Books, Poems

Written at Stonehenge by Thomas Wharton.

"Thou noblest monument [Historic Stonehenge] of Albion's isle!

Whether by Merlin's aid from Scythia's shore

To Amber's fatal plain Pendragon bore,

Huge frame of giant hands, the mighty pile,

To entomb his Britain's slain by Hengist's guile;

Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore,

Taught 'mid thy massy maze their mystic lore;

Or Danish chiefs, enriched with savage spoil,

To victory's idle vast, an unhewn shrine,

Reared the rude heap; or in thy hallowed round

Repose the kings of Brutus' genuine line;

Or here those kings in solemn state were crowned

Studious to trace thy wondrous origin,

We muse on many an ancient tale renowned."

The Seven Wonders of the World by Philip Sidney (age 25).

I.

Near Wilton sweet, huge heaps of stones are found,

But so confused, that neither any eye

Can count them just, nor Reason reason try,

What force brought them to so unlikely ground.

To stranger weights my mind's waste soil is bound,

Of passion-hills, reaching to Reason's sky,

From Fancy's earth, passing all number's bound,

Passing all guess, whence into me should fly

So mazed a mass; or, if in me it grows,

A simple soul should breed so mixéd woes.

II.

The Bruertons have a lake, which, when the sun

Approaching warms, not else, dead logs up sends

From hideous depth; which tribute, when it ends,

Sore sign it is the lord's last thread is spun.

My lake is Sense, whose still streams never run

But when my sun her shining twins there bends;

Then from his depth with force in her begun,

Long drownéd hopes to watery eyes it lends;

But when that fails my dead hopes up to take,

Their master is fair warned his will to make.

III.

We have a fish, by strangers much admired,

Which caught, to cruel search yields his chief part:

With gall cut out, closed up again by art,

Yet lives until his life be new required.

A stranger fish myself, not yet expired,

Tho', rapt with Beauty's hook, I did impart

Myself unto th' anatomy desired,

Instead of gall, leaving to her my heart:

Yet live with thoughts closed up, 'till that she will,

By conquest's right, instead of searching, kill.

IV.

Peak hath a cave [Map], whose narrow entries find

Large rooms within where drops distil amain:

Till knit with cold, though there unknown remain,

Deck that poor place with alabaster lined.

Mine eyes the strait, the roomy cave, my mind;

Whose cloudy thoughts let fall an inward rain

Of sorrow's drops, till colder reason bind

Their running fall into a constant vein

Of truth, far more than alabaster pure,

Which, though despised, yet still doth truth endure.

V.

A field there is, where, if a stake oe prest

Deep in the earth, what hath in earth receipt,

Is changed to stone in hardness, cold, and weight,

The wood above doth soon consuming rest.

The earth her ears; the stake is my request;

Of which, how much may pierce to that sweet seat,

To honour turned, doth dwell in honour's nest,

Keeping that form, though void of wonted heat;

But all the rest, which fear durst not apply,

Failing themselves, with withered conscience die.

VI.

Of ships by shipwreck cast on Albion's coast,

Which rotting on the rocks, their death to die:

From wooden bones and blood of pitch doth fly

A bird, which gets more life than ship had lost.

My ship, Desire, with wind of Lust long tost,

Brake on fair cliffs of constant Chastity;

Where plagued for rash attempt, gives up his ghost;

So deep in seas of virtue, beauties lie:

But of this death flies up the purest love,

Which seeming less, yet nobler life doth move.

VII.

These wonders England breeds; the last remains—

A lady, in despite of Nature, chaste,

On whom all love, in whom no love is placed,

Where Fairness yields to Wisdom's shortest reins.

A humble pride, a scorn that favour stains;

A woman's mould, but like an angel graced;

An angel's mind, but in a woman cased;

A heaven on earth, or earth that heaven contains:

Now thus this wonder to myself I frame;

She is the cause that all the rest I am.

THOU blind man's mark; thou fool's self-chosen snare,

Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought:

Band of all evils; cradle of causeless care;

Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought:

Desire! Desire! I have too dearly bought,

With price of mangled mind, thy worthless ware;

oo long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought

Who shouldst my mind to higher things prepare;

But yet in vain thou hast my ruin sought;

In vain thou mad'st me to vain things aspire;

In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire:

For Virtue hath this better lesson taught,

Within myself to seek my only hire,

Desiring nought but how to kill Desire.

TO SIR ROGER GRESLEY (age 21), Bart. On His Marriage With Lady SOPHIA COVENTRY, Youngest Daughter Of The EARL OF COVENTRY (age 63).

JUNE 2, 1821

IF mortals bliss can gain below,

Thou, GRESLEY, must the blessing know;

Nature at first to thee was kind,

She gave a shrewd and pregnant mind,

By taste and learning since refin'd.

Fortune, not less her pow'r to shew,

Has deign'd her favours to bestow;

Of riches an abundant store,

And, what thou now wilt value more,

To heighten ev'ry charm of life,

A nobler treasure in a wife,

Surpassing all in Plutus' pow'r,

Were e'en Peru his added dow'r;

A wife in manners, form, and mind,

The proudest would rejoice to find,

Possessing ev'ry gentler grace

That best adorns the female race.

Oh! still may Fortune prove thy friend,

And bliss on all thy course attend,

Till Nature, in a late decay,

Shall softly steal your lives away,

And angels then be hov'ring near

To waft ye to a happier sphere.

Sestina of the Lady Pietra degli Scrovigni is a poem by Dante Alighieri translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

To the dim light and the large circle of shade

I have clomb, and to the whitening of the hills,

There where we see no color in the grass.

Natheless my longing loses not its green,

It has so taken root in the hard stone

Which talks and hears as though it were a lady.

Utterly frozen is this youthful lady,

Even as the snow that lies within the shade;

For she is no more moved than is the stone

By the sweet season which makes warm the hills

And alters them afresh from white to green

Covering their sides again with flowers and grass.

When on her hair she sets a crown of grass

The thought has no more room for other lady,

Because she weaves the yellow with the green

So well that Love sits down there in the shade,-

Love who has shut me in among low hills

Faster than between walls of granite-stone.

She is more bright than is a precious stone;

The wound she gives may not be healed with grass:

I therefore have fled far o'er plains and hills

For refuge from so dangerous a lady;

But from her sunshine nothing can give shade,-

Not any hill, nor wall, nor summer-green.

A while ago, I saw her dressed in green,-

So fair, she might have wakened in a stone

This love which I do feel even for her shade;

And therefore, as one woos a graceful lady,

I wooed her in a field that was all grass

Girdled about with very lofty hills.

Yet shall the streams turn back and climb the hills

Before Love's flame in this damp wood and green

Burn, as it burns within a youthful lady,

For my sake, who would sleep away in stone

My life, or feed like beasts upon the grass,

Only to see her garments cast a shade.

How dark soe'er the hills throw out their shade,

Under her summer green the beautiful lady

Covers it, like a stone cover'd in grass.

Asleep or waking is it? for her neck,

Kissed over close, wears yet a purple speck

Wherein the pained blood falters and goes out;

Soft, and stung softly - fairer for a fleck.

But though my lips shut sucking on the place,

There is no vein at work upon her face;

Her eyelids are so peaceable, no doubt

Deep sleep has warmed her blood through all its ways.

Lo, this is she that was the world's delight;

The old grey years were parcels of her might;

The strewings of the ways wherein she trod

Were the twain seasons of the day and night.

Lo, she was thus when her clear limbs enticed

All lips that now grow sad with kissing Christ,

Stained with blood fallen from the feet of God,

The feet and hands whereat our souls were priced.

Alas, Lord, surely thou art great and fair.

But lo her wonderfully woven hair!

And thou didst heal us with thy piteous kiss;

But see now, Lord; her mouth is lovelier.

She is right fair; what hath she done to thee?

Nay, fair Lord Christ, lift up thine eyes and see;

Had now thy mother such a lip - like this?

Thou knowest how sweet a thing it is to me.

Inside the Horsel here the air is hot;

Right little peace one hath for it, God wot;

The scented dusty daylight burns the air,

And my heart chokes me till I hear it not.

Behold, my Venus, my soul's body, lies

With my love laid upon her garment-wise,

Feeling my love in all her limbs and hair

And shed between her eyelids through her eyes.

She holds my heart in her sweet open hands

Hanging asleep; hard by her head there stands,

Crowned with gilt thorns and clothed with flesh like fire,

Love, wan as foam blown up the salt burnt sands -

Hot as the brackish waifs of yellow spume

That shift and steam - loose clots of arid fume

From the sea's panting mouth of dry desire;

There stands he, like one labouring at a loom.

The warp holds fast across; and every thread

That makes the woof up has dry specks of red;

Always the shuttle cleaves clean through, and he

Weaves with the hair of many a ruined head.

Love is not glad nor sorry, as I deem;

Labouring he dreams, and labours in the dream,

Till when the spool is finished, lo I see

His web, reeled off, curls and goes out like steam.

Night falls like fire; the heavy lights run low,

And as they drop, my blood and body so

Shake as the flame shakes, full of days and hours

That sleep not neither weep they as they go.

Ah yet would God this flesh of mine might be

Where air might wash and long leaves cover me,

Where tides of grass break into foam of flowers,

Or where the wind's feet shine along the sea.

Ah yet would God that stems and roots were bred

Out of my weary body and my head,

That sleep were sealed upon me with a seal,

And I were as the least of all his dead.

Would God my blood were dew to feed the grass,

Mine ears made deaf and mine eyes blind as glass,

My body broken as a turning wheel,

And my mouth stricken ere it saith Alas!

Ah God, that love were as a flower or flame,

That life were as the naming of a name,

That death were not more pitiful than desire,

That these things were not one thing and the same!

Behold now, surely somewhere there is death:

For each man hath some space of years, he saith,

A little space of time ere time expire,

A little day, a little way of breath.

And lo, between the sundawn and the sun,

His day's work and his night's work are undone;

And lo, between the nightfall and the light,

He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.

Ah God, that I were as all souls that be,

As any herb or leaf of any tree,

As men that toil through hours of labouring night,

As bones of men under the deep sharp sea.

Outside it must be winter among men;

For at the gold bars of the gates again

I heard all night and all the hours of it

The wind's wet wings and fingers drip with rain.

Knights gather, riding sharp for cold; I know

The ways and woods are strangled with the snow;

And with short song the maidens spin and sit

Until Christ's birthnight, lily-like, arow.

The scent and shadow shed about me make

The very soul in all my senses ache;

The hot hard night is fed upon my breath,

And sleep beholds me from afar awake.

Alas, but surely where the hills grow deep,

Or where the wild ways of the sea are steep,

Or in strange places somewhere there is death,

And on death's face the scattered hair of sleep.

There lover-like with lips and limbs that meet

They lie, they pluck sweet fruit of life and eat;

But me the hot and hungry days devour,

And in my mouth no fruit of theirs is sweet.

No fruit of theirs, but fruit of my desire,

For her love's sake whose lips through mine respire;

Her eyelids on her eyes like flower on flower,

Mine eyelids on mine eyes like fire on fire.

So lie we, not as sleep that lies by death,

With heavy kisses and with happy breath;

Not as man lies by woman, when the bride

Laughs low for love's sake and the words he saith.

For she lies, laughing low with love; she lies

And turns his kisses on her lips to sighs,

To sighing sound of lips unsatisfied,

And the sweet tears are tender with her eyes.

Ah, not as they, but as the souls that were

Slain in the old time, having found her fair;

Who, sleeping with her lips upon their eyes,

Heard sudden serpents hiss across her hair.

Their blood runs round the roots of time like rain:

She casts them forth and gathers them again;

With nerve and bone she weaves and multiplies

Exceeding pleasure out of extreme pain.

Her little chambers drip with flower-like red,

Her girdles, and the chaplets of her head,

Her armlets and her anklets; with her feet

She tramples all that winepress of the dead.

Her gateways smoke with fume of flowers and fires,

With loves burnt out and unassuaged desires;

Between her lips the steam of them is sweet,

The languor in her ears of many lyres.

Her beds are full of perfume and sad sound,

Her doors are made with music, and barred round

With sighing and with laughter and with tears,

With tears whereby strong souls of men are bound.

There is the knight Adonis that was slain;

With flesh and blood she chains him for a chain;

The body and the spirit in her ears

Cry, for her lips divide him vein by vein.

Yea, all she slayeth; yea, every man save me;

Me, love, thy lover that must cleave to thee

Till the ending of the days and ways of earth,

The shaking of the sources of the sea.

Me, most forsaken of all souls that fell;

Me, satiated with things insatiable;

Me, for whose sake the extreme hell makes mirth,

Yea, laughter kindles at the heart of hell.

Alas thy beauty! for thy mouth's sweet sake

My soul is bitter to me, my limbs quake

As water, as the flesh of men that weep,

As their heart's vein whose heart goes nigh to break.

Ah God, that sleep with flower-sweet finger-tips

Would crush the fruit of death upon my lips;

Ah God, that death would tread the grapes of sleep

And wring their juice upon me as it drips.

There is no change of cheer for many days,

But change of chimes high up in the air, that sways

Rung by the running fingers of the wind;

And singing sorrows heard on hidden ways.

Day smiteth day in twain, night sundereth night,

And on mine eyes the dark sits as the light;

Yea, Lord, thou knowest I know not, having sinned,

If heaven be clean or unclean in thy sight.

Yea, as if earth were sprinkled over me,

Such chafed harsh earth as chokes a sandy sea,

Each pore doth yearn, and the dried blood thereof

Gasps by sick fits, my heart swims heavily,

There is a feverish famine in my veins;

Below her bosom, where a crushed grape stains

The white and blue, there my lips caught and clove

An hour since, and what mark of me remains?

I dare not always touch her, lest the kiss

Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss,

Brief bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin;

Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.

Sin, is it sin whereby men's souls are thrust

Into the pit? yet had I a good trust

To save my soul before it slipped therein,

Trod under by the fire-shod feet of lust.

For if mine eyes fail and my soul takes breath,

I look between the iron sides of death

Into sad hell where all sweet love hath end,

All but the pain that never finisheth.

There are the naked faces of great kings,

The singing folk with all their lute-playings;

There when one cometh he shall have to friend

The grave that covets and the worm that clings.

There sit the knights that were so great of hand,

The ladies that were queens of fair green land,

Grown grey and black now, brought unto the dust,

Soiled, without raiment, clad about with sand.

There is one end for all of them; they sit

Naked and sad, they drink the dregs of it,

Trodden as grapes in the wine-press of lust,

Trampled and trodden by the fiery feet.

I see the marvellous mouth whereby there fell

Cities and people whom the gods loved well,

Yet for her sake on them the fire gat hold,

And for their sakes on her the fire of hell.

And softer than the Egyptian lote-leaf is,

The queen whose face was worth the world to kiss,

Wearing at breast a suckling snake of gold;

And large pale lips of strong Semiramis,

Curled like a tiger's that curl back to feed;

Red only where the last kiss made them bleed;

Her hair most thick with many a carven gem,

Deep in the mane, great-chested, like a steed.

Yea, with red sin the faces of them shine;

But in all these there was no sin like mine;

No, not in all the strange great sins of them

That made the wine-press froth and foam with wine.

For I was of Christ's choosing, I God's knight,

No blinkard heathen stumbling for scant light;

I can well see, for all the dusty days

Gone past, the clean great time of goodly fight.

I smell the breathing battle sharp with blows,

With shriek of shafts and snapping short of bows;

The fair pure sword smites out in subtle ways,

Sounds and long lights are shed between the rows

Of beautiful mailed men; the edged light slips,

Most like a snake that takes short breath and dips

Sharp from the beautifully bending head,

With all its gracious body lithe as lips

That curl in touching you; right in this wise

My sword doth, seeming fire in mine own eyes,

Leaving all colours in them brown and red

And flecked with death; then the keen breaths like sighs,

The caught-up choked dry laughters following them,

When all the fighting face is grown a flame

For pleasure, and the pulse that stuns the ears,

And the heart's gladness of the goodly game.

Let me think yet a little; I do know

These things were sweet, but sweet such years ago,

Their savour is all turned now into tears;

Yea, ten years since, where the blue ripples blow,

The blue curled eddies of the blowing Rhine,

I felt the sharp wind shaking grass and vine

Touch my blood too, and sting me with delight

Through all this waste and weary body of mine

That never feels clear air; right gladly then

I rode alone, a great way off my men,

And heard the chiming bridle smite and smite,

And gave each rhyme thereof some rhyme again,

Till my song shifted to that iron one;

Seeing there rode up between me and the sun

Some certain of my foe's men, for his three

White wolves across their painted coats did run.

The first red-bearded, with square cheeks - alack,

I made my knave's blood turn his beard to black;

The slaying of him was a joy to see:

Perchance too, when at night he came not back,

Some woman fell a-weeping, whom this thief

Would beat when he had drunken; yet small grief

Hath any for the ridding of such knaves;

Yea, if one wept, I doubt her teen was brief.

This bitter love is sorrow in all lands,

Draining of eyelids, wringing of drenched hands,

Sighing of hearts and filling up of graves;

A sign across the head of the world he stands,

An one that hath a plague-mark on his brows;

Dust and spilt blood do track him to his house

Down under earth; sweet smells of lip and cheek,

Like a sweet snake's breath made more poisonous

With chewing of some perfumed deadly grass,

Are shed all round his passage if he pass,

And their quenched savour leaves the whole soul weak,

Sick with keen guessing whence the perfume was.

As one who hidden in deep sedge and reeds

Smells the rare scent made where a panther feeds,

And tracking ever slotwise the warm smell

Is snapped upon by the sweet mouth and bleeds,

His head far down the hot sweet throat of her -

So one tracks love, whose breath is deadlier,

And lo, one springe and you are fast in hell,

Fast as the gin's grip of a wayfarer.

I think now, as the heavy hours decease

One after one, and bitter thoughts increase

One upon one, of all sweet finished things;

The breaking of the battle; the long peace

Wherein we sat clothed softly, each man's hair

Crowned with green leaves beneath white hoods of vair;

The sounds of sharp spears at great tourneyings,

And noise of singing in the late sweet air.

I sang of love too, knowing nought thereof;

"Sweeter," I said, "the little laugh of love

Than tears out of the eyes of Magdalen,

Or any fallen feather of the Dove.

"The broken little laugh that spoils a kiss,

The ache of purple pulses, and the bliss

Of blinded eyelids that expand again -

Love draws them open with those lips of his,

"Lips that cling hard till the kissed face has grown

Of one same fire and colour with their own;

Then ere one sleep, appeased with sacrifice,

Where his lips wounded, there his lips atone."

I sang these things long since and knew them not;

"Lo, here is love, or there is love, God wot,

This man and that finds favour in his eyes,"

I said, "but I, what guerdon have I got?

"The dust of praise that is blown everywhere

In all men's faces with the common air;

The bay-leaf that wants chafing to be sweet

Before they wind it in a singer's hair."

So that one dawn I rode forth sorrowing;

I had no hope but of some evil thing,

And so rode slowly past the windy wheat

And past the vineyard and the water-spring,

Up to the Horsel. A great elder-tree

Held back its heaps of flowers to let me see

The ripe tall grass, and one that walked therein,

Naked, with hair shed over to the knee.

She walked between the blossom and the grass;

I knew the beauty of her, what she was,

The beauty of her body and her sin,

And in my flesh the sin of hers, alas!

Alas! for sorrow is all the end of this.

O sad kissed mouth, how sorrowful it is!

O breast whereat some suckling sorrow clings,

Red with the bitter blossom of a kiss!

Ah, with blind lips I felt for you, and found

About my neck your hands and hair enwound,

The hands that stifle and the hair that stings,

I felt them fasten sharply without sound.

Yea, for my sin I had great store of bliss:

Rise up, make answer for me, let thy kiss

Seal my lips hard from speaking of my sin,

Lest one go mad to hear how sweet it is.

Yet I waxed faint with fume of barren bowers,

And murmuring of the heavy-headed hours;

And let the dove's beak fret and peck within

My lips in vain, and Love shed fruitless flowers.

So that God looked upon me when your hands

Were hot about me; yea, God brake my bands

To save my soul alive, and I came forth

Like a man blind and naked in strange lands

That hears men laugh and weep, and knows not whence

Nor wherefore, but is broken in his sense;

Howbeit I met folk riding from the north

Towards Rome, to purge them of their souls' offence,

And rode with them, and spake to none; the day

Stunned me like lights upon some wizard way,

And ate like fire mine eyes and mine eyesight;

So rode I, hearing all these chant and pray,

And marvelled; till before us rose and fell

White cursed hills, like outer skirts of hell

Seen where men's eyes look through the day to night,

Like a jagged shell's lips, harsh, untunable,

Blown in between by devils' wrangling breath;

Nathless we won well past that hell and death,

Down to the sweet land where all airs are good,

Even unto Rome where God's grace tarrieth.

Then came each man and worshipped at his knees

Who in the Lord God's likeness bears the keys

To bind or loose, and called on Christ's shed blood,

And so the sweet-souled father gave him ease.

But when I came I fell down at his feet,

Saying, "Father, though the Lord's blood be right sweet,

The spot it takes not off the panther's skin,

Nor shall an Ethiop's stain be bleached with it.

"Lo, I have sinned and have spat out at God,

Wherefore his hand is heavier and his rod

More sharp because of mine exceeding sin,

And all his raiment redder than bright blood

"Before mine eyes; yea, for my sake I wot

The heat of hell is waxen seven times hot

Through my great sin." Then spake he some sweet word,

Giving me cheer; which thing availed me not;

Yea, scarce I wist if such indeed were said;

For when I ceased - lo, as one newly dead

Who hears a great cry out of hell, I heard

The crying of his voice across my head.

"Until this dry shred staff, that hath no whit

Of leaf nor bark, bear blossom and smell sweet,

Seek thou not any mercy in God's sight,

For so long shalt thou be cast out from it."

Yea, what if dried-up stems wax red and green,

Shall that thing be which is not nor has been?

Yea, what if sapless bark wax green and white,

Shall any good fruit grow upon my sin?

Nay, though sweet fruit were plucked of a dry tree,

And though men drew sweet waters of the sea,

There should not grow sweet leaves on this dead stem,

This waste wan body and shaken soul of me.

Yea, though God search it warily enough,

There is not one sound thing in all thereof;

Though he search all my veins through, searching them

He shall find nothing whole therein but love.

For I came home right heavy, with small cheer,

And lo my love, mine own soul's heart, more dear

Than mine own soul, more beautiful than God,

Who hath my being between the hands of her -

Fair still, but fair for no man saving me,

As when she came out of the naked sea

Making the foam as fire whereon she trod,

And as the inner flower of fire was she.

Yea, she laid hold upon me, and her mouth

Clove unto mine as soul to body doth,

And, laughing, made her lips luxurious;

Her hair had smells of all the sunburnt south,

Strange spice and flower, strange savour of crushed fruit,

And perfume the swart kings tread underfoot

For pleasure when their minds wax amorous,

Charred frankincense and grated sandal-root.

And I forgot fear and all weary things,

All ended prayers and perished thanksgivings,

Feeling her face with all her eager hair

Cleave to me, clinging as a fire that clings

To the body and to the raiment, burning them;

As after death I know that such-like flame

Shall cleave to me for ever; yea, what care,

Albeit I burn then, having felt the same?

Ah love, there is no better life than this;

To have known love, how bitter a thing it is,

And afterward be cast out of God's sight;

Yea, these that know not, shall they have such bliss

High up in barren heaven before his face

As we twain in the heavy-hearted place,

Remembering love and all the dead delight,

And all that time was sweet with for a space?

For till the thunder in the trumpet be,

Soul may divide from body, but not we

One from another; I hold thee with my hand,

I let mine eyes have all their will of thee,

I seal myself upon thee with my might,

Abiding alway out of all men's sight

Until God loosen over sea and land

The thunder of the trumpets of the night.

The Monument Commonly Called Long Meg and Her Daughters [Map], Near The River Eden

A weight of awe, not easy to be borne,

Fell suddenly upon my Spirit cast

From the dread bosom of the unknown past,

When first I saw that family forlorn.

Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn

The power of years pre-eminent, and placed

Apart, to overlook the circle vast

Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn

While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night;

Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;

At whose behest uprose on British ground

That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round

Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite

The inviolable God, that tames the proud!

Tranquility! the sovereign aim wert thou

In heathen schools of philosophic lore;

Heart-stricken by stern destiny of yore

The Tragic Muse thee served with thoughtful vow;

And what of hope Elysium could allow

Was fondly seized by Sculpture, to restore

Peace to the Mourner. But when He who wore

The crown of thorns around his bleeding brow

Warmed our sad being with celestial light,

'Then' Arts which still had drawn a softening grace

From shadowy fountains of the Infinite,

Communed with that Idea face to face:

And move around it now as planets run,

Each in its orbit round the central Sun.

In Apr 1821 Percy Bysshe Shelley (age 28) composed his elegy to John Keats. The poem is a 495 line pastoral elegy in 55 Spenserian stanzas.

I

I weep for Adonais-he is dead!

Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears

Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years

To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,

And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me

Died Adonais; till the Future dares

Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be

An echo and a light unto eternity!"

II

Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay,

When thy Son lay, pierc'd by the shaft which flies

In darkness? where was lorn Urania

When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,

'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise

She sate, while one, with soft enamour'd breath,

Rekindled all the fading melodies,

With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath,

He had adorn'd and hid the coming bulk of Death.

III

Oh, weep for Adonais-he is dead!

Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!

Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed

Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep

Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;

For he is gone, where all things wise and fair

Descend-oh, dream not that the amorous Deep

Will yet restore him to the vital air;

Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

IV

Most musical of mourners, weep again!

Lament anew, Urania! He died,

Who was the Sire of an immortal strain,

Blind, old and lonely, when his country's pride,

The priest, the slave and the liberticide,

Trampled and mock'd with many a loathed rite

Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified,

Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite

Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light.

V

Most musical of mourners, weep anew!

Not all to that bright station dar'd to climb;

And happier they their happiness who knew,

Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time

In which suns perish'd; others more sublime,

Struck by the envious wrath of man or god,

Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;

And some yet live, treading the thorny road,

Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode.

VI

But now, thy youngest, dearest one, has perish'd,

The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew,

Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherish'd,

And fed with true-love tears, instead of dew;

Most musical of mourners, weep anew!

Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last,

The bloom, whose petals nipp'd before they blew

Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste;

The broken lily lies-the storm is overpast.

VII

To that high Capital, where kingly Death

Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,

He came; and bought, with price of purest breath,

A grave among the eternal.-Come away!

Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day

Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still

He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;

Awake him not! surely he takes his fill

Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

VIII

He will awake no more, oh, never more!

Within the twilight chamber spreads apace

The shadow of white Death, and at the door

Invisible Corruption waits to trace

His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place;

The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe

Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface

So fair a prey, till darkness and the law

Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

IX

Oh, weep for Adonais! The quick Dreams,

The passion-winged Ministers of thought,

Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams

Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught

The love which was its music, wander not-

Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain,

But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot

Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain,

They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.

X

And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head,

And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries,

"Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead;

See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes,

Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies

A tear some Dream has loosen'd from his brain."

Lost Angel of a ruin'd Paradise!

She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain

She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

XI

One from a lucid urn of starry dew

Wash'd his light limbs as if embalming them;

Another clipp'd her profuse locks, and threw

The wreath upon him, like an anadem,

Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem;

Another in her wilful grief would break

Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem

A greater loss with one which was more weak;

And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek.

XII

Another Splendour on his mouth alit,

That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath

Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit,

And pass into the panting heart beneath

With lightning and with music: the damp death

Quench'd its caress upon his icy lips;

And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath

Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips,

It flush'd through his pale limbs, and pass'd to its eclipse.

XIII

And others came . . Desires and Adorations,

Winged Persuasions and veil'd Destinies,

Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations

Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies;

And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs,

And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam

Of her own dying smile instead of eyes,

Came in slow pomp; the moving pomp might seem

Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.

XIV

All he had lov'd, and moulded into thought,

From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound,

Lamented Adonais. Morning sought

Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound,

Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground,

Dimm'd the aëreal eyes that kindle day;

Afar the melancholy thunder moan'd,

Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay,

And the wild Winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.

XV

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains,

And feeds her grief with his remember'd lay,

And will no more reply to winds or fountains,

Or amorous birds perch'd on the young green spray,

Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day;

Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear

Than those for whose disdain she pin'd away

Into a shadow of all sounds: a drear

Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.

XVI

Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down

Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were,

Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown,

For whom should she have wak'd the sullen year?

To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear

Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both

Thou, Adonais: wan they stand and sere

Amid the faint companions of their youth,

With dew all turn'd to tears; odour, to sighing ruth.

XVII

Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale

Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain;

Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale

Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain

Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain,

Soaring and screaming round her empty nest,

As Albion wails for thee: the curse of Cain

Light on his head who pierc'd thy innocent breast,

And scar'd the angel soul that was its earthly guest!

XVIII

Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone,

But grief returns with the revolving year;

The airs and streams renew their joyous tone;

The ants, the bees, the swallows reappear;

Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons' bier;

The amorous birds now pair in every brake,

And build their mossy homes in field and brere;

And the green lizard, and the golden snake,

Like unimprison'd flames, out of their trance awake.

XIX

Through wood and stream and field and hill and Ocean

A quickening life from the Earth's heart has burst

As it has ever done, with change and motion,

From the great morning of the world when first

God dawn'd on Chaos; in its stream immers'd,

The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light;

All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst;

Diffuse themselves; and spend in love's delight,

The beauty and the joy of their renewed might.

XX

The leprous corpse, touch'd by this spirit tender,

Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath;

Like incarnations of the stars, when splendour

Is chang'd to fragrance, they illumine death

And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath;

Nought we know, dies. Shall that alone which knows

Be as a sword consum'd before the sheath

By sightless lightning?-the intense atom glows

A moment, then is quench'd in a most cold repose.

XXI

Alas! that all we lov'd of him should be,

But for our grief, as if it had not been,

And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!

Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene

The actors or spectators? Great and mean

Meet mass'd in death, who lends what life must borrow.

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,

Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,

Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

XXII

He will awake no more, oh, never more!

"Wake thou," cried Misery, "childless Mother, rise

Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's core,

A wound more fierce than his, with tears and sighs."

And all the Dreams that watch'd Urania's eyes,

And all the Echoes whom their sister's song

Had held in holy silence, cried: "Arise!"

Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory stung,

From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendour sprung.

XXIII

She rose like an autumnal Night, that springs

Out of the East, and follows wild and drear

The golden Day, which, on eternal wings,

Even as a ghost abandoning a bier,

Had left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear

So struck, so rous'd, so rapt Urania;

So sadden'd round her like an atmosphere

Of stormy mist; so swept her on her way

Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay.

XXIV

Out of her secret Paradise she sped,

Through camps and cities rough with stone, and steel,

And human hearts, which to her aery tread

Yielding not, wounded the invisible

Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell:

And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they,

Rent the soft Form they never could repel,

Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of May,

Pav'd with eternal flowers that undeserving way.

XXV

In the death-chamber for a moment Death,

Sham'd by the presence of that living Might,

Blush'd to annihilation, and the breath

Revisited those lips, and Life's pale light

Flash'd through those limbs, so late her dear delight.

"Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless,

As silent lightning leaves the starless night!

Leave me not!" cried Urania: her distress

Rous'd Death: Death rose and smil'd, and met her vain caress.

XXVI

"Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again;

Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live;

And in my heartless breast and burning brain

That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive,

With food of saddest memory kept alive,

Now thou art dead, as if it were a part

Of thee, my Adonais! I would give

All that I am to be as thou now art!

But I am chain'd to Time, and cannot thence depart!

XXVII

"O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert,

Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men

Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart

Dare the unpastur'd dragon in his den?

Defenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then

Wisdom the mirror'd shield, or scorn the spear?

Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when

Thy spirit should have fill'd its crescent sphere,

The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer.

XXVIII

"The herded wolves, bold only to pursue;

The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead;

The vultures to the conqueror's banner true

Who feed where Desolation first has fed,

And whose wings rain contagion; how they fled,

When, like Apollo, from his golden bow

The Pythian of the age one arrow sped

And smil'd! The spoilers tempt no second blow,

They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low.

XXIX

"The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn;

He sets, and each ephemeral insect then

Is gather'd into death without a dawn,

And the immortal stars awake again;

So is it in the world of living men:

A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight

Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when

It sinks, the swarms that dimm'd or shar'd its light

Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night."

XXX

Thus ceas'd she: and the mountain shepherds came,

Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent;

The Pilgrim of Eternity (age 33), whose fame

Over his living head like Heaven is bent,

An early but enduring monument,

Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song

In sorrow; from her wilds Ierne sent

The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong,

And Love taught Grief to fall like music from his tongue.

XXXI

Midst others of less note, came one frail Form,

A phantom among men; companionless

As the last cloud of an expiring storm

Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess,

Had gaz'd on Nature's naked loveliness,

Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray

With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness,

And his own thoughts, along that rugged way,

Pursu'd, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.

XXXII

A pardlike Spirit beautiful and swift-

A Love in desolation mask'd-a Power

Girt round with weakness-it can scarce uplift

The weight of the superincumbent hour;

It is a dying lamp, a falling shower,

A breaking billow; even whilst we speak

Is it not broken? On the withering flower

The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek

The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break.

XXXIII

His head was bound with pansies overblown,

And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue;

And a light spear topp'd with a cypress cone,

Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew

Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew,

Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart

Shook the weak hand that grasp'd it; of that crew

He came the last, neglected and apart;

A herd-abandon'd deer struck by the hunter's dart.

XXXIV

All stood aloof, and at his partial moan

Smil'd through their tears; well knew that gentle band

Who in another's fate now wept his own,

As in the accents of an unknown land

He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scann'd

The Stranger's mien, and murmur'd: "Who art thou?"

He answer'd not, but with a sudden hand

Made bare his branded and ensanguin'd brow,

Which was like Cain's or Christ's-oh! that it should be so!

XXXV

What softer voice is hush'd over the dead?

Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown?

What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed,

In mockery of monumental stone,

The heavy heart heaving without a moan?

If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise,

Taught, sooth'd, lov'd, honour'd the departed one,

Let me not vex, with inharmonious sighs,

The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice.

XXXVI

Our Adonais has drunk poison-oh!

What deaf and viperous murderer could crown

Life's early cup with such a draught of woe?

The nameless worm would now itself disown:

It felt, yet could escape, the magic tone

Whose prelude held all envy, hate and wrong,

But what was howling in one breast alone,

Silent with expectation of the song,

Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung.

XXXVII

Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame!

Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me,

Thou noteless blot on a remember'd name!

But be thyself, and know thyself to be!

And ever at thy season be thou free

To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow;

Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee;

Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow,

And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt-as now.

XXXVIII

Nor let us weep that our delight is fled

Far from these carrion kites that scream below;

He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead;

Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now.

Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow

Back to the burning fountain whence it came,

A portion of the Eternal, which must glow

Through time and change, unquenchably the same,

Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.

XXXIX

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,

He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;

'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep

With phantoms an unprofitable strife,

And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife

Invulnerable nothings. We decay

Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief

Convulse us and consume us day by day,

And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

XL

He has outsoar'd the shadow of our night;

Envy and calumny and hate and pain,

And that unrest which men miscall delight,

Can touch him not and torture not again;

From the contagion of the world's slow stain

He is secure, and now can never mourn

A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain;

Nor, when the spirit's self has ceas'd to burn,

With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.

XLI

He lives, he wakes-'tis Death is dead, not he;

Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,

Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee

The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;

Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!

Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air,

Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown

O'er the abandon'd Earth, now leave it bare

Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!

XLII

He is made one with Nature: there is heard

His voice in all her music, from the moan

Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird;

He is a presence to be felt and known

In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,

Spreading itself where'er that Power may move

Which has withdrawn his being to its own;

Which wields the world with never-wearied love,

Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

XLIII

He is a portion of the loveliness

Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear

His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress

Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there

All new successions to the forms they wear;

Torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its flight

To its own likeness, as each mass may bear;

And bursting in its beauty and its might

From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light.

XLIV

The splendours of the firmament of time

May be eclips'd, but are extinguish'd not;

Like stars to their appointed height they climb,

And death is a low mist which cannot blot

The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought

Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair,

And love and life contend in it for what

Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there

And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.

XLV

The inheritors of unfulfill'd renown

Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought,

Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton

Rose pale, his solemn agony had not

Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought

And as he fell and as he liv'd and lov'd

Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot,

Arose; and Lucan, by his death approv'd:

Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reprov'd.

XLVI

And many more, whose names on Earth are dark,

But whose transmitted effluence cannot die

So long as fire outlives the parent spark,

Rose, rob'd in dazzling immortality.

"Thou art become as one of us," they cry,

"It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long

Swung blind in unascended majesty,

Silent alone amid a Heaven of Song.

Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!"

XLVII

Who mourns for Adonais? Oh, come forth,

Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright.

Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth;

As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light

Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might

Satiate the void circumference: then shrink

Even to a point within our day and night;

And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink

When hope has kindled hope, and lur'd thee to the brink.

XLVIII

Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre,

Oh, not of him, but of our joy: 'tis nought

That ages, empires and religions there

Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought;

For such as he can lend-they borrow not

Glory from those who made the world their prey;

And he is gather'd to the kings of thought

Who wag'd contention with their time's decay,

And of the past are all that cannot pass away.

XLIX

Go thou to Rome-at once the Paradise,

The grave, the city, and the wilderness;

And where its wrecks like shatter'd mountains rise,

And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress

The bones of Desolation's nakedness

Pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead

Thy footsteps to a slope of green access

Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead

A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread;

L

And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time

Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand;

And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime,

Pavilioning the dust of him who plann'd

This refuge for his memory, doth stand

Like flame transform'd to marble; and beneath,

A field is spread, on which a newer band

Have pitch'd in Heaven's smile their camp of death,

Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguish'd breath.

LI

Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet

To have outgrown the sorrow which consign'd

Its charge to each; and if the seal is set,

Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind,

Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find

Thine own well full, if thou returnest home,

Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind

Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb.

What Adonais is, why fear we to become?

LII

The One remains, the many change and pass;

Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly;

Life, like a dome of many-colour'd glass,

Stains the white radiance of Eternity,

Until Death tramples it to fragments.-Die,

If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek!

Follow where all is fled!-Rome's azure sky,

Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak

The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

LIII

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?

Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here

They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!

A light is pass'd from the revolving year,

And man, and woman; and what still is dear

Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.

The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near:

'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither,

No more let Life divide what Death can join together.

LIV

That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,

That Beauty in which all things work and move,

That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse

Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love

Which through the web of being blindly wove

By man and beast and earth and air and sea,

Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of

The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me,

Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

LV

The breath whose might I have invok'd in song

Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven,

Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng

Whose sails were never to the tempest given;

The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!

I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;

Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,

The soul of Adonais, like a star,

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

1 A fairer form than fiction ever feign'd;

2 A bloom surpassing far the opening rose;

3 Eyes where with softness animation reign'd;

4 A heart that sympathiz'd in others' woes:

5 Such was Cecilia - ere a father's pride

6 Clouded the noon-tide of a morn so bright;

7 Condemn'd each feeling nature sanctified,

8 And clos'd each beauty in eternal night.

9 The haughty Anselm, of his riches vain -

10 Vain of his ancestry and high estate -

11 View'd unassuming merit with disdain,

12 Or thought it only centred in the Great,

13 Each day, to win the young Cecilia's smiles,

14 The neighb'ring barons to his castle throng,

15 And boast their ancient sires, whose warlike toils

16 Still crown the historian's page, and poet's song.

17 But vain the boast of each contending peer -

18 Vainly to win Cecilia's smiles they try;

19 No voice but Albert's gains her pensive ear -

20 No form but Albert's charms her down-cast eye.

21 Oft she forsakes her father's splendid halls,

22 And hastes impatient to the waving shade;

23 Where Albert, while the tear of pity falls,

24 Unfolds his hopeless passion to the maid.

25 No sounding title favour'd Albert's claim;

26 Fortune to him her gifts did ne'er impart:

27 But kinder Nature gave the loveliest frame,

28 And gave (much more) the most unblemish'd heart.

29 What hours of happiness the lovers prov'd

30 While in soft converse pass'd the livelong day;

31 While each confess'd how ardently they lov'd,

32 And vow'd no time their passion should allay!

33 O Sensibility! how truly blest

34 Is the fond mind in thy sensations lost!

35 More dear the pang that rends the feeling breast,

36 Than all that calm, dull apathy can boast.

37 Long did Cecilia nurse the rising flame,

38 And Albert's tender vows in secret hear;

39 Nor yet had envy, or censorious fame,

40 Divulg'd the tale to Anselm's watchful ear.

41 When, as mild Evening o'er the varying sky

42 Dispers'd rich clouds of gold and purple hue;

43 And panting flocks along the meadows lie,

44 Cool'd by the freshness of the falling dew -

45 With cautious steps Cecilia sought the bower,

46 Whose shade encircled all her soul held dear;

47 While anxious Albert counts the tedious hour,

48 Now cheer'd by hope, and now deprest by fear:

49 But, when he saw his lov'd Cecilia nigh,

50 Each gloomy care forsook his boding breast;

51 And gay delight beam'd sparkling from his eye,

52 Blest in her presence, in her kindness blest.

53 The heart's emotions in each face appear;

54 The glow of transport brightens on each cheek -

55 The glance of joy, the sympathetic tear,

56 More than a thousand words, their passion speak.

57 The youth enraptur'd kneeling thank'd the maid;

58 Then both renew'd their vows of endless love:

59 Unhappy pair! your passion is betray'd -

60 Fatal to both those vows must shortly prove:

61 For, as it chanc'd, in that ill-fated hour

62 Near the green arbour Anselm musing pass'd;

63 Heard their discourse, and, entering in the bower,

64 The trembling lovers sunk confus'd, aghast!

65 "Degenerate girl!" the angry father cried,

66 "Who thus canst stoop to this ignoble choice;

67 "And dare to wound a Norman baron's pride,

68 "Unmov'd by Duty's ties, or Honour's voice!

69 "No more I own thee as my fortune's heir;

70 "Thy boasted charms to me no joys impart:

71 "For, shock'd by thy ingratitude, I tear

72 "Parental fondness from this injur'd heart.

73 "And thou, presuming youth! who durst aspire

74 "Proudly to join thy humble name with mine,

75 "Take the detested object you desire - -

76 "Thy lov'd Cecilia shall be ever thine,

77 "If to the summit of yon verdant hill,

78 "Whose lofty brow o'erlooks this ample plain,

79 "You bear the maid; nor rest a moment, till

80 "Ev'n to the top thy venturous steps attain. "

81 What mighty task will daring love refuse,

82 The object of its fond pursuits to gain?

83 Who in delusion's flattering mirror views

84 And grasps at shadows it can ne'er obtain.

85 The youth undaunted clasps the trembling fair,

86 Nor thinks the dangerous trial to decline:

87 "This happy hour," he cries, "ends all my care,

88 "And makes thee, dear Cecilia! ever mine. "

89 With eager haste he pass'd the level green,

90 And rapidly he climbs the steep ascent;

91 While numerous vassals throng'd to view the scene,

92 And prayers to Heaven for their deliverance sent.

93 Sadly prophetic of impending woe,

94 Cecilia's bosom heav'd with many a sigh;

95 And, while the tears of bitter anguish flow,

96 She fix'd on Albert an attentive eye.

97 "Alas!" she cried, and half suppress'd a tear,

98 "Yon fatal summit distant still I view."

99 "Chase, my Cecilia!" he replied, "each fear;

100 "Love shall his votary with new strength endue. "

101 But Albert now no longer can conceal

102 His vigour lost: he climbs the hill with pain;

103 His fainting limbs a death-like languor feel,

104 And scarce his arms their lovely load sustain.

105 "Speak, my Cecilia! tell me that you love;

106 "Your voice can energetic force impart:

107 "Smile, and your lover shall triumphant prove."

108 She forc'd a smile, and press'd him to her heart.

109 Mute the spectators stand with anxious fear:

110 When Albert falters every cheek turns pale;

111 And smiles of gladness on each face appear

112 When love still strives where human efforts fail.

113 At length their hearts with generous transports thrill,

114 Shouts of applause from every side arise:

115 Albert has gain'd the summit of the hill,

116 And breathless falls beneath his lovely prize.

117 Cecilia's circling arms around him thrown,

118 Her eyes behold him with exulting pride:

119 She cries, "My Albert, I am thine alone;

120 "No human force can now our fates divide. "

121 His clay-cold hand with fervency she press'd,

122 She gaz'd enamour'd on his faded cheek;

123 "Say, dost thou love like me, like me art blest?

124 "Confirm my happiness - O Albert, speak! "

125 At length, essay'd in vain each tender care

126 Her lover's slumbering senses to restore,

127 By disappointment pierc'd and chill despair,

128 She sunk, and cried - "My Albert is no more!"

129 The fatal accents reach'd the listening crowd,

130 Sorrowing the mournful tidings they relate;

131 "Albert is dead!" they weeping cry aloud -

132 "Albert, whose worth deserv'd a better fate.

133 "May curses light on that unfeeling heart

134 "Which could the blossom of thy youth destroy!

135 "No comfort may his boasted wealth impart,

136 "But keen repentance blast each rising joy! "

137 Such were the words that with discordant sound

138 Whisper'd remorse to Anselm's wounded ear:

139 He felt their force; he heav'd a sigh profound,

140 And pitying dropp'd too late a fruitless tear.

141 With hasty steps he seeks the fatal height,

142 Anxious his yet-lov'd daughter's life to save;

143 That injur'd daughter, once his sole delight,

144 Now by himself devoted to the grave.

145 Mean time, awaken'd by Cecilia's tears,

146 And the sad accent of her piercing cries,

147 His languid head the fainting Albert rears,

148 While Death's dim shadows darken o'er his eyes.

149 "'Tis past, Cecilia! soon approaching Death

150 "Shall steal thy form for ever from my view:

151 "Soon, soon shall I resign this mortal breath,

152 "And, dearer far than life, bid thee adieu.

153 "O grant thy dying Albert's last request:

154 "Be our sad fate engrav'd upon my stone;

155 "That, when the grave at length shall yield me rest,

156 "Our love may be to future ages known!

157 "And thou, dear source of all my grief and joy!

158 "Ne'er let my image from thy thought depart:

159 "When mouldering time shall this weak frame destroy,

160 "Still let me live in my Cecilia's heart! "

161 Faint the last accents falter'd on his tongue;

162 Heavy and dim his closing eyeballs roll;

163 Angels of death around his spirit hung,

164 And opening heaven receiv'd his parting soul.

165 Anselm just then, with pausing steps and slow,

166 Had climb'd the hill, and reach'd its airy brow;

167 Cold round his breast the rustling breezes blow,

168 While birds of night sing plaintive from each bough.

169 Imprest with secret horror, low he bends

170 O'er the sad spot where poor Cecilia lay;

171 Around her form his trembling arms extends,

172 With unknown pity fill'd and deep dismay.

173 He feels her hand has lost its vital heat;

174 He sees her balmy lips no more are red;

175 He finds her icy breast no longer beat;

176 His only child, his dear Cecilia's dead.

177 The wretched father rais'd his eyes to Heaven,

178 In which alone repenting sin can trust;

179 Bewail'd his error, pray'd to be forgiven,

180 And own'd in all his ways the Almighty just.

181 Like lilies cropt by an untimely storm,

182 Fair even in death the hapless lovers lay;

183 Love still appear'd to animate each form,

184 And o'er each visage shed a brightening ray.

185 To both one common tomb the father gave;

186 And, to preserve them in immortal fame,

187 He rais'd a chapel o'er the sacred grave,

188 Which still of the Two Lovers bears the name.

1 As 'mid romantic Vecta's paths I stray'd,

2 Where clear Medina rolls its silver wave,

3 Beneath a solitary willow's shade,

4 Whose pendent boughs the lucid waters lave,

5 A Child of Sorrow caught my wandering eye;

6 Loose her attire, dishevell'd was her hair,

7 Pallid her cheek, and oft a bursting sigh

8 Proclaim'd her breast the dwelling of Despair.

9 Yet peerless beauty with unconquer'd sway

10 Resistless shone in her neglected form,

11 As the effulgence of the god of day

12 Gleams through the darkness of the wintry storm.

13 Oft o'er the waves she cast a wistful view,

14 As oft the torrent of her tears did flow;

15 Then to the shore her streaming eyes withdrew,

16 And in disorder'd words thus spoke her woe:

17 "Dash, dash, ye waves, against the sounding shore,

18 "Your rage no longer can my bosom move;

19 "Louder, ye winds, and yet still louder roar,

20 "You can no more destroy my only love.

21 "Victim of sorrow from the dawn of life,

22 "I can no more admit new joy or grief;

23 "Perfidious Fortune, freed from all thy strife,

24 "Even in despair my soul shall find relief. "

25 Touch'd with compassion at these plaintive sounds,

26 Slow I approach'd, and to the Stranger said:

27 "What deep afflictions cause such heart-felt wounds?

28 "What storms of Fortune bow thy youthful head?

29 "Could I alleviate?" - "Never," she replied,

30 "Can human power my mind from anguish save:

31 "Never, oh! never can my woes subside,

32 "But 'mid the shadows of the darksome grave.

33 "Yet since soft Pity seems to touch thy heart,

34 "And the big tear stands trembling in thine eye,

35 "The story of my grief I will impart,

36 "Then leave me to my hapless destiny.

37 "Where proud Augusta rears her lofty head,

38 "My childhood pass'd in affluence and ease:

39 "Far from my paths the train of Sorrow fled,

40 "While gay I bask'd in Fortune's brightest blaze.

41 "But short those joys; for scarce had fifteen years

42 "Taught me my happiness to know and prize,

43 "When swift the splendid vision disappears,

44 "And pale Adversity's dun clouds arise.

45 "Misfortunes unforeseen depriv'd my sire

46 "In little time of his abounding wealth:

47 "To highest views accustom'd to aspire,

48 "He lost his wonted cheerfulness and health.

49 "I saw Despair o'ercast his manly brow,

50 "While silent Grief sat rankling at his breast;

51 "I saw his head with Disappointment bow,

52 "Till an untimely death restor'd his rest.

53 "Long time I mourn'd - nor did I mourn alone -

54 "A virtuous mother shar'd in all my woe;

55 "A husband and a father we bemoan,

56 "And for his loss our tears alternate flow.

57 "But Time, whose lenient hand can oft assuage

58 "The sharpest wounds of unrelenting Fate,

59 "Had soften'd by degrees Affliction's rage

60 "To fond Remembrance and Concern sedate.

61 "Together we forsook the venal crowd,

62 "And in this island found a still retreat,

63 "Far from the gay, the thoughtless, and the proud,

64 "For Poverty and Resignation meet.

65 "Contented here we liv'd, nor e'er repin'd

66 "At memory of what we once possess'd;

67 "But grateful own'd, that the unsullied mind

68 "In its own conscious rectitude is blest.

69 "Hard by our cottage, on a rising ground,

70 "In simple state Ardelio's mansion stood -

71 "Ardelio lov'd by all the country round,

72 "Friend to the poor, the artless, and the good.

73 "Large was his fortune, liberal his heart,

74 "Faultless his manners, undefil'd his mind:

75 "Free from ambition, avarice, or art,

76 "His only study was to serve mankind.

77 "By chance conducted to our lone abode,

78 "He found me friendless, pitied me, and lov'd:

79 "His bounteous hand a quick relief bestow'd,

80 "And soon each trace of indigence remov'd.

81 "The day was fix'd, when at the sacred shrine

82 "Attested Heaven should hear our mutual vows;

83 "And sprightly Pleasure seem'd once more to twine

84 "Her freshest roses for my favour'd brows.

85 "But, ah! those roses bloom'd but to decay;

86 "For, like the bud before the eastern wind,

87 "Their beauties faded immature away,

88 "But fading left a lasting thorn behind.

89 "Oblig'd to leave me for a little space,

90 Presaging tears his fatal absence mourn;

91 "But the kind youth, my rising grief to chase,

92 "At parting promis'd he would soon return.

93 "Mean time a fever's unremitting rage

94 "Invaded all my parent's trembling frame;

95 "No remedy its fury can assuage,

96 "Her frantic cries in vain my succour claim.

97 "A thousand times I kiss'd her pallid cheek,

98 "And with my tears bedew'd her burning hand,

99 "While with officious care I vainly seek

100 "Those cures which unavailing Science plann'd.

101 "Clasp'd in these arms she died: no friend was near,

102 "In whom this sad, this breaking heart could trust,

103 "When I beheld her on the sable bier,

104 "And heard the solemn sentence, Dust to dust!

105 "Frantic with sorrow, to the rocky shore

106 "With an uncertain course my steps I bend:

107 "Unheeded round me the deep thunders roar,

108 "And the blue lightning's lurid flames descend.

109 "Yet one dread object my attention drew:

110 "Near the rude cliffs a vessel I espied,

111 "And heard the clamours of its frighted crew,

112 "Who vainly tried to stem the billowy tide.

113 "For, by the fury of the tempest tost,

114 "Against the rocks its severing planks rebound;

115 "The floating wreck is driven towards the coast,

116 "With seamen's lifeless bodies scatter'd round.

117 "New anguish seiz'd my grief-devoted mind:

118 "While I survey'd the horrors of the storm,

119 "I thought, perhaps ev'n now, to death consign'd,

120 "Floats 'mid those waves my lov'd Ardelio's form.

121 "Pierc'd with the thought, adown the craggy steep

122 "I hasten to explore the fatal strand:

123 "Just then, emerging from the raging deep,

124 "A breathless corse is thrown upon the sand.

125 "Shuddering I look with half-averted eye -

126 "Ah me, my dread forebodings were too true! "

127 She paus'd - then utter'd, with a bursting sigh,

128 "Ardelio's torn for ever from my view! "

1 THE rising Sun had ting'd the east with gold,

2 And scarce a cloud obscur'd his azure reign -

3 (That Sun, whose fatal beams did first unfold

4 The dreadful scene of Naseby's sanguine plain;

5 Where Charles, misguided monarch, wise too late,

6 Saw the last efforts of his party fail;

7 Saw Rupert's luckless triumph urge his fate,

8 And Cromwell's rising destiny prevail) -

9 When young Eliza left her lonely shed,

10 And wander'd pensive amid heaps of slain,

11 Not by a base desire of plunder led,

12 But hope to sooth some dying Warrior's pain.

13 Though mean her parents, and obscure her lot,

14 Each nobler feeling to her heart was known;

15 And, though the humble inmate of a cot,

16 Her form and mind had grac'd the proudest throne.

17 But hopeless passion o'er each opening grace

18 Had cast a tender, melancholy air;

19 Eliza lov'd a youth of noble race,

20 And from the first she languish'd in despair.

21 Twelve months had pass'd since o'er Eugenio's form

22 With fond surprise her wondering eyes had stray'd;

23 But, while his charms her artless bosom warm,

24 By him unnoted pass'd the blooming maid.

25 From that sad hour a stranger to repose,

26 She shunn'd the wake, she shunn'd the festive green;

27 And still where'er Affliction calls she goes,

28 A pale attendant at each mournful scene.

29 At every step with horror she recoil'd,

30 While her moist eyes the dreadful carnage view'd

31 Of hostile kindred upon kindred pil'd,

32 And British fields with British blood imbu'd.

33 But as, advancing o'er the dismal field,

34 Where devastation sadden'd all around,

35 She view'd those lids in endless darkness seal'd,

36 And heard of dying groans the plaintive sound -

37 A form of grace superior drew her eyes,

38 Bending to view the Warrior's face she stood;

39 O fatal sight! her lov'd Eugenio lies

40 On earth extended, and deform'd with blood.

41 Struck at the view, awhile in silent grief

42 She stood, nor yet a sigh confess'd her pain;

43 Nor yet her bursting tears could bring relief,

44 While her chill blood ran cold through ev'ry vein.

45 At length, adown her cheek and snowy breast

46 The pearly tears in quick succession ran;

47 And with a voice by sorrow half suppress'd,

48 In broken accents, thus the fair began:

49 "O thou, whom lovely and belov'd in vain,

50 "Unpitying Fate has snatch'd in early bloom,

51 "Is this the meed thy patriot virtues gain?

52 "Dearer than life, is this thy hapless doom?

53 "When last I saw thee, o'er thy manly cheek

54 "Health's orient glow a mantling lustre cast;

55 "Enamour'd Glory seem'd thy paths to seek,

56 "Fortune in thee her favourite child embrac'd.

57 "Now cold on earth thou liest - no weeping friend

58 "With pious tears receiv'd thy parting breath;

59 "No kindred round thy bleeding corse attend,

60 "With grief like mine to mourn thy early death.

61 "Ah! what avail'd the virtues of thy youth,

62 "The mind that dar'd Rebellion's fury brave,

63 "Thy constant loyalty, thy matchless truth?

64 "Those very virtues sunk thee to the grave. "

65 Kneeling as thus she spoke, his hand she press'd,

66 And view'd his form with ev'ry charm replete;

67 But what emotions fill'd her raptur'd breast

68 When still she found his languid pulses beat!

69 Some neighbouring peasants led by chance that way,

70 Touch'd by the sorrows of the weeping fair,

71 With pitying eyes the fainting youth survey,

72 And to Eliza's well-known cottage bear.

73 There, with a Leech's care, her hands applied

74 Some lenient herbs to every rankling wound;

75 Herbs, by the test of long experience tried,

76 Of sovereign virtue in each trial found.

77 While anxious Love its lavish care supplies,

78 Eugenio's face resumes a fresher hue;

79 And on the maid he fix'd his opening eyes,

80 While tears of joy her polish'd cheeks bedew.

81 The dawn of gratitude, and wonder join'd,

82 With varying thoughts distract his labouring breast;

83 And, anxious to relieve his dubious mind,

84 In faltering words he thus the fair address'd:

85 "O say, what friend, solicitous to save,

86 "Procur'd for me your hospitable care?

87 "For, when at Naseby the last sigh I gave,

88 "Nor Friendship nor Humanity was there. "

89 Blushing, the maid with down-cast looks replied,

90 "To Heaven alone thy gratitude is due:

91 "That God, whose angels round the good preside,

92 "To thy relief my feeble succour drew.

93 "I found thee senseless 'mid a heap of slain;

94 "I bore thee here, and Heaven thy life has spar'd:

95 "That life restor'd, I ask nor thanks nor gain;

96 "A virtuous action is its own reward. "

97 With mute surprise th' attentive youth admir'd,

98 'Mid scenes so rude, a form so passing fair;

99 But more he wonder'd, when, by Heaven inspir'd,

100 Her words bespoke a guardian angel's care,

101 And every day new beauties caught his view,

102 And every hour new virtues charm'd his mind,

103 Till admiration into passion grew,

104 By pure esteem and gratitude refin'd.

105 In vain, to change the purpose of his heart,

106 Ambition frown'd contemptuous on the maid;

107 Pride urg'd him from her humble cot to part,

108 And martial ardour call'd him from the shade.

109 He saw his country, in subjection led,

110 Pay servile homage to a zealot's nod,

111 Who sternly claim'd his captive Sovereign's head,

112 And thought by anarchy to serve his God.

113 He knew his single efforts would be vain,

114 His Prince from factious thousands to support,

115 And scorn'd to mingle with the abject train

116 Who, led by interest, swell'd a guilty Court.

117 Since Virtue's cause no more his arms could claim,

118 And hope of conquest could no longer move,

119 Fix'd, he resolves to wed the beauteous dame,

120 And consecrate his future life to love.

121 Fast by the cot a spreading linden grew,

122 Whose boughs o'ershadow'd a fantastic seat,

123 Where the pale primrose and the violet blue

124 Breath'd from the verdant turf a mingled sweet.

125 There, with Eliza often by his side,

126 Eugenio shunn'd the scorching heats of noon;

127 Amid night's stillness there he often hied,

128 And solitary watch'd the silver moon.

129 Perusing there the philosophic page,

130 Untir'd the livelong day he would remain,

131 Or for the Poet quit the graver Sage,

132 And raptur'd glance through Fancy's airy reign.

133 Beneath the branches of this silent shade,

134 By hours of past tranquillity endear'd,

135 He vow'd his passion to the blushing maid,

136 Whose timid love his loss each moment fear'd.

137 Untaught in the pernicious schools of Art,

138 Which curb the genuine feelings as they rise,

139 She own'd the sentiments that fill'd a heart

140 Whose conscious purity contemn'd disguise.

141 The sacred rites perform'd, with festive state

142 To his high dome Eugenio led the fair:

143 'Mid lofty woods, arose the ancient seat,

144 Whose solid, grandeur time could not impair.

145 There unperceiv'd life's current flow'd away,

146 Nor could old age their constant love destroy;

147 And often they deplor'd, yet bless'd that day,

148 To others source of grief, to them of joy.

149 They liv'd to see the artful Cromwell die,

150 And from their transient power his offspring driven,

151 And then beheld th' imperial dignity

152 Once more to the inglorious Stuarts given.

153 Charles they survey'd, in luxury, and ease,

154 And sensual pleasures, pass life's ill-spent day;

155 And bigot James an injur'd nation raise,

156 Then coward shun the battle's dread array.

157 Next Nassau, crown'd by policy and arms,

158 In early youth for matchless prudence known,

159 Unmov'd in dangers, fearless in alarms,

160 With royal Mary shar'd the British throne.

161 Last Anna's prosperous reign in age they view'd,

162 And Marlborough glorious from Germania's war -

163 Marlborough, for councils as for fight endued,

164 Who with his own spread England's fame afar:

165 Then, pleas'd their country's triumphs to behold,

166 In youthful verdure while her laurels bloom,

167 Their aged lids in Death's soft sleep they fold,

168 And not unwilling sink into the tomb.

1 ARISE, kind Sun! with brighter rays

2 "Illumine all the grove;

3 "Tune every voice to grateful praise,

4 "To harmony and love.

5 "Give to the pink a fresher die,

6 "New sweetness to the rose;

7 "Let jessamine with lilies vie,

8 "And rival charms oppose.

9 "The gaudy pink shall lose its pride,

10 "Compar'd to Henry's cheek;

11 "The lily its dull whiteness hide,

12 "A browner hue to take.

13 "But not the charms of shape or face

14 "Have caus'd a transient love:

15 "Such passions with each youthful grace

16 "Shall suddenly remove.

17 "'Tis honour binds my lasting chain,

18 "'Tis goodness wins my heart;

19 "'Tis pity that feels mental pain

20 "From every sufferer's smart.

21 "'Tis Virtue's self, to gain the mind,

22 "My Henry's form assumes:

23 "Virtue, with beauty there combin'd,

24 "In bright perfection blooms.

25 "To-day the indissoluble knot

26 "Shall be by Hymen tied,

27 "When happy Gertrude's envied lot

28 "Shall make her Henry's bride. "

29 The gentle Gertrude quick arose,

30 Her busy maids attend:

31 The richest robes with care they chose,

32 The richest gems commend.

33 But Gertrude, scorning foreign aid,

34 Is clad in simple white;

35 She shuns the pomp and vain parade

36 Which vulgar eyes delight.

37 Her auburn hair falls unconfin'd

38 But by a myrtle crown;

39 Her veil flows loosely in the wind,

40 And low her robe hangs down.

41 She now ascends a lofty tower,

42 To see if Henry's near:

43 Far as the eye extends its power,

44 She seeks for Henry there.

45 No Henry glads her longing eye,

46 No festive throng advance;

47 No maidens flowerets strew hard by,

48 Or lead the lively dance.

49 The glowing crimson leaves her cheek,

50 A deadly pale succeeds:

51 Her Henry still resolv'd to seek,

52 She wanders o'er the meads.

53 She sought him through the cypress grove,

54 She sought him o'er the plain;

55 Sad by the crystal stream did rove,

56 The woodland search'd in vain,

57 Whilst anxious thus she view'd around

58 To find her promis'd lord,

59 She sees him breathless on the ground,

60 Pierc'd by his rival's sword.

61 Around his neck she throws her arms,

62 Her lips to his are join'd;

63 Sure Gertrude's lips have potent charms

64 To animate the mind!

65 But Henry's frozen heart no more

66 Can transport feel or pain:

67 The voice that gave delight before,

68 Now calls the youth in vain.

69 Clos'd are those eyes that beam'd so bright,

70 His rosy bloom is fled;

71 In happier climes, in purer light,

72 He joins the tranquil dead.

73 Distraction seiz'd the wretched maid:

74 With agony opprest,

75 Frantic she grasp'd the sanguine blade

76 That gor'd her Henry's breast.

77 The fatal sword perform'd too well,

78 It pierc'd her tender side;

79 Without a sigh fair Gertrude fell,

80 And by her Henry died.

1 WILL she, whose kind maternal care

2 Enlighten'd my untutor'd mind,

3 Who all her joys with me did share,

4 But to her breast each grief confin'd,

5 Accept these tears that freely flow -

6 Accept this tributary lay?

7 'Tis all that friendship can bestow,

8 Or weeping gratitude repay.

9 Whether constraint my footsteps lead

10 Amid a hated world, or free

11 I wander o'er the russet mead,

12 My constant thoughts are fix'd on thee.

13 On Lehena's enchanting scene,

14 I muse, where we delighted stray'd;

15 The sloping hill, the valley green,

16 The lawn in brightest flowers array'd.

17 Say, dost thou in those meadows rove,

18 Where Taste with Nature is combin'd?

19 Or dost thou haunt that silent grove,

20 That charm'd so oft my pensive mind?

21 O may those scenes a bliss bestow

22 Which rural life alone can boast;

23 And thou, dear friend, each comfort know,

24 Which by thine absence I have lost.

25 May sprightly Health, with rosy lip

26 Breathe rich vermilion o'er thy cheek!

27 Light round thy paths may Pleasure trip,

28 And young Content with aspect meek!

29 May Science gild each tedious hour,

30 And spread her stores before thine eye:

31 And Friendship with resistless power,

32 Repress each sad intruding sigh!

33 May Peace around thine honour'd head

34 Her fairest olive wreath entwine;

35 Soft Slumbers guard thy downy bed,

36 And Hope, fond charmer, still be thine!

37 May Truth and Innocence descend,

38 Their purer blessings to impart;

39 Blessings that on thyself depend,

40 Unknown but to the virtuous heart!

41 Yet, when thy circling friends appear,

42 And greet thee on Ierne's shore,

43 Devote one sympathetic tear

44 To her who sees thee now no more!