The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley

  The clasp of such a fearful death should woo

  With smiles of tender joy as beamed from Cythna now.

  XIV

  The warm tears burst in spite of faith and fear

  From many a tremulous eye, but like soft dews

  Which feed Spring’s earliest buds, hung gathered there,

  4570

  Frozen by doubt,—alas! they could not choose

  But weep; for when her faint limbs did refuse

  To climb the pyre, upon the mutes she smiled;

  And with her eloquent gestures, and the hues

  Of her quick lips, even as a weary child

  4575

  Wins sleep from some fond nurse with its caresses mild,

  XV

  She won them, though unwilling, her to bind

  Near me, among the snakes. When there had fled

  One soft reproach that was most thrilling kind,

  She smiled on me, and nothing then we said,

  4580

  But each upon the other’s countenance fed

  Looks of insatiate love; the mighty veil

  Which doth divide the living and the dead

  Was almost rent, the world grew dim and pale,—

  All light in Heaven or Earth beside our love did fail.—

  XVI

  4585

  Yet—yet—one brief relapse, like the last beam

  Of dying flames, the stainless air around

  Hung silent and serene—a blood-red gleam

  Burst upwards, hurling fiercely from the ground

  The globèd smoke,—I heard the mighty sound

  4590

  Of its uprise, like a tempestuous ocean;

  And through its chasms I saw, as in a swound,

  The tyrant’s child fall without life or motion

  Before his throne, subdued by some unseen emotion.

  XVII

  And is this death?—The pyre has disappeared,

  4595

  The Pestilence, the Tyrant, and the throng;

  The flames grow silent—slowly there is heard

  The music of a breath-suspending song,

  Which, like the kiss of love when life is young,

  Steeps the faint eyes in darkness sweet and deep:

  4600

  With ever-changing notes it floats along,

  Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep

  A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap.

  XVIII

  The warm touch of a soft and tremulous hand

  Wakened me then; lo! Cythna sate reclined

  4605

  Beside me, on the waved and golden sand

  Of a clear pool, upon a bank o’ertwined

  With strange and star-bright flowers, which to the wind

  Breathed divine odour; high above, was spread

  The emerald heaven of trees of unknown kind,

  4610

  Whose moonlike blooms and bright fruit overhead

  A shadow, which was light, upon the waters shed.

  XIX

  And round about sloped many a lawny mountain

  With incense-bearing forests, and vast caves

  Of marble radiance, to that mighty fountain;

  4615

  And where the flood its own bright margin laves,

  Their echoes talk with its eternal waves,

  Which, from the depths whose jaggèd caverns breed

  Their unreposing strife, it lifts and heaves,—

  Till through a chasm of hills they roll, and feed

  4620

  A river deep, which flies with smooth but arrowy speed.

  XX

  As we sate gazing in a trance of wonder,

  A boat approached, borne by the musical air

  Along the waves which sung and sparkled under

  Its rapid keel—a wingèd shape sate there,

  4625

  A child with silver-shining wings, so fair,

  That as her bark did through the waters glide,

  The shadow of the lingering waves did wear

  Light, as from starry beams; from side to side,

  While veering to the wind her plumes the bark did guide.

  XXI

  4630

  The boat was one curved shell of hollow pearl,

  Almost translucent with the light divine

  Of her within; the prow and stern did curl

  Hornèd on high, like the young moon supine,

  When o’er dim twilight mountains dark with pine,

  4635

  It floats upon the sunset’s sea of beams,

  Whose golden waves in many a purple line

  Fade fast, till borne on sunlight’s ebbing streams,

  Dilating, on earth’s verge the sunken meteor gleams.

  XXII

  Its keel has struck the sands beside our feet;—

  4640

  Then Cythna turned to me, and from her eyes

  Which swam with unshed tears, a look more sweet

  Than happy love, a wild and glad surprise,

  Glanced as she spake: ‘Ay, this is Paradise

  And not a dream, and we are all united!

  4645

  Lo, that is mine own child, who in the guise

  Of madness came, like day to one benighted

  In lonesome woods: my heart is now too well requited!’

  XXIII

  And then she wept aloud, and in her arms

  Clasped that bright Shape, less marvellously fair

  4650

  Than her own human hues and living charms;

  Which, as she leaned in passion’s silence there,

  Breathed warmth on the cold bosom of the air,

  Which seemed to blush and tremble with delight;

  The glossy darkness of her streaming hair

  4655

  Fell o’er that snowy child, and wrapped from sight

  The fond and long embrace which did their hearts unite.

  XXIV

  Then the bright child, the plumèd Seraph came,

  And fixed its blue and beaming eyes on mine,

  And said, ‘I was disturbed by tremulous shame

  4660

  When once we met, yet knew that I was thine

  From the same hour in which thy lips divine

  Kindled a clinging dream within my brain,

  Which ever waked when I might sleep, to twine

  Thine image with her memory dear—again

  4665

  We meet; exempted now from mortal fear or pain.

  XXV

  ‘When the consuming flames had wrapped ye round,

  The hope which I had cherished went away;

  I fell in agony on the senseless ground,

  And hid mine eyes in dust, and far astray

  My mind was gone, when bright, like dawning day,

  The Spectre of the Plague before me flew,

  And breathed upon my lips, and seemed to say,

  “They wait for thee, belovèd!”—then I knew

  The death-mark on my breast, and became calm anew.

  XXVI

  4675

  ‘It was the calm of love—for I was dying.

  I saw the black and half-extinguished pyre

  In its own gray and shrunken ashes lying;

  The pitchy smoke of the departed fire

  Still hung in many a hollow dome and spire

  4680

  Above the towers, like night; beneath whose shade

  Awed by the ending of their own desire

  The armies stood; a vacancy was made

  In expectation’s depth, and so they stood dismayed.

  XXVII

  ‘The frightful silence of that altered mood,

  4685

  The tortures of the dying clove alone,

  Till one uprose among the multitude,

  And said—“The flood of time is rolling on,

  We stand upon its brink, whilst they are gone

  To glide i
n peace down death’s mysterious stream.

  Have ye done well? They moulder flesh and bone,

  Who might have made this life’s envenomed dream

  A sweeter draught than ye will ever taste, I deem.

  XXVIII

  ‘ “These perish as the good and great of yore

  Have perished, and their murderers will repent,—

  4695

  Yes, vain and barren tears shall flow before

  Yon smoke has faded from the firmament

  Even for this cause, that ye who must lament

  The death of those that made this world so fair,

  Cannot recall them now; but there is lent

  4700

  To man the wisdom of a high despair,

  When such can die, and he live on and linger here.

  XXIX

  ‘ “Ay, ye may fear not now the Pestilence,

  From fabled hell as by a charm withdrawn;

  All power and faith must pass, since calmly hence

  4705

  In pain and fire have unbelievers gone;

  And ye must sadly turn away, and moan

  In secret, to his home each one returning,

  And to long ages shall this hour be known;

  And slowly shall its memory, ever burning,

  4710

  Fill this dark night of things with an eternal morning.

  XXX

  ‘ “For me the world is grown too void and cold,

  Since Hope pursues immortal Destiny

  With steps thus slow—therefore shall ye behold

  How those who love, yet fear not, dare to die;

  4715

  Tell to your children this!” Then suddenly

  He sheathed a dagger in his heart and fell;

  My brain grew dark in death, and yet to me

  There came a murmur from the crowd, to tell

  Of deep and mighty change which suddenly befell.

  XXXI

  4720

  ‘Then suddenly I stood, a wingèd Thought,

  Before the immortal Senate, and the seat

  Of that star-shining spirit, whence is wrought

  The strength of its dominion, good and great,

  The better Genius of this world’s estate.

  4725

  His realm around one mighty Fane is spread,

  Elysian islands bright and fortunate,

  Calm dwellings of the free and happy dead,

  Where I am sent to lead!’ These wingèd words she said,

  XXXII

  And with the silence of her eloquent smile,

  4730

  Bade us embark in her divine canoe;

  Then at the helm we took our seat, the while

  Above her head those plumes of dazzling hue

  Into the winds’ invisible stream she threw,

  Sitting beside the prow: like gossamer

  4735

  On the swift breath of morn, the vessel flew

  O’er the bright whirlpools of that fountain fair,

  Whose shores receded fast, whilst we seemed lingering there;

  XXXIII

  Till down that mighty stream, dark, calm, and fleet,

  Between a chasm of cedarn mountains riven,

  4740

  Chased by the thronging winds whose viewless feet

  As swift as twinkling beams, had, under Heaven,

  From woods and waves wild sounds and odours driven,

  The boat fled visibly—three nights and days,

  Borne like a cloud through morn, and noon, and even,

  4745

  We sailed along the winding watery ways

  Of the vast stream, a long and labyrinthine maze.

  XXXIV

  A scene of joy and wonder to behold

  That river’s shapes and shadows changing ever,

  When the broad sunrise filled with deepening gold

  Its whirlpools, where all hues did spread and quiver;

  And where melodious falls did burst and shiver

  Among rocks clad with flowers, the foam and spray

  Sparkled like stars upon the sunny river,

  Or when the moonlight poured a holier day,

  4755

  One vast and glittering lake around green islands lay.

  XXXV

  Morn, noon, and even, that boat of pearl outran

  The streams which bore it, like the arrowy cloud

  Of tempest, or the speedier thought of man,

  Which flieth forth and cannot make abode;

  Sometimes through forests, deep like night, we glode,

  Between the walls of mighty mountains crowned

  With Cyclopean piles, whose turrets proud,

  The homes of the departed, dimly frowned

  O’er the bright waves which girt their dark foundations round,

  XXXVI

  Sometimes between the wide and flowering meadows,

  Mile after mile we sailed, and ’twas delight

  To see far off the sunbeams chase the shadows

  Over the grass; sometimes beneath the night

  Of wide and vaulted caves, whose roofs were bright

  4770

  With starry gems, we fled, whilst from their deep

  And dark-green chasms, shades beautiful and white,

  Amid sweet sounds across our path would sweep,

  Like swift and lovely dreams that walk the waves of sleep.

  XXXVII

  And ever as we sailed, our minds were full

  4775

  Of love and wisdom, which would overflow

  In converse wild, and sweet, and wonderful,

  And in quick smiles whose light would come and go

  Like music o’er wide waves, and in the flow

  Of sudden tears, and in the mute caress—

  4780

  For a deep shade was cleft, and we did know,

  That virtue, though obscured on Earth, not less

  Survives all mortal change in lasting loveliness.

  XXXVIII

  Three days and nights we sailed, as thought and feeling

  Number delightful hours—for through the sky

  4785

  The spherèd lamps of day and night, revealing

  New changes and new glories, rolled on high,

  Sun, Moon, and moonlike lamps, the progeny

  Of a diviner Heaven, serene and fair:

  On the fourth day, wild as a windwrought sea

  4790

  The stream became, and fast and faster bare

  The spirit-wingèd boat, steadily speeding there.

  XXXIX

  Steady and swift, where the waves rolled like mountains

  Within the vast ravine, whose rifts did pour

  Tumultuous floods from their ten thousand fountains,

  4795

  The thunder of whose earth-uplifting roar

  Made the air sweep in whirlwinds from the shore,

  Calm as a shade, the boat of that fair child

  Securely fled, that rapid stress before,

  Amid the topmost spray, and sunbows wild,

  4800

  Wreathed in the silver mist: in joy and pride we smiled.

  XL

  The torrent of that wide and raging river

  Is passed, and our aëreal speed suspended.

  We look behind; a golden mist did quiver

  Where its wild surges with the lake were blended.—

  4805

  Our bark hung there, as on a line suspended

  Between two heavens,—that windless waveless lake

  Which four great cataracts from four vales, attended

  By mists, aye feed; from rocks and clouds they break,

  And of that azure sea a silent refuge make.

  XLI

  4810

  Motionless resting on the lake awhile,

  I saw its marge of snow-bright mountains rear

  Their peaks aloft, I saw each radiant isle,

  And in the midst,
afar, even like a sphere

  Hung in one hollow sky, did there appear

  4815

  The Temple of the Spirit; on the sound

  Which issued thence, drawn nearer and more near,

  Like the swift moon this glorious earth around,

  The charmèd boat approached, and there its haven found.

  NOTE ON THE REVOLT OF ISLAM, BY MRS. SHELLEY

  SHELLEY possessed two remarkable qualities of intellect—a brilliant imagination, and a logical exactness of reason. His inclinations led him (he fancied) almost alike to poetry and metaphysical discussions. I say ‘he fancied,’ because I believe the former to have been paramount, and that it would have gained the mastery even had he struggled against it. However, he said that he deliberated at one time whether he should dedicate himself to poetry or metaphysics; and, resolving on the former, he educated himself for it, discarding in a great measure his philosophical pursuits, and engaging himself in the study of the poets of Greece, Italy, and England. To these may be added a constant perusal of portions of the Old Testament—the Psalms, the Book of Job, the Prophet Isaiah, and others, the sublime poetry of which filled him with delight.

  As a poet, his intellect and compositions were powerfully influenced by exterior circumstances, and especially by his place of abode. He was very fond of travelling, and ill-health increased this restlessness. The sufferings occasioned by a cold English winter made him pine, especially when our colder spring arrived, for a more genial climate. In 1816 he again visited Switzerland, and rented a house on the banks of the Lake of Geneva; and many a day, in cloud or sunshine, was passed alone in his boat—sailing as the wind listed, or weltering on the calm waters. The majestic aspect of Nature ministered such thoughts as he afterwards enwove in verse. His lines on the Bridge of the Arve, and his Hymn to Intellectual Beauty, were written at this time. Perhaps during this summer his genius was checked by association with another poet whose nature was utterly dissimilar to his own, yet who, in the poem he wrote at that time, gave tokens that he shared for a period the more abstract and etherealised inspiration of Shelley. The saddest events awaited his return to England; but such was his fear to wound the feelings of others that he never expressed the anguish he felt, and seldom gave vent to the indignation roused by the persecutions he underwent; while the course of deep unexpressed passion, and the sense of injury, engendered the desire to embody themselves in forms defecated of all the weakness and evil which cling to real life.