The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim

  The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name.

  XIII

  One voice came forth from many a mighty spirit,

  110

  Which was the echo of three thousand years;

  And the tumultuous world stood mute to hear it,

  As some lone man who in a desert hears

  The music of his home:—unwonted fears

  Fell on the pale oppressors of our race,

  115

  And Faith, and Custom, and low-thoughted cares,

  Like thunder-stricken dragons, for a space

  Left the torn human heart, their food and dwelling-place.

  XIV

  Truth’s deathless voice pauses among mankind!

  If there must be no response to my cry—

  120

  If men must rise and stamp with fury blind

  On his pure name who loves them,—thou and I,

  Sweet friend! can look from our tranquillity

  Like lamps into the world’s tempestuous night,—

  Two tranquil stars, while clouds are passing by

  125

  Which wrap them from the foundering seaman’s sight,

  That burn from year to year with unextinguished light.

  CANTO I

  I

  When the last hope of trampled France had failed

  Like a brief dream of unremaining glory,

  From visions of despair I rose, and scaled

  130

  The peak of an aëreal promontory,

  Whose caverned base with the vexed surge was hoary;

  And saw the golden dawn break forth, and waken

  Each cloud, and every wave:—but transitory

  The calm: for sudden, the firm earth was shaken,

  135

  As if by the last wreck its frame were overtaken.

  II

  So as I stood, one blast of muttering thunder

  Burst in far peals along the waveless deep,

  When, gathering fast, around, above, and under,

  Long trains of tremulous mist began to creep,

  140

  Until their complicating lines did steep

  The orient sun in shadow:—not a sound

  Was heard; one horrible repose did keep

  The forests and the floods, and all around

  Darkness more dread than night was poured upon the ground.

  III

  145

  Hark! ’tis the rushing of a wind that sweeps

  Earth and the ocean. See! the lightnings yawn

  Deluging Heaven with fire, and the lashed deeps

  Glitter and boil beneath: it rages on,

  One mighty stream, whirlwind and waves upthrown,

  150

  Lightning, and hail, and darkness eddying by.

  There is a pause—the sea-birds, that were gone

  Into their caves to shriek, come forth, to spy

  What calm has fall’n on earth, what light is in the sky.

  IV

  For, where the irresistible storm had cloven

  155

  That fearful darkness, the blue sky was seen

  Fretted with many a fair cloud interwoven

  Most delicately, and the ocean green,

  Beneath that opening spot of blue serene,

  Quivered like burning emerald: calm was spread

  160

  On all below; but far on high, between

  Earth and the upper air, the vast clouds fled,

  Countless and swift as leaves on autumn’s tempest shed.

  V

  For ever, as the war became more fierce

  Between the whirlwinds and the rack on high,

  165

  That spot grew more serene; blue light did pierce

  The woof of those white clouds, which seem to lie

  Far, deep, and motionless; while through the sky

  The pallid semicircle of the moon

  Passed on, in slow and moving majesty;

  170

  Its upper horn arrayed in mists, which soon

  But slowly fled, like dew beneath the beams of noon.

  VI

  I could not choose but gaze; a fascination

  Dwelt in that moon, and sky, and clouds, which drew

  My fancy thither, and in expectation

  175

  Of what I knew not, I remained:—the hue

  Of the white moon, amid that heaven so blue,

  Suddenly stained with shadow did appear;

  A speck, a cloud, a shape, approaching grew,

  Like a great ship in the sun’s sinking sphere

  180

  Beheld afar at sea, and swift it came anear.

  VII

  Even like a bark, which from a chasm of mountains,

  Dark, vast, and overhanging, on a river

  Which there collects the strength of all its fountains,

  Comes forth, whilst with the speed its frame doth quiver,

  185

  Sails, oars, and stream, tending to one endeavour;

  So, from that chasm of light a wingèd Form

  On all the winds of heaven approaching ever

  Floated, dilating as it came: the storm

  Pursued it with fierce blasts, and lightnings swift and warm.

  VIII

  190

  A course precipitous, of dizzy speed,

  Suspending thought and breath; a monstrous sight!

  For in the air do I behold indeed

  An Eagle and a Serpent wreathed in fight:—

  And now relaxing its impetuous flight,

  195

  Before the aëreal rock on which I stood,

  The Eagle, hovering, wheeled to left and right,

  And hung with lingering wings over the flood,

  And startled with its yells the wide air’s solitude.

  IX

  A shaft of light upon its wings descended,

  200

  And every golden feather gleamed therein—

  Feather and scale, inextricably blended.

  The Serpent’s mailed and many-coloured skin

  Shone through the plumes its coils were twined within

  By many a swoln and knotted fold, and high

  205

  And far, the neck, receding lithe and thin,

  Sustained a crested head, which warily

  Shifted and glanced before the Eagle’s steadfast eye.

  X

  Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheeling

  With clang of wings and scream, the Eagle sailed

  210

  Incessantly—sometimes on high concealing

  Its lessening orbs, sometimes as if it failed,

  Drooped through the air; and still it shrieked and wailed,

  And casting back its eager head, with beak

  And talon unremittingly assailed

  215

  The wreathèd Serpent, who did ever seek

  Upon his enemy’s heart a mortal wound to wreak.

  XI

  What life, what power, was kindled and arose

  Within the sphere of that appalling fray!

  For, from the encounter of those wondrous foes,

  220

  A vapour like the sea’s suspended spray

  Hung gathered: in the void air, far away,

  Floated the shattered plumes; bright scales did leap,

  Where’er the Eagle’s talons made their way,

  Like sparks into the darkness;—as they sweep,

  225

  Blood stains the snowy foam of the tumultuous deep.

  XII

  Swift chances in that combat—many a check,

  And many a change, a dark and wild turmoil;

  Sometimes the Snake around his enemy’s neck

  Locked in stiff rings his adamantine coil,

  230

  Until the Eagle, faint with pain and toil,

  Remitt
ed his strong flight, and near the sea

  Languidly fluttered, hopeless so to foil

  His adversary, who then reared on high

  His red and burning crest, radiant with victory.

  XIII

  235

  Then on the white edge of the bursting surge,

  Where they had sunk together, would the Snake

  Relax his suffocating grasp, and scourge

  The wind with his wild writhings; for to break

  That chain of torment, the vast bird would shake

  240

  The strength of his unconquerable wings

  As in despair, and with his sinewy neck,

  Dissolve in sudden shock those linked rings,

  Then soar—as swift as smoke from a volcano springs.

  XIV

  Wile baffled wile, and strength encountered strength,

  245

  Thus long, but unprevailing:—the event

  Of that portentous fight appeared at length:

  Until the lamp of day was almost spent

  It had endured, when lifeless, stark, and rent,

  Hung high that mighty Serpent, and at last

  250

  Fell to the sea, while o’er the continent,

  With clang of wings and scream the Eagle passed,

  Heavily borne away on the exhausted blast.

  XV

  And with it fled the tempest, so that ocean

  And earth and sky shone through the atmosphere—

  255

  Only, ’twas strange to see the red commotion

  Of waves like mountains o’er the sinking sphere

  Of sunset sweep, and their fierce roar to hear

  Amid the calm: down the steep path I wound

  To the sea-shore—the evening was most clear

  260

  And beautiful, and there the sea I found

  Calm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound.

  XVI

  There was a Woman, beautiful as morning,

  Sitting beneath the rocks, upon the sand

  Of the waste sea—fair as one flower adorning

  265

  An icy wilderness—each delicate hand

  Lay crossed upon her bosom, and the band

  Of her dark hair had fall’n, and so she sate

  Looking upon the waves; on the bare strand

  Upon the sea-mark a small boat did wait,

  270

  Fair as herself, like Love by Hope left desolate.

  XVII

  It seemed that this fair Shape had looked upon

  That unimaginable fight, and now

  That her sweet eyes were weary of the sun,

  As brightly it illustrated her woe;

  275

  For in the tears which silently to flow

  Paused not, its lustre hung: she watching aye

  The foam-wreaths which the faint tide wove below

  Upon the spangled sands, groaned heavily,

  And after every groan looked up over the sea.

  XVIII

  280

  And when she saw the wounded Serpent make

  His path between the waves, her lips grew pale,

  Parted, and quivered; the tears ceased to break

  From her immovable eyes; no voice of wail

  Escaped her; but she rose, and on the gale

  285

  Loosening her star-bright robe and shadowy hair

  Poured forth her voice; the caverns of the vale

  That opened to the ocean, caught it there,

  And filled with silver sounds the overflowing air.

  XIX

  She spake in language whose strange melody

  290

  Might not belong to earth. I hear, alone,

  What made its music more melodious be,

  The pity and the love of every tone;

  But to the Snake those accents sweet were known

  His native tongue and hers; nor did he beat

  295

  The hoar spray idly then, but winding on

  Through the green shadows of the waves that meet

  Near to the shore, did pause beside her snowy feet.

  XX

  Then on the sands the Woman sate again,

  And wept and clasped her hands, and all between,

  300

  Renewed the unintelligble strain

  Of her melodious voice and eloquent mien;

  And she unveiled her bosom, and the green

  And glancing shadows of the sea did play

  O’er its marmoreal depth:—one moment seen,

  305

  For ere the next, the Serpent did obey

  Her voice, and, coiled in rest in her embrace it lay.

  XXI

  Then she arose, and smiled on me with eyes

  Serene yet sorrowing, like that planet fair,

  While yet the daylight lingereth in the skies

  310

  Which cleaves with arrowy beams the dark-red air,

  And said: ‘To grieve is wise, but the despair

  Was weak and vain which led thee here from sleep:

  This shalt thou know, and more, if thou dost dare

  With me and with this Serpent, o’er the deep,

  315

  A voyage divine and strange, companionship to keep.’

  XXII

  Her voice was like the wildest, saddest tone,

  Yet sweet, of some loved voice heard long ago.

  I wept. ‘Shall this fair woman all alone,

  Over the sea with that fierce Serpent go?

  320

  His head is on her heart, and who can know

  How soon he may devour his feeble prey?’—

  Such were my thoughts, when the tide gan to flow;

  And that strange boat like the moon’s shade did sway

  Amid reflected stars that in the waters lay:—

  XXIII

  325

  A boat of rare device, which had no sail

  But its own curvèd prow of thin moonstone,

  Wrought like a web of texture fine and frail,

  To catch these gentlest winds which are not known

  To breathe, but by the steady speed alone

  330

  With which it cleaves the sparkling sea; and now

  We are embarked—the mountains hang and frown

  Over the starry deep that gleams below,

  A vast and dim expanse, as o’er the waves we go.

  XXIV

  And as we sailed, a strange and awful tale

  335

  That Woman told, like such mysterious dream

  As makes the slumberer’s cheek with wonder pale!

  ’Twas midnight, and around, a shoreless stream,

  Wide ocean rolled, when that majestic theme

  Shrined in her heart found utterance, and she bent

  340

  Her looks on mine; those eyes a kindling beam

  Of love divine into my spirit sent,

  And ere her lips could move, made the air eloquent.

  XXV

  ‘Speak not to me, but hear! Much shalt thou learn,

  Much must remain unthought, and more untold,

  345

  In the dark Future’s ever-flowing urn:

  Know then, that from the depth of ages old,

  Two Powers o’er mortal things dominion hold

  Ruling the world with a divided lot,

  Immortal, all-pervading, manifold,

  350

  Twin Genii, equal Gods—when life and thought

  Sprang forth, they burst the womb of inessential Nought.

  XXVI

  ‘The earliest dweller of the world, alone,

  Stood on the verge of chaos. Lo! afar

  O’er the wide wild abyss two meteors shone,

  355

  Sprung from the depth of its tempestuous jar:

  A blood-red Comet and the Morning Star

  Mingling their beams in comba
t—as he stood,

  All thoughts within his mind waged mutual war,

  In dreadful sympathy—when to the flood

  360

  That fair Star fell, he turned and shed his brother’s blood.

  XXVII

  ‘Thus evil triumphed, and the Spirit of evil,

  One Power of many shapes which none may know,

  One Shape of many names; the Fiend did revel

  In victory, reigning o’er a world of woe,

  365

  For the new race of man went to and fro,

  Famished and homeless, loathed and loathing, wild,

  And hating good—for his immortal foe,

  He changed from starry shape, beauteous and mild,

  To a dire Snake, with man and beast unreconciled.

  XXVIII

  370

  ‘The darkness lingering o’er the dawn of things,

  Was Evil’s breath and life; this made him strong

  To soar aloft with overshadowing wings;

  And the great Spirit of Good did creep among

  The nations of mankind, and every tongue

  375

  Cursed and blasphemed him as he passed; for none

  Knew good from evil, though their names were hung

  In mockery o’er the fane where many a groan,

  As King, and Lord, and God, the conquering Fiend did own,—

  XXIX

  ‘The Fiend, whose name was Legion; Death, Decay,

  Earthquake and Blight, and Want, and Madness pale,

  Wingèd and wan diseases, an array

  Numerous as leaves that strew the autumnal gale;

  Poison, a snake in flowers, beneath the veil

  Of food and mirth hiding his mortal head;

  385

  And, without whom all these might nought avail,

  Fear, Hatred, Faith, and Tyranny, who spread