, and scourge
The wind with his wild writhings; for, to break
That chain of torment, the vast bird would shake
The strength of his unconquerable wings
As in despair, and with his sinewy neck
Dissolve in sudden shock those linkèd rings —
Then soar, as swift as smoke from a volcano springs.
XIV
Wile baffled wile, and strength encountered strength,
Thus long, but unprevailing. The event
Of that portentous fight appeared at length.
Until the lamp of day was almost spent
It had endured, when lifeless, stark and rent,
Hung high that mighty Serpent, and at last
Fell to the sea, while o’er the continent
With clang of wings and scream the Eagle passed,
Heavily borne away on the exhausted blast.
XV
And with it fled the tempest, so that ocean
And earth and sky shone through the atmosphere;
Only, ‘t was strange to see the red commotion
Of waves like mountains o’er the sinking sphere
Of sunset sweep, and their fierce roar to hear
Amid the calm; down the steep path I wound
To the sea-shore — the evening was most clear
And beautiful, and there the sea I found
Calm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound.
XVI
There was a Woman, beautiful as morning,
Sitting beneath the rocks upon the sand
Of the waste sea — fair as one flower adorning
An icy wilderness; each delicate hand
Lay crossed upon her bosom, and the band
Of her dark hair had fall’n, and so she sate
Looking upon the waves; on the bare strand
Upon the sea-mark a small boat did wait,
Fair as herself, like Love by Hope left desolate.
XVII
It seemed that this fair Shape had looked upon
That unimaginable fight, and now
That her sweet eyes were weary of the sun,
As brightly it illustrated her woe;
For in the tears, which silently to flow
Paused not, its lustre hung: she, watching aye
The foam-wreaths which the faint tide wove below
Upon the spangled sands, groaned heavily,
And after every groan looked up over the sea.
XVIII
And when she saw the wounded Serpent make
His path between the waves, her lips grew pale,
Parted and quivered; the tears ceased to break
From her immovable eyes; no voice of wail
Escaped her; but she rose, and on the gale
Loosening her star-bright robe and shadowy hair,
Poured forth her voice; the caverns of the vale
That opened to the ocean, caught it there,
And filled with silver sounds the overflowing air.
XIX
She spake in language whose strange melody
Might not belong to earth. I heard alone
What made its music more melodious be,
The pity and the love of every tone;
But to the Snake those accents sweet were known
His native tongue and hers; nor did he beat
The hoar spray idly then, but winding on
Through the green shadows of the waves that meet
Near to the shore, did pause beside her snowy feet.
XX
Then on the sands the Woman sate again,
And wept and clasped her hands, and, all between,
Renewed the unintelligible strain
Of her melodious voice and eloquent mien;
And she unveiled her bosom, and the green
And glancing shadows of the sea did play
O’er its marmoreal depth — one moment seen,
For ere the next, the Serpent did obey
Her voice, and, coiled in rest, in her embrace it lay.
XXI
Then she arose, and smiled on me with eyes
Serene yet sorrowing, like that planet fair,
While yet the daylight lingereth in the skies,
Which cleaves with arrowy beams the dark-red air,
And said: ‘To grieve is wise, but the despair
Was weak and vain which led thee here from sleep.
This shalt thou know, and more, if thou dost dare
With me and with this Serpent, o’er the deep,
A voyage divine and strange, companionship to keep.’
XXII
Her voice was like the wildest, saddest tone,
Yet sweet, of some loved voice heard long ago.
I wept. Shall this fair woman all alone
Over the sea with that fierce Serpent go?
His head is on her heart, and who can know
How soon he may devour his feeble prey? —
Such were my thoughts, when the tide ‘gan to flow;
And that strange boat like the moon’s shade did sway
Amid reflected stars that in the waters lay.
XXIII
A boat of rare device, which had no sail
But its own curvèd prow of thin moonstone,
Wrought like a web of texture fine and frail,
To catch those gentlest winds which are not known
To breathe, but by the steady speed alone
With which it cleaves the sparkling sea; and now
We are embarked — the mountains hang and frown
Over the starry deep that gleams below
A vast and dim expanse, as o’er the waves we go.
XXIV
And as we sailed, a strange and awful tale
That Woman told, like such mysterious dream
As makes the slumberer’s cheek with wonder pale!
‘T was midnight, and around, a shoreless stream,
Wide ocean rolled, when that majestic theme
Shrined in her heart found utterance, and she bent
Her looks on mine; those eyes a kindling beam
Of love divine into my spirit sent,
And, ere her lips could move, made the air eloquent.
XXV
‘Speak not to me, but hear! much shalt thou learn,
Much must remain unthought, and more untold,
In the dark Future’s ever-flowing urn.
Know then that from the depth of ages old
Two Powers o’er mortal things dominion hold,
Ruling the world with a divided lot,
Immortal, all-pervading, manifold,
Twin Genii, equal Gods — when life and thought
Sprang forth, they burst the womb of inessential Nought.
XXVI
‘The earliest dweller of the world alone
Stood on the verge of chaos. Lo! afar
O’er the wide wild abyss two meteors shone,
Sprung from the depth of its tempestuous jar —
A blood-red Comet and the Morning Star
Mingling their beams in combat. As he stood
All thoughts within his mind waged mutual war
In dreadful sympathy — when to the flood
That fair Star fell, he turned and shed his brother’s blood.
XXVII
‘Thus Evil triumphed, and the Spirit of Evil,
One Power of many shapes which none may know,
One Shape of many names; the Fiend did revel
In victory, reigning o’er a world of woe,
For the new race of man went to and fro,
Famished and homeless, loathed and loathing, wild,
And hating good — for his immortal foe,
He changed from starry shape, beauteous and mild,
To a dire Snake, with man and beast unreconciled.
XXVIII
‘The darkness lingering o’er the dawn of things
Was Evil’s breath and life; this made him strong
To soar aloft with overshadowing wings;
And the great Spirit of Good did creep among
The nations of mankind, and every tongue
Cursed and blasphemed him as he passed; for none
Knew good from evil, though their names were hung
In mockery o’er the fane where many a groan,
As King, and Lord, and God, the conquering Fiend did own.
XXIX
‘The Fiend, whose name was Legion: Death, Decay,
Earthquake and Blight, and Want, and Madness pale,
Wingèd and wan diseases, an array
Numerous as leaves that strew the autumnal gale;
Poison, a snake in flowers, beneath the veil
Of food and mirth, hiding his mortal head;
And, without whom all these might nought avail,
Fear, Hatred, Faith and Tyranny, who spread
Those subtle nets which snare the living and the dead.
XXX
‘His spirit is their power, and they his slaves
In air, and light, and thought, and language dwell;
And keep their state from palaces to graves,
In all resorts of men — invisible,
But when, in ebon mirror, Nightmare fell,
To tyrant or impostor bids them rise,
Black wingèd demon-forms — whom, from the hell,
His reign and dwelling beneath nether skies,
He loosens to their dark and blasting ministries.
XXXI
‘In the world’s youth his empire was as firm
As its foundations. Soon the Spirit of Good,
Though in the likeness of a loathsome worm,
Sprang from the billows of the formless flood,
Which shrank and fled; and with that Fiend of blood
Renewed the doubtful war. Thrones then first shook,
And earth’s immense and trampled multitude
In hope on their own powers began to look,
And Fear, the demon pale, his sanguine shrine forsook.
XXXII
‘Then Greece arose, and to its bards and sages,
In dream, the golden-pinioned Genii came,
Even where they slept amid the night of ages,
Steeping their hearts in the divinest flame
Which thy breath kindled, Power of holiest name!
And oft in cycles since, when darkness gave
New weapons to thy foe, their sunlike fame
Upon the combat shone — a light to save,
Like Paradise spread forth beyond the shadowy grave.
XXXIII
‘Such is this conflict — when mankind doth strive
With its oppressors in a strife of blood,
Or when free thoughts, like lightnings, are alive,
And in each bosom of the multitude
Justice and truth with custom’s hydra brood
Wage silent war; when priests and kings dissemble
In smiles or frowns their fierce disquietude,
When round pure hearts a host of hopes assemble,
The Snake and Eagle meet — the world’s foundations tremble!
XXXIV
‘Thou hast beheld that fight — when to thy home
Thou dost return, steep not its hearth in tears;
Though thou mayst hear that earth is now become
The tyrant’s garbage, which to his compeers,
The vile reward of their dishonored years,
He will dividing give. The victor Fiend
Omnipotent of yore, now quails, and fears
His triumph dearly won, which soon will lend
An impulse swift and sure to his approaching end.
XXXV
‘List, stranger, list! mine is an human form
Like that thou wearest — touch me — shrink not now!
My hand thou feel’st is not a ghost’s, but warm
With human blood. ‘T was many years ago,
S
ince first my thirsting soul aspired to know
The secrets of this wondrous world, when deep
My heart was pierced with sympathy for woe
Which could not be mine own, and thought did keep
In dream unnatural watch beside an infant’s sleep.
XXXVI
‘Woe could not be mine own, since far from men
I dwelt, a free and happy orphan child,
By the sea-shore, in a deep mountain glen;
And near the waves and through the forests wild
I roamed, to storm and darkness reconciled;
For I was calm while tempest shook the sky,
But when the breathless heavens in beauty smiled,
I wept sweet tears, yet too tumultuously
For peace, and clasped my hands aloft in ecstasy.
XXXVII
‘These were forebodings of my fate. Before
A woman’s heart beat in my virgin breast,
It had been nurtured in divinest lore;
A dying poet gave me books, and blessed
With wild but holy talk the sweet unrest
In which I watched him as he died away;
A youth with hoary hair, a fleeting guest
Of our lone mountains; and this lore did sway
My spirit like a storm, contending there alway.
XXXVIII
‘Thus the dark tale which history doth unfold
I knew, but not, methinks, as others know,
For they weep not; and Wisdom had unrolled
The clouds which hide the gulf of mortal woe;
To few can she that warning vision show;
For I loved all things with intense devotion,
So that when Hope’s deep source in fullest flow,
Like earthquake did uplift the stagnant ocean
Of human thoughts, mine shook beneath the wide emotion.
XXXIX
‘When first the living blood through all these veins
Kindled a thought in sense, great France sprang forth,
And seized, as if to break, the ponderous chains
Which bind in woe the nations of the earth.
I saw, and started from my cottage hearth;
And to the clouds and waves in tameless gladness
Shrieked, till they caught immeasurable mirth,
And laughed in light and music: soon sweet madness
Was poured upon my heart, a soft and thrilling sadness.
XL
‘Deep slumber fell on me: — my dreams were fire,
Soft and delightful thoughts did rest and hover
Like shadows o’er my brain; and strange desire,
The tempest of a passion, raging over
My tranquil soul, its depths with light did cover,
Which passed; and calm, and darkness, sweeter far,
Came — then I loved; but not a human lover!
For when I rose from sleep, the Morning Star
Shone through the woodbine wreaths which round my casement were.
Percy Bysshe Shelley - Delphi Poets Series Page 48