1 i-''* J - < . -fW P*W3S PsMf^-v' ?$ 1 > * ;'4| : : ,,r y \A V - DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure 'Room OB, THE REVOLUTION OF THE GOLDEN CITY: a mstirn of tfie ^ineteentf) Centura IN THE STANZA OF SPENSER. BY PERCY B. SHELLEY. aox nor rm kai kosmon KiNHzn. ARCHIMEDES. LONDON: PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, NEELY, & JONES, PATERNOSTER- BOW ; AND C. AND J. OLLIER, WELBECK-STREET: By B. M'Millan, Bow-Street, Covent-Garden. 1818. •v s V^\*%C$$ S 5+5 Lb A»8 - PREFACE. The Poem which I now present to the world, is an attempt from which I scarcely dare to ex_ pect success, and in which a writer of established fame might fail without disgrace. It is an expe- riment on the temper of the public mind, as to how far a thirst for a happier condition of moral and political society survives, among the enlight- ened and refined, the tempests which have shaken the age in which we live. I have sought to enlist the harmony of metrical language, the etherial combinations of the fancy, the rapid and subtle transitions of human passion, all those elements which essentially compose a Poem, in the cause of a liberal and comprehensive morality, and in the view of kindling within the bosoms of my readers, a virtuous enthusiasm for those doctrines of liberty and justice, that faith and hope in some- thing good, which neither violence, nor misrepre- b3 VI sentation, nor prejudice, can ever totally extinguish anions: mankind. ■» For this purpose I have chosen a story of human passion in its most universal character, diversified with moving and romantic adventures, and appeal- ing, in contempt of all artificial opinions or insti- tutions, to the common sympathies of every human breast. I have made no attempt to recommend the motives which I would substitute for those at present governing mankind by methodical and systematic argument. I would only awaken the feelings, so that the reader should see the beauty of true virtue, and be incited to those enquiries which have led to my moral and political creed, and that of some of the sublimest intellects in the world. The Poem therefore, (with the exception of the first Canto, which is purely introductory), is narrative, not didactic. It is a succession of pictures illustrating the growth and progress of individual mind aspiring after excellence, and de- voted to the love of mankind ; its influence in re- fining and making pure the most daring and un- common impulses of the imagination, the under- standing, and the senses ; its impatience at " all Vll the oppressions which are done under the sun ;" its tendency to awaken public hope and to enlighten and improve mankind ; the rapid effects of the ap- plication of that tendency ; the awakening of an immense nation from their slavery and degradation to a true sense of moral dignity and freedom ; the bloodless dethronement of their oppressors, and the unveiling of the religious frauds by which they had been deluded into submission ; the tranquillity of successful patriotism, and the universal toleration and benevolence of true philanthropy ; the treachery and barbarity of hired soldiers ; vice not the object of punishment and hatred, but kindness and pity ; the faithlessness of tyrants ; the confederacy of the Rulers of the World, and the restoration of the ex- pelled Dynasty by foreign arms ; the massacre and extermination of the Patriots, and the victory of established power ; the consequences of legitimate despotism, civil war, famine, plague, superstition, and an utter extinction of the domestic affections ; the judicial murder of the advocates of Liberty ; the temporary triumph of oppression, that secure earnest of its final and inevitable fall ; the tran- sient nature of ignorance and* error, and the eternity of genius and virtue. Such is the series b4 via of delineations of which the Poem consists. And if the lofty passions with which it has been my scope to distinguish this story, shall not exeite in the reader a generous impulse, an ardent thirst for excellence, an interest profound and strong, such as belongs to no meaner desires — let not the failure be imputed to a natural unfitness for human sympathy in these sublime and ani- mating themes. It is the business of the Poet to communicate to others the pleasure and the en- thusiasm arising out of those images and feelings, in the vivid presence of which within his own mind, consists at once his inspiration and his reward. • The panic which, like an epidemic transport, seized upon all classes of men during the excesses consequent upon the French Revolution, is gradu- ally giving place to sanity. It has ceased to be believed, that whole generations of mankind ought to consign themselves to a hopeless inheritance of ignorance and misery, because a nation of men who had been dupes and slaves for centuries, were incapable of conducting themselves with the wis- dom and tranquillity of freemen so soon as some of their fetters were partially loosened. That their IX conduct could not have been marked by any other characters than ferocity and thoughtlessness, is the historical fact from which liberty derives all its re- commendations, and falshood the worst features of its deformity. There is a reflux in the tide of human things which bears the shipwrecked hopes of men into a secure haven, after the storms are past. Methinks, those who now live have survived an age of despair. The French Revolution may be considered as one of those manifestations of a general state of feeling among civilized mankind, produced by a defect of correspondence between the knowledge existing in society and the improvement, or gra- dual abolition of political institutions. The year 1788 may be assumed as the epoch of one of the most important crises produced by this feeling. The sympathies connected with that event extend- ed to every bosom. The most generous and ami- able natures were those which participated the most extensively in these sympathies. But such a degree of unmingled good was expected, as it was impossible to realize. If the Revolution had been in every respect prosperous, then misrule and su- perstition would lose half their claims to our abhor- rence, as fetters which the captive can unlock with the slightest motion of his fingers, and which do not eat with poisonous rust into the soul. The revulsion occasioned by the atrocities of the dema- gogues and the re-establishment of successive ty- rannies in France was terrible, and felt in the re- motest corner of the civilized world. Could they listen to the plea of reason who had groaned under the calamities of a social state, according to the provisions of which, one man riots in luxury whilst another famishes for want of bread ? Can he who the day before was a trampled slave, suddenly be- come liberal-minded, forbearing, and independent ? This is the consequence of the habits of a state of society to be produced by resolute perseverance and indefatigable hope, and long-suffering and long believing courage, and the systematic efforts of generations of men of intellect and virtue. Such is the lesson which experience teaches now. But on the first reverses of hope in the progress of French liberty, the sanguine eagerness for good overleapt the solution of these questions, and for a time extinguished itself in the unexpectedness of their result. Thus many of the most ardent and ten- XI der-hearted of the worshippers of public good, have been morally ruined by what a partial glimpse of the events they deplored, appeared to shew as the melancholy desolation of all their cherished hopes. Hence gloom and misanthropy have become the characteristics of the age in which we live, the solace of a disappointment that unconsciously finds relief only in the wilful exaggeration of its own despair. This influence has tainted the literature of the age with the hopelessness of the minds from which it flows. Metaphysics*, and enquiries into moral and political science, have become little else than vain attempts to revive exploded superstitions, or sophisms like thosef of Mr. Malthus, calculated to lull the oppressors of mankind into a security of * I ought to except Sir W. Drummond's " Academical Ques- tions ;" a volume of very acute and powerful metaphysical criti- cism. f It is remarkable, as a symptom of the revival of public hope, that Mr. Malthus has assigned, in the later editions of his work, an indefinite dominion to moral restraint over the principle of population. This concession answers all the inferences from his doctrine unfavourable to human improvement, and reduces the " Essay on Population" to a commentary illustrative of the unanswerableness of " Political Justice." Xll everlasting triumph. Our works of fiction and poe- try have been overshadowed by the same infectious gloom. But mankind appear to me to be emerg- ing from their trance. I am aware, methinks, of a slow, gradual, silent change. In that belief I have composed the following Poem. I do not presume to enter into competition with our greatest contemporary Poets. Yet I am un- willing to tread in the footsteps of any, who have preceded me. I have sought to avoid the imita- tion of any style of language or versification peculiar to the original minds of which it is the character, designing that even if what I have produced be worthless, it should still be properly my own. Nor have I permitted any system relating to mere words, to divert the attention of the reader from whatever interest I may have succeeded in creating, to my own ingenuity in contriving to disgust them according to the rules of criticism. I have simply clothed my thoughts in what appeared to me the most obvious and appropriate language. A person familiar with nature, and with the most celebrated productions of the human mind, can scarcely err in following the instinct, with respect to Xlll selection of language, produced by that famili- arity. There is an education peculiarly fitted for a Poet, without which, genius and sensibility can hardly fill the circle of their capacities. No education indeed can entitle to this appellation a dull and unobservant mind, or one, though neither dull nor unobservant, in which the channels of communica- tion between thought and expression have been ob- structed or closed. How far it is my fortune to be- long to either of the latter classes, I cannot know. I aspire to be something better. The circumstances of my accidental education have been favourable to this ambition. I have been familiar from boyhood with mountains and lakes, and the sea, and the solitude of forests : Danger which sports upon the brink of precipices, has been my play- mate. I have trodden the glaciers of the Alps, and lived under the eye of Mont Blanc. I have been a wanderer among distant fields. I have sailed down mighty rivers, and seen the sun rise and set, and the stars come forth, whilst I have sailed night and day down a rapid stream among moun- tains. I have seen populous cities, and have watched the passions which rise and spread, and XIV sink and change amongst assembled multitudes of men. I have seen the theatre of the more visible ravages of tyranny and war, cities and villages reduced to scattered groups of black and roofless houses, and the naked inhabitants sitting famished upon their desolated thresholds. I have conversed with living men of genius. The poetry of antient Greece and Rome, and modern Italy, and our own country, has been to me like external nature, a pas- sion and an enjoyment. Such are the sources from which the materials for the imagery of my Poem have been drawn. I have considered Poetry in its most comprehensive sense, and have read the Poets and the Historians, and the Metaphysicians* whose writings have been accessible to me, and have looked upon the beautiful and majestic scenery of the earth as common sources of those elements which it is the province of the Poet to embody and combine. Yet the experience and the feelings to which I refer, do not in themselves constitute men Poets, but only prepares them to be the auditors of those who are. How far I shall be found to pos- * In this sense there may be such a thing as perfectibility in works of fiction, notwithstanding the concession often made by the advocates of human improvement, that perfectibility is a term applicable only to science. XV sess that more essential attribute of Poetry, the power of awakening in others sensations like those which animate my own bosom, is that which, to speak sincerely, I know not ; and which with an acquiescent and contented spirit, I expect to be taught by the effect which I shall produce upon those whom I now address. I have avoided, as I have said before, the imita- tion of any contemporary style. But there must be a resemblance which does not depend upon their own will, between all the writers of any particular age. They cannot escape from subjec- tion to a common influence which arises out of an infinite combination of circumstances belonging to the times in which they live, though each is in a degree the author of the very influence by which his being is thus pervaded. Thus, the tragic Poets of the age of Pericles ; the Italian revivers of ancient learning ; those mighty intellects of our own country that succeeded the Reformation, the translators of the Bible, Shakspeare, Spenser, the Dramatists of the reign of Elizabeth, and Lord Bacon* ; the colder spirits of the interval that suc- * Milton stands alone in the age which he illumined. XVI ceeded ; — all, resemble each other, and differ from every other in their several classes. In this view of things, Ford can no more be called the imitator of Shakspeare, than Shakspeare the imitator of Ford. There were perhaps few other points of resem- blance between these two men, than that which the universal and inevitable influence of their age produced. And this is an influence which neither the meanest scribbler, nor the sublimest genius of any sera can escape ; and which I have not attempted to escape. I have adopted the stanza of Spenser, (a mea- sure inexpressibly beautiful) not because I consider it a finer model of poetical harmony than the blank verse of Shakspeare and Milton, but because in the latter there is no shelter for mediocrity: you must either succeed or fail. This perhaps an aspiring spirit should desire. But I was enticed also, by the brilliancy and magnificence of sound which a mind that has been nourished upon musi- cal thoughts, can produce by a just and harmonious arrangement of the pauses of this measure. Yet there will be found some instances where I have completely failed in this attempt, and one, which xvii I here request the reader to consider as an er- ratum, where there is left most inadvertently an alexandrine in the middle of a stanza. But in this, as in every other respect, I have written fearlessly. It is the misfortune of this age, that its Writers, too thoughtless of immortality, are exquisitely sensible to temporary praise or blame. They write with the fear of Reviews before their eyes. This system of criticism sprang up in that torpid interval when Poetry was not. Poetry, and the art which professes to regulate and limit its powers, cannot subsist together. Longinus could not have been the contemporary of Homer, nor Boileau of Horace. Yet this species of criticism never presumed to assert an understanding of its own : it has always, unlike true science, followed, not preceded the opinion of mankind, and would even now bribe with worthless adulation some of our greatest Poets to impose gratuitous fetters on their own imaginations, and become unconscious accomplices in the daily murder of all genius either not so aspiring or not so fortunate as their own. I have sought therefore to write, as I believe that Homer, XVlli Shakspeare, and Milton wrote, with an utter dis- regard of anonymous censure. I am certain that calumny and misrepresentation, though it may move me to compassion, cannot disturb my peace. I shall understand the expressive silence of those sagacious enemies who dare not trust themselves to speak. I shall endeavour to extract from the midst of insult, and contempt, and maledictions, those admonitions which may tend to correct what- ever imperfections such censurers may discover in this my first serious appeal to the Public. If certain Critics were as clear-sighted as they are malignant, how great would be the benefit to be derived from their virulent writings! As it is, I fear I shall be malicious enough to be amused with their paltry tricks and lame invectives. Should the Public judge that my composition is worthless, I shall indeed bow before the tribunal from which Milton received his crown of immortality, and shall seek to gather, if I live, strength from that defeat, which may nerve me to some new enterprise of thought which may not be worthless. I cannot conceive that Lucretius, when he meditated that pOem whose doctrines are yet the basis of our me- taphysical knowledge, and whose eloquence has XIX been the wonder of mankind, wrote in awe of such censure as the hired sophists of the impure and superstitious noblemen of Rome might affix to what he should produce. It was at the period when Greece was led captive, and Asia made tributary to the Republic^ fast verging itself to slavery and ruin, that a multitude of Syrian captives, bigotted to the worship of their obscene Ashtaroth, and the unworthy successors of So- crates and Zeno, found there a precarious subsist- ence by administering, under the name of freed- men, to the vices and vanities of the great. These wretched men were skilled to plead, with a super- ficial but plausible set of sophisms, in favour of that contempt for virtue which is the portion of slaves, and that faith in portents, the most fatal substitute for benevolence in the imaginations of men, which arising from the enslaved communities of the East, then first began to overwhelm the western nations in its stream. Were these the kind of men whose disapprobation the wise and lofty-minded Lucretius should have regarded with a salutary awe ? The latest and perhaps the mean- est of those who follow in his footsteps, would dis- dain to hold life on such conditions. c2 XX The Poem now presented to the Public occu- pied little more than six months in the composi- tion. That period has been devoted to the task with unremitting ardour and enthusiasm. I have exer- cised a watchful and earnest criticism on my work as it grew under my hands. I would willingly have sent it forth to the world with that perfection which long labour and revision is said to bestow. But I found that if I should gain something in exactness by this method, I might lose much of the newness and energy of imagery and language as it flowed fresh from my mind. And although the mere composition occupied no more than six months, the thoughts thus arranged were slowly gathered in as many years. I trust that the reader will carefully distinguish between those opinions which have a dramatic propriety in reference to the characters which they are designed to elucidate, and such as are properly my own. The erroneous and degrading idea which men have conceived of a Supreme Being, for in- stance, is spoken against, but not the Supreme Being itself. The belief which some superstitious persons whom I have brought upon the stage, en- XXI tertain of the Deity, as injurious to the character of his benevolence, is widely different from my own. In recommending also a great and important change in the spirit which animates the social in- stitutions of mankind, I have avoided all flattery to those violent and malignant passions of our na- ture,' which are ever on the watch to mingle with and to alloy the most beneficial innovations. There is no quarter given to Revenge, or Envy, or Pre- judice. Love is celebrated every where as the sole law which should govern the moral wor]ecotfo* i. The star-light smile of children, the sweet looks Of women, the fair breast from which I fed, The murmur of the unreposing brooks, And the green light which shifting overhead, Some tangled bower of vines around me shed, The shells on the sea-sand, and the wild flowers, The lamp-light thro' the rafters cheerly spread, And on the twining flax — in life's young hours These sights and sounds did nurse my spirits' folded powers. 33 II. In Argolis, beside the echoing sea, Such impulses within my mortal frame Arose, and they were dear to memory, Like tokens of the dead : — but others came Soon, in another shape : the wondrous fame Of the past world, the vital words and deeds Of minds whom neither time nor change can tame, Traditions dark and old, whence evil creeds Start forth, and whose dim shade a stream of poison feeds. III. I heard, as all have heard, the various story Of human life, and wept unwilling tears. Feeble historians of its shame aud glory, False disputants on all its hopes and fears, Victims who worshipped ruin, — chroniclers Of daily scorn, and slaves who loathed their state Yet flattering power had given its ministers A throne of judgment in the grave : — 'twas fate, That among such as these my youth should seek its mate. 34 IV. The land in which I lived, by a fell bane Was withered up. Tyrants dwelt side by side, And stabled in our homes, — until the chain Stifled the captive's cry, and to abide That blasting curse men had no shame — all vied In evil, slave and despot ; fear with lust, Strange fellowship through mutual hate had tied, Like two dark serpents tangled in the dust, Which on the paths of men their mingling poison thrust. V. Earth, our bright home, its mountains and its waters, And the astherial shapes which are suspended Over its green expanse, and those fair daughters, The clouds, of Sun and Ocean, who have blended The colours of the air since first extended It cradled the young world, none wandered forth To see or feel : a darkness had descended On every heart : the light which shews its worth, Must among gentle thoughts and fearless take its birth. 35 VI. This vital world, this home of happy spirits, Was as a dungeon to my blasted kind, All that despair from murdered hope inherits They sought, and in their helpless misery blind, A deeper prison and heavier chains did find, And stronger tyrants : — a dark gulph before, The realm of a stern Ruler, yawned 5 behind, Terror and Time conflicting drove, and bore On their tempestuous flood the shrieking wretch from shore. VII. Out of that Ocean's wrecks had Guilt and Woe Framed a dark dwelling for their homeless thought, And, starting at the ghosts which to and fro Glide o'er its dim and gloomy strand, had brought The worship thence which they each other taught. Well might men loathe their life, well might they turn Even to the ills again from which they sought Such refuge after death ! — well might they learn To gaze on this fair world with hopeless unconcern ! d2 36 VIII. For they all pined in bondage : body and soul, Tyrant and slave, victim and torturer, bent Before one Power, to which supreme controul Over their will by their own weakness lent, Made all its many names omnipotent ; All symbols of things evil, all divine ; And hymns of blood or mockery, which rent The air from all its fanes, did intertwine Imposture's impious toils round each discordant shrine. IX. I heard as all have heard, life's various story, And in no careless heart transcribed the tale ; But, from the sneers of men who had grown hoary In shame and scorn, from groans of crowds made pale By famine, from a mother's desolate wail O'er her polluted child, from innocent blood Poured on the earth, and brows anxious and pale With the heart's warfare; did I gather food To feed my many thoughts : a tameless multitude ! ' 37 X. I wandered thro' the wrecks of days departed Far by the desolated shore, when even O'er the still sea and jagged islets darted The light of moonrise; in the northern Heaven, Among the clouds near the horizon driven, The mountains lay beneath our planet pale ; Around me, broken tombs and columns riven Looked vast in twilight, and the sorrowing gale Waked in those ruins grey its everlasting wail ! XI. I knew not who had framed these wonders then, Nor, had I heard the story of their deeds; But dwellings of a race of mightier men, And monuments of less ungentle creeds Tell their own tale to him who wisely heeds The language which they speak; and now, to me The moonlight making pale the blooming weeds, The bright stars shining in the breathless sea, Interpreted those scrolls of mortal mystery. 33 XII. Such man has been, and such may yet become ! Aye, wiser, greater, gentler, even than they Who on the fragments of yon shattered dome Have stamped the sign of power- — I felt the sway Of the vast stream of ages bear away My floating thoughts — my heart beat loud and fast- Even as a storm let loose beneath the ray Of the still moon, .my spirit onward past Beneath truth's steady beams upon its tumult cast. XIII. It shall be thus no more ! too long, too long, Sons of the glorious dead, have ye lain bound In darkness and in ruin. — Hope is strong, Justice and Truth their winged child have found — Awake ! arise ! until the mighty sound Of your career shall scatter in its gust The thrones of the oppressor, and the ground Hide the last altar's unregarded dust, W-hose Idol has so long betrayed your impious trust. 39 XIV. It must be so — I will arise and waken The multitude, and like a sulphurous hill, Which on a sudden from its snows has shaken The swoon of ages, it shall burst and fill The world with cleansing fire : it must, it will — It may not be restrained ! — and who shall stand Amid the rocking earthquake stedfast still, But Laon ? on high Freedom's desart land A tower whose marble walls the leagued storms withstand ! XV. One summer night, in commune with the hope Thus deeply fed, amid those ruins grey I watched, beneath the dark sky's starry cope j And ever from that hour upon me lay The burthen of this hope, and night or day, In vision or in dream, clove to my breast: Among mankind, or when gone far away To the lone shores and mountains, 'twas a guest Which followed where I fled, and watched when I did rest. 40 XVI. These hopes found words thro' which my spirit sought To weave a bondage of such sympathy, As might create some response to the thought Which ruled me now — and as the vapours lie Bright in the out-spread morning's radiancy, So were these thoughts invested with the light Of language : and all bosoms made reply On which its lustre streamed, whene'er it might Thro' darkness wide and deep those tranced spirits smite. XVII. Yes, many an eye with dizzy tears was dim, And oft 1 thought to clasp my own heart's brother, When I could feel the listener's senses swim, And hear his breath its own swift gaspings smother Even as my words evoked them — and another, And yet another, I did fondly deem, Felt that we all were sons of one great mother; And the cold truth such sad reverse did seem, As to awake in grief from some delightful dream. 41 ' -XVIII. Yes, oft beside the ruined labyrinth Which skirts the hoary caves of the green deep, Did Laon and his friend on one grey plinth, Round whose worn base the wild waves hiss and leap, Resting at eve, a lofty converse keep : And that this friend was false, may now be said Calmly — that he like other men could weep Tears which are lies, and could betray and spread Snares for that guileless heart which for his own had bled. XIX. Then, had no great aim recompensed my sorrow, I must have sought, dark respite from its stress In dreamless rest, in sleep that sees no morrow— For to tread life's dismaying wilderness Without one smile to cheer, one voice to bless, Amid the snares and scoffs of human kind, Is hard — but I betrayed it not, nor less With love that scorned return, sought to unbind The interwoven clouds which make its wisdom blind. 42 XX. With deathless minds which leave where they have past A path of light, my soul communion knew ; Till from that glorious intercourse, at last, As from a mine of magic store, I drew Words which were weapons 3 — round my heart there grew The adamantine armour of their power, And from my fancy wings of golden hue Sprang forth — yet not alone from wisdom's tower, A minister of truth, these plumes young Laon bore. XXI. I had a little sister, whose fair eyes Were loadstars of delight, which drew me home When I might wander forth ; nor did I prize Aught human thing beneath Heaven's mighty dome Beyond this child : so when sad hours were come, And baffled hope like ice still clung to me, Since kin were cold, and friends had now become Heartless and false, I turned from all, to be, Cythna, the only source of tears and smiles to thee, ■ 43 XXII. What wert thou then ? A child most infantine, Yet wandering far beyond that innocent age In all but its sweet looks and mien divine ; Even then, methought, with the world's tyrant rage A patient warfare thy young heart did wage, When those soft eyes of scarcely conscious thought, Some tale, or thine own fancies would engage To overflow with tears, or converse fraught With passion, o'er their depths its fleeting light had wrought. XXIII. She moved upon this earth a shape of brightness, A power, that from its objects scarcely drew One impulse of her being — in her lightness Most like some radiant cloud of morning dew, Which wanders thro' the waste air's pathless blue, To nourish some far desart : she did seem Beside me, gathering beauty as she grew, Like the bright shade of some immortal dream Which walks, when tempest sleeps, the wave of life's dark stream. 44 XXIV. As mine own shadow was this child to me, A second self, far dearer and more fair ; Which clothed in undissolving radiancy, All those steep paths which languor and despair Of human things, had made so dark and bare, But which I trod alone — nor, till bereft Of friends, and overcome by lonely care, Knew I what solace for that loss was left, Though by a bitter wound my trusting heart was cleft. XXV. Once she was dear, now she was all I had To love in human life — this sister sweet, This child of twelve years old — so she was made My sole associate, and her willing feet Wandered with mine where earth and ocean meet, Beyond the aerial mountains whose vast cells The unreposing billows ever beat, Thro' forests wide and old, and lawny dells, Where boughs of incense droop over the emerald wells. 45 XXVI. And warm and light I felt her clasping hand When twined in mine : she followed where I went, Thro' the lone paths of our immortal land. It had no waste, but some memorial lent Which strung me to my toil — some monument Vital with mind : then, Cythna by my side, Until the bright and beaming day were spent. Would rest, with looks entreating to abide, Too earnest and too sweet ever to be denied. XXVII. And soon I could not have refused her — thus For ever, day and night, we two were ne'er Parted, but when brief sleep divided us : And when the pauses of the lulling air Of noon beside the sea, had made a lair For her soothed senses, in my arms she slept, And I kept watch over her slumbers there, While, as the shifting visions o'er her swept, Amid her innocent rest by turns she smil'd and wept. 46 XXVIII. And, in the murmur of her dreams was heard Sometimes the name of Laon : — suddenly She would arise, and like the secret bird Whom sunset wakens, fill the shore and sky With her sweet accents — a wild melody ! Hymns which my soul had woven to Freedom, strong The source of passion whence they rose, to be ; Triumphant strains, which, like a spirit's tongue* To the inchanted waves that child of glory sung. XXIX. Her white arms lifted thro' the shadowy stream Of her loose hair — oh, excellently great Seemed to me then my purpose, the vast theme Of those impassioned songs, when Cythna sate Amid the calm which rapture doth create After its tumult, her heart vibrating, Her spirit o'er the ocean's floating state From her deep eyes far wandering, on the wing Of visions that were mine, beyond its utmost spring. 47 XXX. For, before Cythna loved it, had my song Peopled with thoughts the boundless universe, A mighty congregation, which were strong Where'er they trod the darkness to disperse The cloud of that unutterable curse Which clings upon mankind : — all things became Slaves to my holy and heroic verse, Earth, sea and sky, the planets, life and fame And fate, or whate'er else binds the world's wondrous frame. XXXI. And this beloved child thus felt the sway Of my conceptions, gathering like a cloud The very wind on which it rolls away : Her's too were all my thoughts, ere yet endowed With music and with light, their fountains flowed In poesy; and her still and earnest face, Pallid with feelings which intensely glowed Within, was turned on mine with speechless grace, Watching the hopes which there her heart had learned to trace. 48 XXXII. In me, communion with this purest being Kindled intenser zeal, and made me wise In knowledge, which in her's mine own mind seeing, Left in the human world few mysteries : How without fear of evil or disguise Was Cythna i— what a spirit strong and mild, Which death, or pain or peril could despise, Yet melt in tenderness ! what genius wild Yet mighty, was inclosed within one simple child ! XXXIII. New lore was this — old age with its grey hair, And wrinkled legends of unworthy things, And icy sneers, is nought : it cannot dare To burst the chains which life for ever flings On the entangled soul's aspiring wings, So is it cold and cruel, and is made The careless slave of that dark power which brings Evil, like blight on man, who still betrayed, Laughs o'er the grave in which his living hopes are laid. 49 XXXIV. Nor are the strong and the severe to keep The empire of the world : thus Cythna taught Even in the visions of her eloquent sleep, Unconscious of the power thro' which she wrought The woof of such intelligible thought. As from the tranquil strength which cradled lay In her smile-peopled rest, my spirit sought Why the deceiver and the slave has sway O'er heralds so divine of truth's arising day. XXXV. Within that fairest form, the female mind Untainted by the poison clouds which rest On the dark world, a sacred home did find : But else, from the wide earth's maternal breast, Victorious Evil, which had dispossest All native power, had those fair children torn, And made them slaves to soothe his vile unrest, And minister to lust its joys forlorn, Till they had learned to breathe the atmosphere of scorn. E 50 XXXVI. This misery was but coldly felt, 'till she Became my only friend, who had indued My purpose with a wider sympathy; Thus, Cythna mourned with me the servitude In which the half of humankind were mewed Victims of lust and hate, the slaves of slaves, She mourned that grace and power were thrown as food To the hyena lust, who, among graves, Over his loathed meal, laughing in agony, raves. XXXVII. And I, still gazing on that glorious child, Even as these thoughts flushed o'er her. — " Cythna sweet, Well with the world art thou unreconciled ; Never will peace and human nature meet Till free and equal man and woman greet Domestic peace j and ere this power can make In human hearts its calm and holy seat ; This slavery must be broken" — as I spake, From Cythna's eyes a light of exultation brake. 51 XXVIII. She replied earnestly : — " It shall be mine, This task, mine, Laon ! — thou hast much to gain ; Nor wilt thou at poor Cythna's pride repine, If she should lead a happy female train To meet thee over the rejoicing plain, When myriads at thy call shall throng around The Golden City ."—Then the child did strain My arm upon her tremulous heart, and wound Her own about my neck, till some reply she found. XXXIX. I smiled, and spake not — " wherefore dost thou smile At what I say ? Laon, I am not weak, And though my cheek might become pale the while, With thee, if thou desirest, will I seek Through their array of banded slaves to wreak Ruin upon the tyrants. I had thought It was more hard to turn my unpractised cheek To scorn and shame, and this beloved spot And thee, O dearest friend, to leave and murmur not, e2 52 XL. " Whence came I what I am? thou, Laon, knowest How a young child should thus undaunted be; Me thinks, it is a power which thou bestowest, Through which I seek, by most resembling thee, So to become most good, and great and free, Yet far beyond this Ocean's utmost roar In towers and huts are many like to me, Who, could they see thine eyes, or feel such lore As I have learnt from them, like me would fear no more. XLI* (t Think'st thou that I shall speak unskilfully, And none will heed me? I remember now, How once, a slave in tortures doomed to die, Was saved, because in accents sweet and low He sung a song his Judge loved long ago, As he was led to death. — All shall relent Who hear me — tears as mine have flowed, shall flow, Hearts beat as mine now beats, with such intent ,As renovates the world; a will omnipotent! 53 XLII. " Yes, I will tread Pride's golden palaces, Thro* Penury's roofless huts and squalid cells Will I descend, where'er in abjectness Woman with some vile slave her tyrant dwells, There with the music of thine own sweet spells Will disinchant the captives, and will pour For the despairing, from the crystal wells Of thy deep spirit, reason's mighty lore, And power shall then abound, and hope arise once more. XL1II. " Can man be free if woman be a slave ? Chain one who lives, and breathes this boundless air To the corruption of a closed grave ! Can they whose mates are beasts, condemned to bear Scorn, heavier far than toil or anguish, dare To trample their oppressors ? in their home Among their babes, thou knowest a curse would wear The shape of woman — hoary crime would come Behind, and fraud rebuild religion's tottering dome. 54 XLIV. " I am a child : — I would not yet depart. When I go forth alone, bearing the lamp Aloft which thou hast kindled in my heart, Millions of slaves from many a dungeon damp Shall leap in joy, as the benumbing cramp Of ages leaves their limbs — no ill may harm Thy Cythna ever — truth Its radiant stamp Has fixed, as an invulnerable charm Upon her children's brow, dark falshood to disarm. XLV. " Wait yet awhile for the appointed day— Thou wilt depart, and I with tears shall stand Watching thy dim sail skirt the ocean grey , Amid the dwellers of this lonely land I shall remain alone — and thy command Shall then dissolve the world's unquiet trance, And, multitudinous as the desart sands Borne on the storm, its millions shall advance, Thronging round thee, the light of their deliverance. 55 XLVI. " Then, like the forests of some pathless mountain. Which from remotest glens two warring winds Involve in fire, which not the loosened fountain Of broadest floods might quench, shall all the kinds Of evil, catch from our uniting minds The spark which must consume them ; — Cythna then Will have cast off the impotence that binds Her childhood now, and thro' the paths of men Will pass, as the charmed bird that haunts the serpent's den. XLVII. " We part ! — O Laon, I must dare nor tremble To meet those looks no more ! — -Oh, heavy stroke, Sweet brother of my soul ! can I dissemble The agony of this thought ?" — As thus she spoke The gathered sobs her quivering accents broke, And in my arms she hid her beating breast. I remained still for tears. — sudden she woke As one awakes from sleep, and wildly prest My bosom, her whole frame impetuously possest. - 56 XLVIII. « We part to meet again — but yon blue waste, Yon desart wide and deep holds no recess, Within whose happy silence, thus embraced We might survive all ills in one caress : Nor doth the grave — I fear 'tis passionless— Nor yon cold vacant Heaven : — we meet again Within the minds of men, whose lips shall bless Our memory, and whose hopes its light retain When these dissevered bones are trodden in the plain.' XL1X. I could not speak, tho' she had ceased, for now The fountains of her feeling, swift and deep, Seemed to suspend the tumult of their flow; So we arose, and by the star-light steep Went homeward — neither did we speak nor weep, But pale, were calm with passion — thus subdued Like evening shades that o'er the mountains creep, We moved towards our home \ where, in this mood, Each from the other sought refuge in solitude. Canto Cfnttu i. What thoughts had sway over my sister's slumber That night, I know not j but my own did seem As if they_did ten thousand years outnumber Of waking life, the visions of a dream, Which hid in one dim gulph the troubled stream Of mind ; a boundless chaos wild and vast Whose limits yet were never memory's theme : And I lay struggling as its whirlwinds past, Sometimes for rapture sick, sometimes for pain aghast. 58 II. Two hours, whose mighty circle did embrace More time than might make grey the infant world, Rolled thus, a weary and tumultuous space : When the third came, like mist on breezes curled, From my dim sleep a shadow was unfurled : Methought, upon the threshold of a cave I sate with Cythna ; drooping briony, pearled With dew from the wild streamlet's shattered wave, Hung, where we sate to taste the joys which Nature gave. III. We lived a day as we were wont to live, But Nature had a robe of glory on, And the bright air o'er every shape did weave Intenser hues, so that the herbless stone, The leafless bough among the leaves alone, Had being clearer than its own could be, And Cythna's pure and radiant self was shown In this strange vision, so divine to me, That if I loved before, now love was agony. 59 IV. Morn fled, noon came, evening, then night descended, And we prolonged calm talk beneath the sphere Of the calm moon — when, suddenly was blended With our repose a nameless sense of fear ; And from the cave behind I seemed to hear Sounds gathering upwards ! — accents incomplete, And stifled shrieks, — and now, more near and near, A tumult and a rush of thronging feet The cavern's secret depths beneath the earth did beat, V. The scene was changed, and away, away, away ! Thro' the air and over the sea we sped, And Cythna in my sheltering bosom lay, And the winds bore me — thro' the darkness spread Around, the gaping earth then vomited Legions of foul and ghastly shapes, which hung Upon my flight \ and ever as we fled, They plucked at Cythna — soon to me then clung A sense of actual things those monstrous dreams among. 60 VI. And I lay struggling in the impotence Of sleep, while oatward life had burst its bound, Tho', still deluded, strove the tortured sense To its dire wanderings to adapt the sound Which in the light of morn was poured around Our dwelling — breathless, pale, and unaware 1 rose, and all the cottage crowded found With armed men, whose glittering swords were bare, And whose degraded limbs the tyrant's garb did wear. VII. And ere with rapid lips and gathered brow I could demand the cause — a feeble shriek- It was a feeble shriek, faint, far and low, Arrested me — my mien grew calm and meek, And grasping a small knife, I went to seek That voice among the crowd — 'twas Cythna's cry ! Beneath most calm resolve did agony wreak Its whirlwind rage : — so I past quietly Till I beheld, where bound, that dearest child did lie. 61 VIII. I started to behold her, for delight And exultation, and a joyance free, Solemn, serene and lofty, filled the light Of the calm smile with which she looked on me: So that I feared some brainless ecstacy, Wrought from that bitter woe, had wildered her — " Farewell! farewell!" she said, as I drew nigh. " At first my peace was marred by this strange stir, Now I am calm as truth — its chosen minister. IX. " Look not so, Laon — say farewell in hope, These bloody men are but the slaves who bear Their mistress to her task — it was my scope The slavery where they drag me now, to share, And among captives willing chains to wear Awhile — the rest thou knowest — return, dear friend ! Let our first triumph trample the despair Which would ensnare us now, for in the end, In victory or in death our hopes and fears must blend," 62 X. These words had fallen on my unheeding ear, Whilst I had watched the motions of the crew With seeming careless glance ; not many were Around her, for their comrades just withdrew To guard some other victim — so I drew My knife, and with one impulse, suddenly All unaware three of their number slew, And grasped a fourth by the throat, and with loud cry My countrymen invoked to death or liberty! XI. What followed then, I know not — for a stroke On my raised arm and naked head, came down, Filling my eyes with blood — when I awoke, I felt that they had bound me in my swoon, And up a rock which overhangs the town, By the steep path were bearing me : below, The plain was filled with slaughter, — overthrown The vineyards and the harvests, and the glow Of blazing roofs shone far o'er the white Ocean's flow. 63 XII. Upon that rock a mighty column stood, Whose capital seemed sculptured in the sky, Which to the wanderers o'er the solitude Of distant seas, from ages long gone by, Had made a landmark ; o'er its height to fly Scarcely the cloud, the vulture, or the blast, Has power — and when the shades of evening lie On Earth and Ocean, its carv'd summits cast The sunken day- light far thro' the aerial waste. XIII. They bore me to a cavern in the hill Beneath that column, and unbound me there : And one did strip me stark 5 and one did fill A vessel from the putrid pool j one bare A lighted torch, and four with friendless care Guided my steps the cavern-paths along, Then up a steep and dark and narrow stair We wound, until the torches' fiery tongue Amid the gushing day beamless and pallid hung. 64 XIV. They raised me to the platform of the pile, That column's dizzy height : — the grate of brass Thro' which they thrust me, open stood the while, As to its ponderous and suspended mass, With chains which eat into the flesh, alas ! With brazen links, my naked limbs they bound : The grate, as they departed to repass, With horrid clangour fell, and the far sound Of their retiring steps in the dense gloom were drowned. XV. The noon was calm and bright : — around that column The overhanging sky and circling sea Spread forth in silentness profound and solemn The darkness of brief frenzy cast on me, So that I knew not my own misery : The islands and the mountains in the day Like clouds reposed afar ; and I could see The town among the woods below that lay, And the dark rocks which bound the bright and glassy bay. 65 XVI. It was so calm, that scarce the feathery weed Sown by some eagle on the topmost stone Swayed in the air : — so bright, that noon did breed No shadow in the sky beside mine own — Mine, and the shadow of my chain alone. Below the smoke of roofs involved in flame Rested like night, all else was clearly shewn In that broad glare, yet sound to me none came, But of the living blood that ran within my frame. XVII. The peace of madness fled, and ah, too soon ! A ship was lying on the sunny main, Its sails were flagging in the breathless noon — Its shadow lay beyond — that sight again Waked, with its presence, in my tranced brain The stings of a known sorrow, keen and cold : I knew that ship bore Cythna o'er the plain Of waters, to her blighting slavery sold, And watched it with such thoughts as must remain untold. 66 XVIII. I watched, until the shades of evening wrapt Earth like an exhalation— then the bark Moved, for that calm was by the sunset snapt. It moved a speck upon the Ocean dark : Soon the wan stars came forth, and I could mark Its path no more !— I sought to close mine eyes, But like the balls, their lids were stiffand stark 5 I would have risen, but ere that I could rise, My parched skin was split with piercing agonies. XIX. I gnawed my brazen chain, and sought to sever Its adamantine links, that I might die : O Liberty ! forgive the base endeavour, Forgive me, if reserved for victory, The Champion of thy faith e'er sought to fly. — That starry night, with its clear silence, sent Tameless resolve which laughed at misery Into my soul — linked remembrance lent To that such power, to me such a severe content. 67 xx. To breathe, to be, to hope, or to despair And die, I questioned not ; nor, though the Sun Its shafts of agony kindling thro' the air Moved over me, nor though in evening dun, Or when the stars their visible courses run, Or morning, the wide universe was spread In dreary calmness round me, did I shun Its presence, nor seek refuge with the dead From one faint hope whose flower a dropping poison shed, XXI. Two days thus past — I neither raved nor died — Thirst raged within me, like a scorpion's nest Built in mine entrails : I had spurned aside The water-vessel, while despair possest My thoughts, and now no drop remained ! the uprest Of the third sun brought hunger — but the crust Which had been left, was to my craving breast Fuel, not food. I chewed the bitter dust, And bit my bloodless arm, and licked the brazen rust. f2 68 XXII. My brain began to fail when the fourth mom Burst o'er the golden isles — a fearful sleep, Which through the caverns dreary and forlorn Of the riven soul, sent its foul dreams to sweep With whirlwind swiftness — a fall far and deep,— A gulph, a void, a sense of senselessness — These things dwelt in me, even as shadows keep Their watch in some dim enamel's loneliness, A shoreless sea, a sky sunless and planetless ! XXIII. The forms which peopled this terrific trance I well remember — like a quire of devils, Around me they involved a giddy dance ; Legions seemed gathering from the misty levels Of Ocean, to supply those ceaseless revels, Foul, ceaseless shadows : — thought could not divide The actual world from these entangling evils, Which so bemocked themselves, that I descried All shapes like mine own self, hideously multiplied. 69 XXIV. The sense of day and night, of false and true. Was dead within me. Yet two visions burst That darkness — one, as since that hour I knew, Was not a phantom of the realms accurst, Where then my spirit dwelt — but of the first I know not yet, was it a dream or no. But both, tho' not distincter, were immersed In hues which, when thro' memory's waste they flow, Make their divided streams more bright and rapid now. XXV. Methought that gate was lifted, and the seven Who brought me thither, four stiff corpses bare, And from the frieze to the four winds of Heaven Hung them on high by the entangled hair : Swarthy were three — the fourth was very fair : As they retired, the golden moon upsprung, And eagerly, out in the giddy air, Leaning that I might eat, I stretched and clung Over the shapeless depth in which those corpses hung. 70 XXVI. A woman's shape, now lank and cold and blue, The dwelling of the many-coloured worm Hung there, the white and hollow cheek I drew To my dry lips — what radiance did inform Those horny eyes ? whose was that withered form ? Alas, alas ! it seemed that Cythna's ghost Laughed in those looks, and that the flesh was warm Within my teeth ! — a whirlwind keen as frost Then in its sinking gulphs my sickening spirit tost. XXVII. Then seemed it that a tameless hurricane Arose, and bore me in its dark career Beyond the sun, beyond the stars that wane On the verge of formless space— it languished there, And dying, left a silence lone and drear, More horrible than famine : — in the deep The shape of an old man did then appear, Stately and beautiful, that dreadful sleep His heavenly smiles dispersed, and I could wake and weep. 71 XXVIII. And when the blinding tears had fallen, I saw That column, and those corpses, and the moon, And felt the poisonous tooth of hunger gnaw My vitals, I rejoiced, as if the boon Of senseless death would be accorded soon ;— When from that stony gloom a voice arose, Solemn and sweet as when low winds attune The midnight pines ; the grate did then unclose, And on that reverend form the moonlight did repose. XXIX. He struck my chains, and gently spake and smiled : As they were loosened by that Hermit old, Mine eyes were of their madness half beguiled, To answer those kind looks — he did infold His giant arms around me, to uphold My wretched frame, my scorched limbs he wound In linen moist and balmy, and as cold As dew to drooping leaves ; — the chain, with sound Like earthquake, thro' the chasm of that steep stair did bound, 72 XXX. As lifting me, it fell ! — What next I heard, Were billows leaping on the harbour bar, And the shrill sea-wind, whose breath idly stirred My hair; — I looked abroad, and saw a star Shining beside a sail, and distant far That mountain and its column, the known mark Of those who in the wide deep wandering are, So that I feared some Spirit, fell and dark, In trance had lain me thus within a fiendish bark. XXXI. For now indeed, over the salt sea billow I sailed : yet dared not look upon the shape Of him who ruled the helm, altho' the pillow For my light head was hollowed in his lap, And my bare limbs his mantle did enwrap, Fearing it was a fiend : at last, h& bent O'er me his aged face, as if to snap Those dreadful thoughts the gentle grandsire bent, And to my inmost soul his soothing looks he sent. 73 XXXII. A soft and healing potion to my lips At intervals he raised— now looked on high, To mark if yet the starry giant dips His zone in the dim sea — now cheeringly, Though he said little, did he speak to me. " It is a friend beside thee — take good cheer, Poor victim, thou art now at liberty !" I joyed as those a human tone to hear, Who in cells deep and lone have languished many a year. XXXIII. A dim and feeble joy, whose glimpses oft Were quenched in a relapse of wildering dreams, Yet still methought we sailed, until aloft The stars of night grew pallid, and the beams Of morn descended on the ocean streams, And still that aged man, so grand and mild, Tended me, even as some sick mother seems To hang in hope over a dying child, Till in the azure East darkness again was piled. 74 XXXIV. And then the night- wind steaming from the shore, Sent odours dying sweet across the sea, And the swift boat the little waves which bore, Were cut by its keen keel, tho' slantingly ; Soon I could hear the leaves sigh, and could see The myrtle blossoms starring the dim grove, As past the pebbly beach the boat did flee On sidelong wing, into a silent cove, Where ebon pines a shade under the starlight wove. Canto jfoutti). The old man took the oars, and soon the bark Smote on the beach beside a tower of stone ; It was a crumbling heap, whose portal dark With blooming ivy trails was overgrown ; Upon whose floor the spangling sands were strown, And rarest sea-shells, which the eternal flood, Slave to the mother of the months, had thrown Within the walls of that grey tower, which stood A. changeling of man's art, nursed amid Nature's brood. 76 When the old man his boat had anchored, He wound me in his arms with tender care, And very few, but kindly words he said, And bore me thro' the tower adown a stair, Whose smooth descent some ceaseless step to wear For many a year had fallen — We came at last To a small chamber, which with mosses rare Was tapestried, where me his soft hands placed Upon a couch of grass and oak-leaves interlaced. III. The moon was darting through the lattices Its yellow light, warm as the beams of day — So warm, that to admit the dewy breeze, The old man opened them ; the moonlight lay Upon a lake whose waters wore their play Even to the threshold of that lonely home: Within was seen in the dim wavering ray, The antique sculptured roof, and many a tome Whose lore had made that sage all that he had become. 77 IV. The rock- built barrier of the sea was past, — And 1 was on the margin of a lake, A lonely lake, amid the forests vast And snowy mountains: — did my spirit wake From sleep, as many-coloured as the snake That girds eternity ? in life and truth, Might not my heart its cravings ever slake ? Was Cythna then a dream, and all my youth, And all its hopes and fears, and all its joy and ruth? V. Thus madness came again, — a milder madness, Which darkened nought but time's unquiet flow With supernatural shades of clinging sadness ; That gentle Hermit, in my helpless woe, By my sick couch was busy to and fro, Like a strong spirit ministrant of good : When I was healed, he led me forth to shew The wonders of his sylvan solitude, And we together sate by that isle-fretted flood. 78 VI. He knew his soothing words to weave with skill From all my madness told; like mine own heart, Of Cythna would he question me, until That thrilling name had teased to make me start, From his familiar lips — it was not art, Of wisdom and of justice when he spoke — When mid soft looks of pity, there would dart A glance as keen as is the lightning's stroke When it doth rive the knots of some ancestral oak. VII. Thus slowly from my brain the darkness rolled, My thoughts their due array did re-assume Thro' the inchantments of that Hermit old ; Then I bethought me of the glorious doom Of those who sternly struggle to relume The lamp of Hope o'er man's bewildered lot, And, sitting by the waters, in the gloom Of eve, to that friend's heart I told my thought — That heart which had grown old, but had corrupted not. 79 VIII. That hoary man had spent his livelong age In converse with the dead, who leave the stamp Of ever-burning thoughts on many a page, When they are gone into the senseless damp Of graves; — his spirit thus became a lamp Of splendour, like to those on which it fed Thro' peopled haunts, the City and the Camp, Deep thirst for knowledge had his footsteps led, And all the ways of men among mankind he read. IX. But custom maketh blind and obdurate The loftiest hearts : — he had beheld the woe In which mankind was bound, but deemed that fate Which made them abject, would preserve them so; And in such faith, some stedfast joy to know, He sought this cell : but when fame went abroad, That one in Argolis did undergo Torture for liberty, and that the crowd High truths from gifted lips had heard and understood ; 80 X. And that the multitude was gathering wide ; His spirit leaped within his aged frame, In lonely peace he could no more abide, But to the land on which the victor's flame Had fed, my native land, the Hermit came : Each heart was there a shield, and every tongue Was as a sword of truth — young Laon's name Rallied their secret hopes, tho' tyrants sung Hymns of triumphant joy our scattered tribes among. XI. He came to the lone column on the rock, And with his sweet and mighty eloquence The hearts of those who watched it did unlock, And made them melt in tears of penitence. They gave him entrance free to bear me thence. Since this, the old man said, seven years are spent, While slowly truth on thy benighted sense Has crept ; the hope which wildered it has lent Meanwhile, to me the power of a sublime intent. 81 xu. M Yes, from the records of my youthful state, And from the lore of bards and sages old, From whatsoe'er my wakened thoughts create Out of the hopes of thine aspirings bold, Have I collected language to unfold Truth to my countrymen ; from shore to shore Doctrines of human power my words have told, They have been heard, and men aspire to more Than they have ever gained or ever lost of yore. XIII. " In secret chambers parents read, and weep, My writings to their babes, no longer blind ; And young men gather when their tyrants sleep, And vows of faith each to the other bind ; i And marriageable maidens, who have pined With love, till life seemed melting thro' their looks, A warmer zeal, a nobler hope now find ; And every bosom thus is rapt and shook, Like autumn's myriad leaves in one swoln mountain brook. 82 XIV. " The tyrants of the Golden City tremble At voices which are heard about the streets,, The ministers of fraud can scarce dissemble The lies of their own heart ; but when one meets i Another at the shrine, he inly weets, Tho' he says nothing, that the truth is known ; Murderers are pale upon the judgment seats, And gold grows vile even to the wealthy crone, And laughter fills the Fane, and curses shake the Throne. XV. " Kind thoughts, and mighty hopes, and gentle deeds Abound, for fearless love, and the pure law Of mild equality and peace, succeeds To faiths which long have held the world in awe, Bloody and false, and cold :— as whirlpools draw All wrecks of Ocean to their chasm, the sway Of thy strong genius, Laon, which foresaw This hope, compels all spirits to obey, Which round thy secret strength now throng in wide array. 83 XVI. " For I have been thy passive instrument"—* (As thus the old man spake, his countenance Gleamed on me like a spirit's) — " thou hast lent To me, to all, the power to advance Towards this unforeseen deliverance From our ancestral chains — aye, thou didst rear That lamp of hope on high, which time nor chance, Nor change may not extinguish, and my share Of good, was o'er the world its gathered beams to bear. XVII. " But I, alas ! am both unknown and old, And though the woof of wisdom I know well To dye in hues of language, I am cold In seeming, and the hopes which inly dwell, Thy manners note that I did long repel ; But Laon's name to the tumultuous throng Were like the star whose beams the waves compel And tempests, and his soul-subduing tongue Were as a lance to quell the mailed crest of wrong. g2 84 XVIII. ie Perchance blood need not flow, if thou at length Wouldst rise, perchance the very slaves would spare Their brethren and themselves ; great is the strength Of words — for lately did a maiden fair, Who from her childhood has been taught to bear The tyrant's heaviest yoke, arise, and make Her sex the law of truth and freedom hear, And with these quiet words — " for thine own sake I prithee spare me;" — did with ruth so take XIX. " All hearts, that even the torturer who had bound Her meek calm frame, ere it was yet impaled, Loosened her weeping then ; nor could be found One human hand to harm her — unassailed Therefore she walks thro' the great City, veiled In virtue's adamantine eloquence, 'Gainst scorn, and death and pain thus trebly mailed, And blending in the smiles of that defence, The Serpent and the Dove, Wisdom and Innocence. 85 XX. " The wild-eyed women throng around her path : From their luxurious dungeons, from the dust Of meaner thralls, from the oppressor's wrath, Or the caresses of his sated lust They congregate : — in her they put their trust 5 The tyrants send their armed slaves to quell Her power; — they, even like a thunder gust Caught by some forest, bend beneath the spell Of that young maiden's speech, and to their chiefs rebel , XXI. " Thus she doth equal laws and justice teach To woman, outraged and polluted long; Gathering the sweetest fruit in human reach For those fair hands now free, while armed wrong Trembles before her look, tho' it be strong ; Thousands thus dwell beside her, virgins bright, And matrons with their babes, a stately throng ! Lovers renew the vows which they did plight la early faith, and hearts long parted now unite. 86 XXII. ee And homeless orphans find a home near her, And those poor victims of the proud, no less, Fair wrecks, on whom the smiling world with stir, Thrusts the redemption of its wickedness : — In squalid huts, and in its palaces Sits Lust alone, while o'er the land is borne Her voice, whose awful sweetness doth repress All evil, and her foes relenting turn, And cast the vote of love in hope's abandoned urn. XXIII. ?s So in the populous City, a young maiden Has baffled havock of the prey which he Marks as his own, whene'er with chains o'erladen Men make them arms to hurl down tyranny, False arbiter between the bound and free ; And o'er the land, in hamlets and in towns The multitudes collect tumultuously, And throng in arms ; but tyranny disowns Their claim, and gathers strength around its trembling thrones* 87 XXIV. (( Blood soon, altho' unwillingly to shed, The free cannot forbear — the Queen of Slaves, The hood-winked Angel of the blind and dead, Custom, with iron mace points to the graves When her own standard desolately waves Over the dust of Prophets and of Kings. Many yet stand in her array— ( she paves Her path with human hearts,' and o'er it flings The wildering gloom of her immeasurable wings. XXV. " There is a plain beneath the City's wall, Bounded by misty mountains, wide and vast, Millions there lift at Freedom's thrilling call Ten thousand standards wide, they load the blast Which bears one sound of many voices past, And startles on his throne their sceptered foe : He sits amid his idle pomp aghast, And that his power hath past away, doth know — Why pause the victor swords to seal his overthrow ? XXVI. " The tyrant's guards resistance yet maintain : Fearless, and fierce, and hard as beasts of blood ; They stand a speck amid the peopled plain ; Carnage and ruin have been made their food From infancy — ill has become their good, And for its hateful sake their will has wove The chains which eat their hearts- — the multitude Surrounding them, with words of human love, Seek from their own decay their stubborn minds to move. XXVII. " Over the land is felt a sudden pause, As night and day those ruthless bands around The watch of love is kept : — a trance which awes The thoughts of men with hope — as when the sound Of whirlwind, whose fierce blasts the waves and clouds con- found, Dies suddenly, the manner in fear Feels silence sink upon his heart — thus bound, The conquerors pause, and oh ! may freemen ne'er Clasp the relentless knees of Dread the murderer ! 89 XXVIII. ee If blood be shed, 'tis but a change and choice Of bonds, — from slavery to cowardice A wretched fall ! — uplift thy charmed voice, Pour on those evil men the love that lies Hovering within those spirit-soothing eyes- Arise, my friend, farewell !" — As thus he spake, From the green earth lightly I did arise, As one out of dim dreams that doth awake, And looked upon the depth of that reposing lake. XXIX. I saw my countenance reflected there ; — And then my youth fell on me like a wind, Descending on still waters — my thin hair Was prematurely grey, my face was lined With channels, such as suffering leaves behind, Not age ', — my brow was pale, but in my cheek And lips a flush of gnawing fire did find Their food and dwelling ; tho' mine eyes might speak A subtle mind and strong within a frame thus weak. 90 XXX. And tho' their lustre now were spent and faded, Yet in my hollow looks and withered mien The likeness of a shape for which was braided The brightest woof of genius, still was seen — One who, methought, had gone from the world's scene, And left it vacant — 'twas her brother's face — It might resemble her — it once had been The mirror of her thoughts, and still the grace Which her mind's shadow cast, left there a lingering trace. XXXI. What then was I ? She slumbered with the dead. Glory and joy and peace, had come and gone. Doth the cloud perish, when the beams are fled Which steeped its skirts in gold ? or dark and lone, Doth it not thro' the paths of night unknown, On outspread wings of its own wind upborne Pour rain upon the earth ? the stars are shewn, When the cold moon sharpens her silver horn Under the sea, and make the wide night not forlorn. 91 XXXII. Strengthened in heart, yet sad, that aged man I left, with interchange of looks and tears, And lingering speech, and to the Camp began My way. O'er many a mountain chain which rears Its hundred crests aloft, my spirit bears My frame 5 o'er many a dale and many a moor, And gaily now me seems serene earth wears The blosmy spring's star bright investiture, A vision which ought sad from sadness might allure. XXXIII. My powers revived within me, and I went As one whom winds waft o'er the bending grass, Thro' many a vale of that broad continent. At night when I reposed, fair dreams did pass Before my pillow ; — my own Cythna was Not like a child of death, among them ever ; When I arose from rest, a woeful mass That gentlest sleep seemed from my life to sever, As if the light of youth were not withdrawn for ever. 92 XXXIV. Aye as I went, that maiden who had reared The torch of Truth afar, of whose high deeds The Hermit in his pilgrimage had heard, Haunted my thoughts. — Ah, Hope its sickness feeds With whatsoe'er it finds, or flowers or weeds ! Could she be Cythna ? — Was that corpse a shade Such as self-torturing thought from madness breeds ? Why was this hope not torture ? yet it made A light around my steps which would not ever fade. Canto jFtftjK i. Over the utmost hill at length I sped, A snowy steep : — the moon was hanging low Over the Asian mountains, and outspread The plain, the City, and the Camp below, Skirted the midnight Ocean's glimmering flow, The City's moon-lit spires and myriad lamps, Like stars in a sublunar sky did glow, And fires blazed far amid the 'scattered camps, Like springs of flame, which burst where'er swift Earth- quake stamps. 94 II. All slept but those in watchful arms who stood, And those who sate tending the beacon's light, And the few sounds from that vast multitude Made silence more profound — Oh, what a might Of human thought was cradled in that night! How many hearts impenetrably veiled, Beat underneath its shade, what secret fight Evil and good, in woven passions mailed, Waged thro' that silent throng ; a war that never failed ! III. And now the Power of Good held victory So, thro' the labyrinth of many a tent, Among the silent millions who did lie In innocent sleep, exultingly I went ; The moon had left Heaven desert now, but lent From eastern morn the first faint lustre showed An armed youth — over his spear he bent His downward face — "A friend!" I cried aloud, And quickly common hopes made freemen understood. 95 IV. I sate beside him while the morning beam Crept slowly over Heaven, and talked with him Of those immortal hopes, a glorious theme ! Which led us forth, until the stars grew dim : And all the while, methought, his voice did swim, As if it drowned in remembrance were Of thoughts which make the moist eyes overbrim : At last, when daylight 'gan to fill the air, He looked on me, and cried in wonder — t{ thou art here !" V. Then, suddenly, I knew it was the youth In whom its earliest hopes my spirit found ; But envious tongues had stained his spotless truth, And thoughtless pride his love in silence bound, And shame and sorrow mine in toils had wound, Whilst he was innocent, and I deluded ; The truth now came upon me, on the ground Tears of repenting joy ? which fast intruded, Fell fast, and o'er its peace our mingling spirits brooded. 96 VI. Thus, while with rapid lips and earnest eyes We talked, a sound of sweeping conflict spread, As from the earth did suddenly arise ; From every tent roused by that clamour dread, Our bands outsprung and seized their arms — we sped Towards the sound : our tribes were gathering far, Those sanguine slaves amid ten thousand dead Stabbed in their sleep, trampled in treacherous war, The gentle hearts whose power their lives had sought to spare. VII. Like rabid snakes, that sting some gentle child Who brings them food, when winter false and fair Allures them forth with its cold smiles, so wild They rage among the camp ; — they overbear The patriot hosts — confusion, then despair Descends like night — when " Laon !" one did cry: Like a bright ghost from Heaven that shout did scare The slaves, and widening thro' the vaulted sky, Seemed sent from Earth to Heaven in sign of victory. 97 VIII. In sudden panic those false murderers fled, Like insect tribes before the northern gale : But swifter still, our hosts encompassed Their shattered ranks, and in a craggy vale, Where even their fierce despair might nought avail Hemmed them around ! — and then revenge and fear Made the high virtue of the patriots fail : One pointed on his foe the mortal spear— I rushed before its point, and cried, " Forbear, forbear !" IX. The spear transfixed my arm that was uplifted In swift expostulation, and the blood Gushed round its point : I smiled, and — " Oh ! thou gifted With eloquence which shall not be withstood, Flow thus !" — I cried in joy, " thou vital flood, Until my heart be dry, ere thus the cause For which thou wert aught worthy be subdued — Ah, ye are pale, — ye weep, — your passions pause, — 'Tis well ! ye feel the truth of love's benignant laws. 98 x. " Soldiers, our brethren and our friends are slain. Ye murdered them, J think, as they did sleep ! ^Alas, what have ye done ? the slightest pain ». . „ Which ye might suffer, there were eyes to weep; But ye have quenched them — there were smiles to steep Your hearts in balm, but they are lost in woe ; And those whom love did set his watch to keep Around your tents truth's freedom to bestow, Ye stabbed as they did sleep — but they forgive ye now. XI. " O wherefore should ill ever flow from ill, And pain still keener pain forever breed ? We all are brethren — even the slaves who kill For hire, are men ; and to avenge misdeed On the misdoer, doth but Misery feed With her own broken heart ! O Earth, O Heaven ! And thou, dread Nature, which to every deed And all that lives, or is, to be hath given, Even a^to thee have these done ill, and are forgiven. 99 XII. " Join then your hands and hearts, and let the past Be as a grave which gives not up its dead To evil thoughts" — a film then overcast My sense with dimness, for the wound, which bled Freshly, swift shadows o'er mine eyes had shed. When I awoke, I lay 'mid friends and foes, And earnest countenances on me shed The light of questioning looks, whilst one did close My wound with balmiest herbs, and soothed me to repose ', XIII. And one whose spear had pierced me, leaned beside With quivering lips and humid eyes 3 — and all Seemed like some brothers on a journey wide Gone forth, whom now strange meeting did befall In a strange land, round one whom they might call Their friend, their chief, their father, for assay Of peril, which had saved them from the thrall Of death, now suffering. Thus the vast array Of those fraternal bands were reconciled that day. h2 100 XIV. Lifting the thunder of their acclamation, Towards the City then the multitude, And I among them, went in joy — a nation Made free by love; — a mighty brotherhood Linked by a jealous interchange of good; A glorious pageant, more magnificent Than kingly slaves arrayed in gold and blood, When they return from carnage, and are sent In triumph bright beneath the populous battlement. XV. Afar, the city walls were thronged on high, And myriads on each giddy turret clung, And to each spire far lessening in the sky, Bright pennons on the idle winds were hung ; As we approached a shout of ioyance sprung At once from all the crowd, as if the vast And peopled Earth its boundless skies among The sudden clamour of delight had cast, When from before its face some general wreck had past. 101 XVI. Our armies tbro' the City's hundred gates Were poured, like brooks which to the rocky lair Of some deep lake, whose silence them awaits, Throng from the mountains when the storms are there 5 And as we past thro' the calm sunny air A thousand flower-invowen crowns were shed, The token flowers of truth and freedom fair, And fairest hands bound them on many a head, Those angels of love's heaven, that over all was spread. XVII. I trod as one tranced in some rapturous vision : Those bloody bands so lately reconciled, Were, ever as they went, by the contrition Of anger turned to love from ill beguiled, And every one on them more gently smiled, Because they had done evil : — the sweet awe Of such mild looks made their own hearts grow mild, And did with soft attraction ever draw Their spirits to the love of freedom's equal law. XVIII. And they, and all, in one loud symphony My name with Liberty commingling, lifted, " The friend and the preserver of the free ! The parent of this joy!" and fair eyes gifted With feelings, caught from one who had uplifted The light of a great spirit, round me shone; And all the shapes of this grand scenery shifted Like restless clouds before the stedfast sun, — Where was that Maid ? I asked, but it was known of none. XIX. Laone was the name her love had chosen, For she was nameless, and her birth none knew : Where was Laone now ? — the words were frozen Within my lips with fear ; but to subdue Such dreadful hope, to my great task was due, And when at length one brought reply, that she To-morrow would appear, I then withdrew To judge what need for that great throng might be, For now the stars came thick over the twilight, sea. 103 XX. Yet need was none for rest or food to care, Even tho' that multitude was passing great. Since each one for the other did prepare All kindly succour — Therefore to the gate Of the Imperial House, now desolate, I past, and there was found aghast, alone, The fallen Tyrant ! — silently he sate Upon the footstool of his golden throne, Which starred with sunny gems, in its own lustre shone. XXI. Alone, but for one child, who led before him A graceful dance : the only living thing Of all the crowd, which thither to adore him Flocked yesterday, who solace sought to bring In his abandonment ! — she knew the King Had praised her dance of yore, and now she wove Its circles, aye weeping and murmuring 'Mid her sad task of unregarded love, That to no smiles it might his speechless sadness move. 104 XXII. She fled to him, and wildly clasped his feet When human steps were heard : — he moved nor spoke, Nor changed his hue, nor raised his looks to meet The gaze of strangers — our loud entrance woke The echoes of the hall, which circling broke Thee calm of its recesses,-r-like a tomb Its sculptured walls vacantly to the stroke Of footfalls answered, and the twilight's gloom, Lay like a charnel's mist within the radiant dome. XXIII. The little child stood up when we came nigh; Her lips and cheeks seemed very pale and wan, But on her forehead, and within her eye Lay beauty, which makes hearts that feed thereon Sick with excess of sweetness ; on the throne She leaned ; — the King with gathered brow, and lips Wreathed by long scorn, did inly sneer and frown With hue like that when some great painter dips His pencil in the gloom of earthquake and eclipse. 105 XXIV. She stood beside him like a rainbow braided Within some storm, when scarce its shadows vast From the blue paths of the swift sun have faded; A sweet and solemn smile, like Cythna's, cast One moment's light, which made my heart beat fast, O'er that child's parted lips — a gleam of bliss, A shade of vanished days, — as the tears past Which wrapt it, even as with a father's kiss 1 pressed those softest eyes in trembling tenderness. XXV. The sceptered wretch then from that solitude I drew, and of his change compassionate, With words of sadness soothed his rugged mood. t But he, while pride and fear held deep debate, With sullen guile of ill-dissembled hate Glared on me as a toothless snake might glare : Pity, not scorn I felt, tho' desolate The desolator now, and unaware The curses which he mocked had caught him by the hair. 106 XXVI. I led him forth from that which now might seem A gorgeous grave : thro' portals sculptured deep With imagery beautiful as dream We went, and left the shades which tend on sleep Over its unregarded gold to keep Their silent watch. — The child trod faintingly, And as she went, the tears which she did weep Glanced in the star-light j wildered seemed she, And when I spake, for sobs she could not answer me. XXVII. At last the tyrant cried, " She hungers, slave, Stab her, or give her bread !" — It was a tone Such as sick fancies in a new made grave Might hear. I trembled, for the truth was known, He with this child had thus been left alone, And neither had gone forth for food, — but he In mingled pride and awe cowered near his throne, And she a nursling of captivity Knew nought beyond those walls, nor what such change might be. 107 XXVIII. And he was troubled at a charm withdrawn Thus suddenly ; that scepters ruled no more — That even from gold the dreadful strength was gone, Whileom made all things subject to its power- Such wonder seized him, as if hour by hour The past had come again ; and the swift fall Of one so great and terrible of yore, To desolateness, in the hearts of all Like wonder stirred, who saw such awful change befal. XXIX. A mighty crowd, such as the wide land pours Once in a thousand years, now gathered round The fallen tyrant; — like the rush of showers Of hail in spring, pattering along the ground, Their many footsteps fell, else came no sound From the wide multitude : that lonely man Then knew the burthen of his change, and found, Concealing in the dust his visage wan, Eefuge from the keen looks which thro' his bosom ran; 108 XXX. And he was faint withal : I sate beside him Upon the earth, and took that child so fair From his weak arms, that ill might none betide him Or her j— when food was brought to them, her share To his averted lips the child did bear, But when she saw he had enough, she ate And wept the while ; — the lonely man's despair Hunger then overcame, and of his state Forgetful, on the dust as in a trance he sate. XXXI. Slowly the silence of the multitudes Past, as when far is heard in some lone dell The gathering of a wind among the woods— And he is fallen ! they cry, he who did dwell Like famine or the plague, or aught more fell Among our homes, is fallen ! the murderer Who slaked his thirsting soul as from a well Of blood and tears with ruin ! he is here ! Sunk in a gulph of scorn from which none may him rear! 109 XXXII. Then was heard — He who judged let him be brought To judgment ! blood for blood cries from the soil On which his crimes have deep pollution wrought ! Shall Othman only unavenged despoil ? Shall they who by the stress of grinding toil Wrest from the unwilling earth his luxuries, Perish for crime, while his foul blood may boil, Or creep within his veins at will ? — Arise 1 And to high justice make her chosen sacrifice. XXXIII. " What do ye seek? what fear ye ?" then I cried, Suddenly starting forth, " that ye should shed The blood of Othman — if your hearts are tried In the true love of freedom, cease to dread This one poor lonely man — beneath Heaven spread In purest light above us all, thro' earth Maternal earth, who doth her sweet smiles spread For all, let him go free; until the worth Of human nature win from these a second birth. 110 XXXIV. te What call ye justice? is there one who ne'er In secret thought has wished another's ill? — Are ye all pure ? let those stand forth who hear, And tremble not. Shall they insult and kill, If such they be ? their mild eyes can they fill With the false anger of the hypocrite ? Alas, such were not pure — the chastened will Of virtue sees that justice is the light Of love, and not revenge, and terror and despite." XXXV. The murmur of the people slowly dying, Paused as I spake, then those who near me were, Cast gentle looks when the lone man was lying Shrouding his head, which now that infant fair Clasped on her lap in silence ; — thro' the air Sobs were then heard, and many kissed my feet In pity's madness, and to the despair Of him whom late they cursed, a solace sweet His very victims brought — soft looks and speeches meet. Ill XXXVI. Then to a home for his repose assigned, Accompanied by the still throng he went In silence, where to soothe his rankling mind, Some likeness of his antient state was lent ; And if his heart could have been innocent As those who pardoned him, he might have ended His days in peace ; but his straight lips were bent, Men said, into a smile which guile portended, A sight with which that child like hope with fear was blended. XXXVII. 'Twas midnight now, the eve of that great day Whereon the many nations at whose call The chains of earth like mist melted away, Decreed to hold a sacred Festival, A rite to attest the equality of all Who live. So to their homes, to dream or wake All went. The sleepless silence did recal Laone to my thoughts, with hopes that make The flood recede from which their thirst they seek to slake. 112 XXXVIII. The dawn flowed forth, and from its purple fountains I drank those hopes which make the spirit quail ; As to the plain between the misty mountains And the great City, with a countenance pale I went : — it was a sight which might avail To make men weep exulting tears, for whom Now first from human power the reverend veil Was torn, to see Earth from her general womb Pour forth her swarming sons to a fraternal doom : XXXIX. To see, far glancing in the misty morning, The signs of that innumerable host, To hear one sound of many made, the warning Of Earth to Heaven from its free children tost, While the eternal hills, and the sea lost In wavering light, and, starring the blue sky The city's myriad spires of gold, almost With human joy made mute society, Its witnesses with men who must hereafter be. 113 LX. To see like some vast island from the Ocean, The Altar of the Federation rear Its pile i'the midst ; a work, which the devotion Of millions in one night created there, Sudden, as when the moonrise makes appear Strange clouds in the east ; a marble pyramid Distinct with steps : that mighty shape did wear The light of genius 3 its still shadow hid Far ships : to know its height the morning mists forbid ! LXI. To hear the restless multitudes forever Around the base of that great Altar flow, As on some mountain islet burst and shiver Atlantic waves ; and solemnly and slow As the wind bore that tumult to and fro, To feel the dreamlike music, which did swim Like beams thro' floating clouds on waves below Falling in pauses, from that Altar dim As silver sounding tongues breathed an aerial hymn. 114 LXII. To hear, to see, to live, was on that morn Lethean joy ! so that all those assembled Cast off their memories of the past outworn ; Two only bosoms with their own life trembled, And mine was one,-— and we had both dissembled; So with a beating heart I went, and one, Who having much, covets yet more, resembled ; A lost and dear possession, which not won, He walks in lonely gloom beneath the noonday sun. LXIII. To the great Pyramid I came : its stair With female quires was thronged : the loveliest Among the free, grouped with its sculptures rare; As I approached, the morning's golden mist, Which now the wonder-stricken breezes kist With their cold lips, fled, and the summit shone Like Athos seen from Samothracia, drest In earliest light by vintagers, and one Sate there, a female Shape upon an ivory throne. 115 XLIV. A Form most like the imagined habitant Of silver exhalations sprung from dawn, By winds which feed on sunrise woven, to inchant The faiths of men : all mortal eyes were drawn, As famished mariners thro' strange seas gone Gaze on a burning watch-tower, by the light Of those divinest lineaments — alone With thoughts which none could share, from that fair sight J turned in sickness, for a veil shrouded her countenance bright. XLV. And, neither did I hear the acclamations, Which from brief silence bursting, filled the air With her strange name and mine, from all the nations, Which we, they said, in strength had gathered there From the sleep of bondage j nor the vision fair Of that bright pageantry beheld,— but blind And silent, as a breathing corpse did fare, Leaning upon my friend, till like a wind To fevered cheeks, a voice flowed o'er my troubled mind. i2 116 XLVI. Like music of some minstrel heavenly gifted, To one whom fiends inthrall, this voice to me j Scarce did I wish her veil to be uplifted, I was so calm and joyous. — I could see The platform when we stood, the statues three Which kept their marble watch on that high shrine, The multitudes, the mountains, and the sea 3 As when eclipse hath past, things sudden shine To men's astonished eyes most clear and crystalline. XLVII. At first Laone spoke most tremulously: But soon her voice the calmness which it shed Gathered, and — t( thou art whom I sought to see, And thou art our first votary here, "she said : " I had a brother once, but he is dead ! — And of all those on the wide earth who breathe, Thou dost resemble him alone — I spread This veil between us two, that thou beneath Shouldst image one who may have been long lost in death. 117 XLVIII. 6C For this wilt thou not henceforth pardon me ? Yes, but those joys which silence well requite Forbid reply 5— why men have chosen me To be the Priestess of this holiest rite I scarcely know, but that the floods of light Which flow over the world, have borne me hither To meet thee, long most dear ; and now unite Thine hand with mine, and may all comfort wither From both the hearts whose pulse in joy now beat together, XLIX. " If our own will as others' law we bind, If the foul worship trampled here we fear ; If as ourselves we cease to love our kind !" — She paused, and pointed upwards — sculptured there Three shapes around her ivory throne appear j One was a Giant, like a child asleep On a loose rock, whose grasp crushed, as it were In dream, scepters and crowns \ and one did keep Its watchful eyes in doubt whether to smile or weep ', 118 L. A Woman sitting on the sculptured disk Of the broad earth, and feeding from one breast A human babe and a young basilisk ; Her looks were sweet as Heaven's when loveliest In Autumn eves. — The third Image was drest In white wings swift as clouds in winter skies, Beneath his feet, 'mongst ghastliest forms, represt Lay Faith, an obscene worm, who sought to rise* While calmly on the Sun he turned his diamond eyes. LI; Beside that Image then I sate, white she Stood, 'mid the throngs which ever ebbed and flowed Like light amid the shadows of the sea Cast from one cloudless star, and on the crowd That touch which none who feels forgets, bestowed ; And whilst the sun returned the stedfast gaze Of the great Image as o'er Heaven it glode, That rite had place ; it ceased when sunset's blaze Burned o*er the isles j all stood in joy and deep amaze. 119 When in the silence of all spirits there Laone's voice was felt, and thro' the air Her thrilling gestures spoke, most eloquently fair. 1. " Calm art thou as yon sunset ! swift and strong As new-fledged Eagles, beautiful and young, That float among the blinding beams of morning ; And underneath thy feet writhe Faith, and Folly, Custom, and Hell, and mortal Melancholy — Hark ! the Earth starts to hear the mighty warning Of thy voice sublime and holy ; Its free spirits here assembled, See thee, feel thee, know thee now, — • To thy voice their hearts have trembled Like ten thousand clouds which flow With one wide wind as it flies !— Wisdom ! thy irresistible children rise To hail thee, and the elements they chain And their own will to swell the glory of thy train 120 2. " O Spirit vast and deep as Night and Heaven ! Mother and soul of all to which is given The light of life, the loveliness of being, Lo ! thou dost re-ascend the human heart, Thy throne of power, almighty as thou wert, In dreams of Poets old grown pale by seeing The shade of thee : — now, millions start To feel thy lightnings thro* them burning : Nature, or God, or Love, or Pleasure, Or Sympathy the sad tears turning To mutual smiles, a drainless treasure, Descends amidst us j — Scorn, and Hate, Revenge and Selfishness are desolate — A hundred nations swear that there shall be Pity and Peace and Love, among the good and free! 3. (t Eldest of things, divine Equality ! Wisdom and Love are but the slaves of thee, 121 The Angels of thy sway, who pour around thee Treasures from all the cells of human thought, And from the Stars, and from the Ocean brought, And the last living heart whose beatings bound thee : The powerful and the wise had sought Thy coming, thou in light descending O'er the wide land which is thine own Like the spring whose breath is blending All blasts of fragrance into one, Comest upon the paths of men ! — Earth bares her general bosom to thy ken, And all her children here in glory meet To feed upon thy smiles, and clasp thy sacred feet. 4. " My brethren we are free ! the plains and mountains^ The grey sea shore, the forests and the fountains, Are haunts of happiest dwellers ; — man and woman, Their common bondage burst, may freely borrow From lawless love a solace for their sorrow \ ]For oft we still must weep, since we are human. A stormy night's serenest morrow, 122 Whose showers are pity's gentle tears, Whose clouds are smiles of those that die Like infants without hopes or fears, And whose beams are joys that lie In blended hearts, now holds dominion ; The dawn of mind, which upwards on a pinion Borne, swift as sun-rise, far illumines space, And clasps this barren world in its own bright embrace I 5. XVII. Flaccid and foamy, like a mad dog's hanging ; Want, and Moon-madness, and the pest's swift Bane When its shafts smite — while yet its bow is twanging- Have each their mark and sign — some ghastly stain ; And this was thine, O War ! of hate and pain Thou loathed slave. I saw all shapes of death And ministered to many, o'er the plain While carnage in the sun- beam's warmth did seethe, Till twilight o'er the east wove her serenest wreath. 137 XVIII. The few who yet survived, resolute and firm Around me fought. At the decline of day Winding above the mountain'' s snowy term New banners shone : they quivered in the ray Of the sun's unseen orb — ere night the array Of fresh troops hemmed us in — of those brave bands I soon survived alone — and now I lay Vanquished and faint, the grasp of bloody hands I felt, and saw on high the glare of falling brands: XIX. When on my foes a sudden terror came, And they fled, scattering — lo! with reinless speed A black Tartarian horse of giant frame Comes trampling over the dead, the living bleed Beneath the hoofs of that tremendous steed, On which, like to an Angel, robed in white, Sate one waving a sword ; — the hosts recede And fly, as thro' their ranks with awful might, Sweeps in the shadow of eve that Phantom swift and bright; 138 XX. And its path made a solitude. — I rose And marked its coming : it relaxed its course As it approached me, and the wind that flows Thro' night, bore accents to mine ear whose force Might create smiles in death — the Tartar horse Paused, and I saw the shape its might which swayed, And heard her musical pants, like the sweet source Of waters in the desart, as she said, " Mount with me Laon, now" — I rapidly obeyed. XXI. Then : " Away ! away!" she cried, and stretched her sword As 'twere a scourge over the courser's head, And lightly shook the reins : — We spake no word But like the vapour of the tempest fled Over the plain ; her dark hair was dispread Like the pine's locks upon the lingering blast; Over mine eyes its shadowy strings it spread Fitfully, and the hills and streams fled fast, As o'er their glimmering forms the steed's broad shadow past. 139 XXII. And his hoofs ground the rocks to fire and dust, His strong sides made the torrents rise in spray, And turbulence, as of a whirlwind's gust Surrounded us; — and still away! away! Thro' the desart night we sped, while she alway Gazed on a mountain which we neared, whose crest Crowned with a marble ruin, in the ray Of the obscure stars gleamed ; — its rugged breast The steed strained up, and then his impulse did arrest. XXIII. A rocky hill which overhung the Ocean: — From that lone ruin, when the steed that panted Paused, might be heard the murmur of the motion Of waters, as in spots forever haunted. By the choicest winds of Heaven, which are inchanted To music, by the wand of Solitude, That wizard wild, and the far tents implanted Upon the plain, be seen by those who stood Thence marking the dark shore of Ocean's curved flood. 140 XXIV. One moment these were heard and seen — another Past; and the two who stood beneath that night, Each only heard, or saw, or felt the other; As from the lofty steed she did alight, Cythna, (for, from the eyes whose deepest light Of love and sadness made my lips feel pale With influence strange of mournfullest delight, My own sweet sister looked), with joy did quail, And felt her strength in tears of human weakness fail. XXV. And, for a space in my embrace she rested, Her head on my unquiet heart reposing, While my faint arms her languid frame invested : At length she looked on me, and half unclosing Her tremulous lips, said : " Friend, thy bands were losing The battle, as 1 stood before the King In bonds. — I burst them then, and swiftly choosing The time, did seize a Tartar's sword, and spring Upon his horse, and swift as on the whirlwind's wing, m XXVI. " Have thou and I been borne beyond pursuer, And we are here." — Then turning to the steed, She pressed the white moon on his front with pure And rose-like lips, and many a fragrant weed From the green ruin plucked, that he might feed j— But I to a stone seat that Maiden led, And kissing her fair eyes, said, " Thou hast need Of rest," and I heaped up the courser's bed In a green mossy nook, with mountain flowers dispread. XXVII. Within that ruin, where a shattered portal Looks to the eastern stars, abandoned now By man, to be the home of things immortal, Memories, like awful ghosts which come and go, And must inherit all he builds below, When he is gone, a hall stood ; o'er whose roof Fair clinging weeds with ivy pale did grow, Clasping its grey rents with a verdurous woof, A hanging dome of leaves, a canopy moon-proof. 142 XXVIII. The autumnal winds, as if spell-bound, had made A natural couch of leaves in that recess, Which seasons none disturbed, but in the shade Of flowering parasites, did spring love to dress With their sweet blooms the wintry loneliness Of those dead leaves, shedding their stars, whene'er The wandering wind her nurslings might caress ; Whose intertwining fingers ever there, Made music wild and soft that filled the listening air. XXIX. We know not where we go, or what sweet dream May pilot us thro' caverns strange and fair Of far and pathless passion, while the stream Of life, our bark doth on its whirlpools bear, Spreading swift wings as sails to the dim air; Nor should we seek to know, so the devotion Of love and gentle thoughts be heard still there Louder and louder from the utmost Ocean Of universal life, attuning its commotion. 143 XXX. To the pure all things are pure ! Oblivion wrapt Our spirits, and the fearful overthrow Of public hope was from our being snapt, Tho' linked years had bound it there ; for now A power, a thirst, a knowledge, which below All thoughts, like light beyond the atmosphere, Clothing its clouds with grace, doth ever flow, Came on us, as we sate in silence there, Beneath the golden stars of the clear azure air. XXXI. In silence which doth follow talk that causes The baffled heart to speak with sighs and tears, When wildering passion swalloweth up the pauses Of inexpressive speech : — the youthful years Which we together past, their hopes and fears, The common blood which ran within our frames, That likeness of the features which endears The thoughts expressed by them, our very names, And all the winged hours which speechless memory claims, 144 XXXII. Had found a voice : — and ere that voice did' pass. The night grew damp and dim, and thro' a rent Of the ruin where we sate, from the morass, A wandering Meteor by some wild wind sent, Hung high in the green dome, to which it lent A faint and pallid lustre \ while the song Of blasts, in which its blue hair quivering bent, Strewed strangest sounds the moving leaves among; A wondrous light, the sound as of a spirit's tongue. XXXIII. The Meteor shewed the leaves on which we sate, Aud Cythna's glowing arms, and the thick ties Of her soft hair which bent with gathered weight My neck near hers, her dark and deepening eyes, Which, as twin phantoms of one star that lies O'er a dim well, move, though the star reposes, Swam in our mute and liquid ecstacies, Her marble brow, and eager lips, like roses, With their own fragrance pale, which spring but half uncloses. 145 xxxiv. The meteor to its far morass returned : The beating of our veins one interval Made still ; and then I felt the blood that burned Within her frame, mingle with mine, and fall Around my heart like fire ; and over all A mist was spread, the sickness of a deep And speechless swoon of joy, as might befall Two disunited spirits when they leap In union from this earth's obscure and fading sleep. XXXV. Was it one moment that confounded thus All thought, all sense, all feeling, into one Unutterable power, which shielded us Even from our own cold looks, when we had gone Into a wide and wild oblivion Of tumult and of tenderness ? or now Had ages, such as make the moon and sun, The seasons, and mankind their changes know, Left fear and time unfelt by us alone below ? 146 XXXVI. I know not. What are kisses whose fire clasps The failing heart in languishment, or limb Twined within limb ? or the quick dying gasps Of the life meeting, when the faint eyes swim Thro' tears of a wide mist boundless and dim, In one caress ? What is the strong controul Which leads the heart that dizzy steep to climb, Where far over the world those vapours roll, Which blend two restless frames in one reposing soul ? XXXVII. It is the shadow which doth float unseen, But not unfelt, o'er blind mortality, Whose divine darkness fled not, from that green And lone recess, where lapt in peace did lie Our linked frames 5 till, from the changing sky, That night and still another day had fled ; And then I saw and felt. The moon was high, And clouds, as of a coming storm, were spread Under its orb, — loud winds were gathering overhead. 147 xxxviii. Cythna's sweet lips seemed lurid in the moon, Her fairest limbs with the night wind were chill, And her dark tresses were all loosely strewn O'er her pale bosom : — all within was still, And the sweet peace of joy did almost fill The depth of her unfathomable look ;— And we sate calmly, though that rocky hill, The waves contending in its caverns strook, For they foreknew the storm, and the grey ruin shook. XXXIX. There we unheeding sate, in the communion Of interchanged vows, which, with a rite Of faith most sweet and sacred, stamped our union,— Few were the living hearts which could unite Like ours, or celebrate a bridal night With such close sympathies, for to each other Had high and solemn hopes, the gentle might Of earliest love, and all the thoughts which smother Cold Evil's power, now linked a sister and a brother, l2 148 XL. And such is Nature's modesty, that those Who grow together cannot choose but love, If faith or custom do not interpose, Or common slavery mar what else might move All gentlest thoughts j as in the sacred grove Which shades the springs of ^Ethiopian Nile, That living tree, which, if the arrowy dove Strike with her shadow, shrinks in fear awhile, But its own kindred leaves clasps while the sun-beams smile; XLI. And clings to them, when darkness may dissever The close caresses of all duller plants Which bloom on the wide earth — thus we forever Were linked, for love had nurst us in the haunts Where knowledge, from its secret source inchants Young hearts with the fresh music of its springing, Ere yet its gathered flood feeds human wants, As the great Nile feeds Egypt, ever flinging Light on the woven boughs which o'er its waves are swinging. 149 XLII. The tones of Cythna's voice like echoes were Of those far murmuring streams ; they rose and fell, Mixed with mine own in the tempestuous air,— And so we sate, until our talk befel Of the late ruin, swift and horrible, And how those seeds of hope might yet be sown, Whose fruit is evil's mortal poison : well, For us, this ruin made a watch-tower lone, But Cythna's eyes looked faint, and now two days were gone XLIII. Since she had food : — therefore I did awaken The Tartar steed, who, from his ebon mane, Soon as the clinging slumbers he had shaken, Bent his thin head to seek the brazen rein, Following me obediently ; with pain Of heart, so deep and dread, that one caress, When lips and heart refuse to part again, Till they have told their fill, could scarce express The anguish of her mute and fearful tenderness, 150 XLIV. Cythna beheld me part, as I bestrode That willing steed — the tempest and the night, Which gave my path its safety as I rode Down the ravine of rocks, did soon unite The darkness and the tumult of their might Borne on all winds. — Far thro' the streaming rain Floating at intervals the garments white Of Cythna gleamed, and her voice once again Came to me on the gust, and soon I reached the plain. XLV. I dreaded not the tempest, nor did he Who bore me, but his eyeballs wide and red Turned on the lightning's cleft exultingly; And when the earth beneath his tameless tread, Shook with the sullen thunder, he would spread His nostrils to the blast, and joyously Mock the fierce peal with neighings ; — thus we sped O'er the lit plain, and soon I could descry Where Death and Fire had gorged the spoil of victory. 151 XLVI. There was a desolate village in a wood Whose bloom-inwoven leaves now scattering fed The hungry storm; it was a place of blood, A heap of hearthless walls ; — the flames were dead Within those dwellings now, — the life had fled From all those corpses now, — but the wide sky Flooded with lightning was ribbed overhead By the black rafters, and around did lie Women, and babes, and men, slaughtered confusedly. XLVII. Beside the fountain in the market-place Dismounting, I beheld those corpses stare With horny eyes upon each other's face, And on the earth and on the vacant air, And upon me, close to the waters where I stooped to slake my thirst ; — I shrank to taste, For the salt bitterness of blood was there ; But tied the steed beside, and sought in haste If any yet survived amid that ghastly waste. 152 XLVIII. No living thing was there beside one woman, Whom I found wandering in the streets, and she Was withered from a likeness of aught human Into a fiend, by some strange misery : Soon as she heard my steps she leaped on me, And glued her burning lips to mine, and laughed With a loud, long, and frantic laugh of glee, And cried, " Now Mortal, thou hast deeply quaffed The Plague's blue kisses — soon millions shall pledge the draught ! xux. " My name is Pestilence — this bosom dry, Once fed two babes— ^a sister and a brother — When I came home, one in the blood did lie Of three death-wounds — the flames had ate the other ! Since then I have no longer been a mother, But I am Pestilence ; — hither and thither I flit about, that I may slay and smother : — All lips which I have kissed must surely wither, But Death's — if thou art he, we'll go to work together ! 153 L. " What seek'st thou here ? the moonlight comes in flashes, — The dew is rising dankly from the dell — 'Twill moisten her ! and thou shalt see the gashes In my sweet boy, now full of worms — but tell First what thou seek'st."—" I seek for food."—" Tis well, Thou shalt have food j Famine, my paramour, Waits for us at the feast — cruel and fell Is Famine, but he drives not from his door Those whom these lips have kissed, alone. No more, no more!" LI. As thus she spake, she grasped me with the strength » Of madness, and by many a ruined hearth She led, and over many a corpse : — at length We came to a lone hut, where on the earth Which made its floor, she in her ghastly mirth Gathering from all those homes now desolate, Had piled three heaps of loaves, making a dearth Among the dead — round which she set in state A ring of cold, stiff babes j silent and stark they sate. 154 LII. She leaped upon a pile, and lifted high Her mad looks to the lightning, and cried : " Eat ! Share the great feast — to-morrow we must die !" And then she spurned the loaves with her pale- feet, Towards her bloodless guests ; — that sight to meet, Mine eyes and my heart ached, and but that she Who loved me, did with absent looks defeat Despair, I might have raved in sympathy; But now I took the food that woman offered me ; LIII. And vainly having with her madness striven If I might win her to return with me, Departed. In the eastern beams of Heaven The lightning now grew pallid — rapidly, As by the shore of the tempestuous sea The dark steed bore me, and the mountain grey Soon echoed to his hoofs, and I could see Cythna among the rocks, where she alway Had sate, with anxious eyes fixed on the lingering day. 155 LIV. And joy was ours to meet : she was most pale, Famished, and wet and weary, so I cast My arms around her, lest her steps should fail As to our home we went, and thus embraced, Her full heart seemed a deeper joy to taste Than e'er the prosperous know; the steed behind Trod peacefully along the mountain waste, We reached our home ere morning could unbind Night's latest veil, and on our bridal couch reclin'd. LV. Her chilled heart having cherished in my bosom, And sweetest kisses past, we two did share Our peaceful meal : — as an autumnal blossom Which spreads its shrunk leaves in the sunny air, After cold showers, like rainbows woven there, Thus in her lips and cheeks the vital spirit Mantled, and in her eyes, an atmosphere Of health, and hope; and sorrow languished near it, And fear, and all that dark despondence doth inherit. Canto g>rt>entfn i. So we sate joyous as the morning ray Which fed upon the wrecks of night and storm Now lingering on the winds; light airs did play Among the dewy weeds, the sun was warm, And we sate linked in the inwoven charm Of converse and caresses sweet and deep, Speechless caresses, talk that might disarm Time, tho' he wield the darts of death and sleep, And those thrice mortal barbs in his own poison steep. 157 II. I told her of my sufferings and my madness, And how, awakened from that dreamy mood By Liberty's uprise, the strength of gladness Came to my spirit in my solitude ; And all that now I was, while tears pursued Each other down her fair and listening cheek Fast as the thoughts which fed them, like a flood From sunbright dales ; and when I ceased to speak, Her accents soft and sweet the pausing air did wake. III. She told me a strange tale of strange endurance, Like broken memories of many a heart Woven into one ; to which no firm assurance, So wild were they, could her own faith impart. She said that not a tear did dare to start From the swoln brain, and that her thoughts were firm When from all mortal hope she did depart, Borne by those slaves across the Ocean's term, And that she reached the port without one fear infirm. 158 IV. One was she among many there, the thralls Of the cold tyrant's cruel lust : and they Laughed mournfully in those polluted halls ; But she was calm and sad, musing alway On loftiest enterprise, till on a day The Tyrant heard her singing to her lute A wild, and sad, and spirit-thrilling lay, Like winds that die in wastes — one moment mute The evil thoughts it made, which did his breast pollute. V. Even when he saw her wonderous loveliness, One moment to great Nature's sacred power He bent, and was no longer passionless; But when he bade her to his secret bower Be borne, a loveless victim, and she tore Her locks in agony, and her words of flame And mightier looks availed not; then he bore Again his load of slavery, and became A king, a heartless beast, a pageant and a name. 159 VI. She told me what a loathsome agony Is that when selfishness mocks love's delight, Foul as in dreams most fearful imagery To dally with the mowing dead — that night All torture, fear, or horror made seem light Which the soul dreams or knows, and when the day Shone on her awful frenzy, from the sight Where like a Spirit in fleshly chains she lay Struggling, aghast and pale the Tyrant fled away. VII. Her madness was a beam of light, a power Which dawned thro' the rent soul ', and words it gave Gestures and looks, such as in whirlwinds bore Which might not be withstood, whence none could save All who approached their sphere, like some calm wave Vexed into whirlpools by the chasms beneath ; And sympathy made each attendant slave Fearless and free, and they began to breathe Deep curses, like the voice of flames far underneath. 160 4 VIII. The King felt pale upon his noonday throne ; At night two slaves he to her chamber sent, One was a green and wrinkled eunuch, grown From human shape into an instrument Of all things ill — distorted, bowed and bent. The other was a wretch from infancy Made dumb by poison ; who nought knew or meant But to obey : from the fire-isles came he, A diver lean and strong, of Oman's coral sea. IX. They bore her to a bark, and the swift stroke Of silent rowers clove the blue moonlight seas, Until upon their path the morning broke ; . They anchored then, where, be there calm or breeze, The gloomiest of the drear Symplegades Shakes with the sleepless surge j — the iEthiop there Wound his long arms around her, and with knees Like iron clasped her feet, and plunged with her Among the closing waves out of the boundless air. 101 x. " Swift as an eagle stooping from the plain Of morning light, into some shadowy wood, He plunged thro' the green silence of the main, Thro' many a cavern which the eternal flood Had scooped, as dark lairs for its monster brood ; And among mighty shapes which fled in wonder, And among mightier shadows which pursued His heels, he wound : until the dark rocks under He touched a golden chain — a sound arose like thunder. XI. " A stunning clang of massive bolts redoubling Beneath the deep — a burst of waters driven As from the roots of the sea, raging and bubbling : And in that roof of crags a space was riven Thro' which these shone the emerald beams of heaven, Shot thro' the lines of many waves inwoven, Like sunlight thro* acacia woods at even, Thro' which, his way the diver having cloven, Past like a spark sent up out of a burning oven. M 162 XII. " And then," she said, " he laid me in a cave Above the waters, by that chasm of sea, A fountain round and vast, in which the wave Imprisoned, boiled and leaped perpetually, Down which, one moment resting, he did flee, Winning the adverse depth ; that spacious cell Like an upaithric temple wide and high, Whose aery dome is inaccessible, Was pierced with one round cleft thro' which the sun-beams fell. XIII. " Below, the fountain's brink was richly paven With the deep's wealth, coral, and pearl, and sand Like spangling gold, and purple shells engraven With mystic legends by no mortal hand, Left there, when thronging to the moon's command, The gathering waves rent the Hesperian gate Of mountains, and on such bright floor did stand Columns, and shapes like statues, and the slate Of kingless thrones, which Earth did in her heart create. 163 XIV.