To the most hateful seeing of itself. Golden his hair of short Numidian curl, Regal his shape majestic, a vast shade
In midst of his own brightness, like the bulk Of Memnon's image at the set of sun
To one who travels from the dusking East : Sighs, too, as mournful as that Memnon's harp, He uttered, while his hands, contemplative, He pressed together, and in silence stood. Despondence seized again the fallen Gods At sight of the dejected King of Day, And many hid their faces from the light: But fierce Enceladus sent forth his eyes Among the brotherhood; and, at their glare, Uprose Iäpetus, and Creüs too,
And Phorcus, sea-born, and together strode To where he towered on his eminence.
There those four shouted forth old Saturn's name; Hyperion from the peak loud answered, "Saturn!" Saturn sat near the Mother of the Gods,
In whose face was no joy, though all the Gods Gave from their hollow throats the name of
CHIEF isle of the embowered Cyclades, Rejoice, O Delos, with thine olives green,
And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech, In which the zephyr breathes the loudest song, And hazels thick, dark-stemmed beneath the shade: Apollo is once more the golden theme!
Where was he, when the Giant of the Sun Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers? Together had he left his mother fair And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower, And in the morning twilight wandered forth Beside the osiers of a rivulet,
Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale.
The nightingale had ceased, and a few stars Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle There was no covert, no retired cave
Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves, Though scarcely heard in many a green recess. He listened, and he wept, and his bright tears Went trickling down the golden bow he held. Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood, While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by With solemn step an awful Goddess came, And there was purport in her looks for him, Which he with eager guess began to read Perplexed, the while melodiously he said:
How camest thou over the unfooted sea?
Or hath that antique mien and robed form Moved in these vales invisible till now? Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone In cool mid forest. Surely I have traced The rustle of those ample skirts about These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers Lift up their heads, as still the whisper passed. Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before, And their eternal calm, and all that face, Or I have dreamed.".
Yes," said the supreme shape. From Hyperion.
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCY.
Ан, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.
I met a Lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a fairy's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long ; For sideways would she lean, and sing A fairy's song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone: She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said, "I love thee true.'
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes- So kissed to sleep.
And there we slumbered on the moss, And there I dreamed, ah, woe betide, The latest I had ever dreamed
On the cold hill-side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all, Who cried, "La belle dame sans mercy Hath thee in thrall !"
I saw their starved lips in the gloom With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill-side.
And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing.
ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.
MUCH have I travelled in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen : Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne ; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific-and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise— Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR.
GIVE me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heaped-up flowers, in regions clear, and far ; Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen The silver strings of heavenly harp atween : And let there glide by many a pearly car, Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar, And half discovered wings, and glances keen. The while let music wander round my ears, And as it reaches each delicious ending, Let me write down a line of glorious tone, And full of many wonders of the spheres : For what a height my spirit is contending! "Tis not content to be so soon alone.
THERE was a Poet whose untimely tomb No human hand with pious reverence reared, But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness. A lovely youth, no mourning maiden decked With weeping flowers or votive cypress-wreath The lone couch of his everlasting sleep : Gentle and brave and generous, no lorn bard Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh: He lived, he died, he sang, in solitude. Strangers have wept to hear his passionate notes; And virgins, as unknown he passed, have pined And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes. The fire of those soft orbs has ceased to burn, And Silence, too enamoured of that voice, Locks its mute music in her rugged cell.
By solemn vision and bright silver dream His infancy was nurtured. Every sight
And sound from the vast earth and ambient air Sent to his heart its choicest impulses.
The fountains of divine philosophy
Fled not his thirsting lips and all of great
Or good or lovely which the sacred past
In truth or fable consecrates he felt
And knew. When early youth had passed, he left His cold fireside and alienated home,
To seek strange truths in undiscovered lands. Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness
Had lured his fearless steps; and he has brought With his sweet voice and eyes, from savage men, His rest and food. Nature's most secret steps He like her shadow has pursued, where'er The red volcano overcanopies
Its fields of snow, and pinnacles of ice With burning smoke; or where bitumen-lakes
On black bare pointed islets ever beat
With sluggish surge; or where the secret caves Rugged and dark, winding among the springs Of fire and poison, inaccessible
To avarice or pride, their starry domes Of diamond and of gold expand above Numberless and immeasurable halls,
Frequent with crystal column, and clear shrines
Of pearl, and thrones radiant with chrysolite. Nor had that scene of ampler majesty
Than gems or gold, the varying roof of heaven And the green earth, lost in his heart its claims To love and wonder. He would linger long In lonesome vales, making the wild his home; Until the doves and squirrels would partake From his innocuous hand his bloodless food, Lured by the gentle meaning of his looks, And the wild antelope, that starts whene'er The dry leaf rustles in the brake, suspend Her timid steps, to gaze upon a form More graceful than her own.
Obedient to high thoughts, has visited
The awful ruins of the days of old
Athens and Tyre, and Balbec, and the wate Where stood Jerusalem, the fallen towers
Of Babylon, the eternal pyramids,
Memphis and Thebes, and whatsoe'er of strange, Sculptured on alabaster obelisk,
Or jasper tomb, or mutilated sphinx, Dark Ethiopia on her desert hills
Conceals. Among the ruined temples there, Stupendous columns, and wild images
Of more than man, where marble demons watch The zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men
Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around, He lingered, poring on memorials
Of the world's youth; through the long burning day Gazed on those speechless shapes; nor when the moon Filled the mysterious halls with floating shades, Suspended he that task, but ever gazed And gazed, till meaning on his vacant mind Flashed like strong inspiration, and he saw The thrilling secrets of the birth of time.
From Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude.
ADONIAS; AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS.
I WEEP for Adonais--he is dead!
Oh weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour selected from all years
To mourn our loss, roused thy obscure compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow! Say, "With me Died Adonais! Till our future dares
Forget the past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity.
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