Selected Poems and Prose

  No proud exemption in the blighting curse

  680He bears, over the world wanders for ever,

  Lone as incarnate death! O, that the dream

  Of dark magician in his visioned cave,

  Raking the cinders of a crucible

  For life and power, even when his feeble hand

  685Shakes in its last decay, were the true law

  Of this so lovely world! But thou art fled

  Like some frail exhalation; which the dawn

  Robes in its golden beams,—ah! thou hast fled!

  The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful,

  690The child of grace and genius. Heartless things

  Are done and said i’ the world, and many worms

  And beasts and men live on, and mighty Earth

  From sea and mountain, city and wilderness,

  In vesper low or joyous orison,

  695Lifts still its solemn voice:—but thou art fled—

  Thou canst no longer know or love the shapes

  Of this phantasmal scene, who have to thee

  Been purest ministers, who are, alas!

  Now thou art not. Upon those pallid lips

  700So sweet even in their silence, on those eyes

  That image sleep in death, upon that form

  Yet safe from the worm’s outrage, let no tear

  Be shed—not even in thought. Nor, when those hues

  Are gone, and those divinest lineaments,

  705Worn by the senseless wind, shall live alone

  In the frail pauses of this simple strain,

  Let not high verse, mourning the memory

  Of that which is no more, or painting’s woe

  Or sculpture, speak in feeble imagery

  710Their own cold powers. Art and eloquence,

  And all the shews o’ the world are frail and vain

  To weep a loss that turns their lights to shade.

  It is a woe too ‘deep for tears,’ when all

  Is reft at once, when some surpassing Spirit,

  715Whose light adorned the world around it, leaves

  Those who remain behind, not sobs or groans,

  The passionate tumult of a clinging hope;

  But pale despair and cold tranquillity,

  Nature’s vast frame, the web of human things,

  720Birth and the grave, that are not as they were.

  Verses written on receiving a Celandine in a letter from England

  I thought of thee, fair Celandine,

  As of a flower aery blue

  Yet small—thy leaves methought were wet

  With the light of morning dew;

  5In the same glen thy star did shine

  As the primrose and the violet,

  And the wild briar bent over thee

  And the woodland brook danced under thee.

  Lovely thou wert in thine own glen

  10 Ere thou didst dwell in song or story,

  Ere the moonlight of a Poet’s mind

  Had arrayed thee with the glory

  Whose fountains are the hearts of men—

  Many a thing of vital kind

  15Had fed and sheltered under thee,

  Had nourished their thoughts near to thee.

  Yes, gentle flower, in thy recess

  None might a sweeter aspect wear:

  Thy young bud drooped so gracefully,

  20 Thou wert so very fair—

  Among the fairest ere the stress

  Of exile, death and injury

  Thus withering and deforming thee

  Had made a mournful type of thee;

  25A type of that whence I and thou

  Are thus familiar, Celandine—

  A deathless Poet whose young prime

  Was as serene as thine,

  But he is changed and withered now,

  30Fallen on a cold and evil time;

  His heart is gone—his fame is dim

  And Infamy sits mocking him.

  Celandine! Thou art pale and dead,

  Changed from thy fresh and woodland state.

  35Oh! that thy bard were cold, but he

  Has lived too long and late.

  Would he were in an honoured grave,

  But that, men say, now must not be

  Since he for impious gold could sell

  40The love of those who loved him well.

  That he, with all hope else of good,

  Should be thus transitory

  I marvel not—but that his lays

  Have spared not their own glory,

  45That blood, even the foul god of blood,

  With most inexpiable praise,

  Freedom and truth left desolate,

  He has been bought to celebrate!

  They were his hopes which he doth scorn,

  50 They were his foes the fight that won;

  That sanction and that condemnation

  Are now forever gone.

  They need them not! Truth may not mourn

  That with a liar’s inspiration

  55Her majesty he did disown

  Ere he could overlive his own.

  They need them not, for Liberty,

  Justice and philosophic truth

  From his divine and simple song

  60 Shall draw immortal youth

  When he and thou shall cease to be,

  Or be some other thing, so long

  As men may breathe or flowers may blossom

  O’er the wide Earth’s maternal bosom.

  65The stem whence thou wert disunited

  Since thy poor self was banished hither,

  Now by that priest of Nature’s care

  Who sent thee forth to wither

  His window with its blooms has lighted,

  70And I shall see thy brethren there,

  And each like thee will aye betoken

  Love sold, hope dead, and honour broken.

  Hymn to Intellectual Beauty

  [Version A]

  1

  The awful shadow of some unseen Power

  Floats tho’ unseen amongst us,—visiting

  This various world with as inconstant wing

  As summer winds that creep from flower to flower.—

  5Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower,

  It visits with inconstant glance

  Each human heart and countenance;

  Like hues and harmonies of evening,—

  Like clouds in starlight widely spread,—

  10 Like memory of music fled,—

  Like aught that for its grace may be

  Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.

  2

  Spirit of BEAUTY, that doth consecrate

  With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon

  15 Of human thought or form,—where art thou gone?

  Why dost thou pass away and leave our state,

  This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate?

  Ask why the sunlight not forever

  Weaves rainbows o’er yon mountain river,

  20Why aught should fail and fade that once is shewn,

  Why fear and dream and death and birth

  Cast on the daylight of this earth

  Such gloom,—why man has such a scope

  For love and hate, despondency and hope?

  3

  25No voice from some sublimer world hath ever

  To sage or poet these responses given—

  Therefore the name of God and ghosts, and Heaven,

  Remain the records of their vain endeavour,

  Frail spells—whose uttered charm might not avail to sever,

  30 From all we hear and all we see,

  Doubt, chance, and mutability.

  Thy light alone—like mist o’er mountains driven,

  Or music by the night wind sent

  Thro’ strings of some still instrument,

  35 Or moonlight on a midnight stream,

  Gives grace and truth to life’s unquiet dream.

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  Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds depart

  And come, for some uncertain moments lent.

  Man were immortal, and omnipotent,

  40Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art,

  Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart.

  Thou messenger of sympathies,

  That wax and wane in lovers’ eyes—

  Thou—that to human thought art nourishment,

  45 Like darkness to a dying flame!

  Depart not as thy shadow came,

  Depart not—lest the grave should be,

  Like life and fear, a dark reality.

  5

  While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped

  50 Thro’ many a listening chamber, cave and ruin,

  And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing

  Hopes of high talk with the departed dead.

  I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed,

  I was not heard—I saw them not—

  55 When musing deeply on the lot

  Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing

  All vital things that wake to bring

  News of buds and blossoming,—

  Sudden, thy shadow fell on me;

  60I shrieked, and clasped my hands in extacy!

  6

  I vowed that I would dedicate my powers

  To thee and thine—have I not kept the vow?

  With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now

  I call the phantoms of a thousand hours

  65Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers

  Of studious zeal or love’s delight

  Outwatched with me the envious night—

  They know that never joy illumed my brow

  Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free

  70 This world from its dark slavery,

  That thou—O awful LOVELINESS,

  Wouldst give whate’er these words cannot express.

  7

  The day becomes more solemn and serene

  When noon is past—there is a harmony

  75 In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,

  Which thro’ the summer is not heard or seen,

  As if it could not be, as if it had not been!

  Thus let thy power, which like the truth

  Of nature on my passive youth

  80Descended, to my onward life supply

  Its calm—to one who worships thee,

  And every form containing thee,

  Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind

  To fear himself, and love all human kind.

  Hymn to Intellectual Beauty

  [Version B]

  1

  The Lovely shadow of some awful Power

  Walks though unseen amongst us, visiting

  This peopled world with as inconstant wing

  As summer winds that creep from flower to flower,

  5Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower

  It visits with a wavering glance

  Each human heart & countenance;—

  Like hues and harmonies of evening—

  Like clouds in starlight widely spread

  10 Like memory of music fled

  Like aught that for its grace might be

  Dear, & yet dearer for its mystery.

  2

  Shadow of Beauty!—that doth consecrate

  With thine own hues all thou dost fall upon

  15 Of human thought or form, Where art thou gone

  Why dost thou pass away & leave our state

  A dark deep vale of tears, vacant & desolate?

  Ask why the sun light not forever

  Weaves rainbows o’er yon mountain river

  20Ask why aught fades away that once is shewn

  Ask wherefore dream & death & birth

  Cast on the daylight of this earth

  Such gloom,—why man has such a scope

  For love & joy despondency & hope.

  3

  25No voice from some sublimer world hath ever

  To wisest poets these responses given

  Therefore the name of God & Ghosts & Heaven

  Remain yet records of their vain Endeavour—

  Frail spells, whose uttered charm might not avail to sever

  30 From what we feel & what we see

  Doubt, Chance & mutability.

  Thy shade alone like mists o’er mountains driven

  Or Music by the night-wind sent

  Thro’ strings of some mute instrument

  35Or Moonlight on a forest stream

  Gives truth & grace to life’s tumultuous dream

  4

  Love, hope & self-esteem like clouds depart—

  And come, for some uncertain moments lent.—

  Man were immortal & omnipotent

  40Didst thou, unknown & awful as thou art

  Keep with this glorious train firm state within his heart.

  Thou messenger of sympathies

  That wax & wane in lovers’ eyes

  Thou that to the poets thought art nourishment

  45 As darkness to a dying flame

  Depart not as thy shadow came!

  Depart not!—lest the grave should be

  Like life & fear a dark reality

  5

  While yet a boy I sought for Ghosts, & sped

  50 Thro’ many a lonely chamber, vault & ruin

  And starlight wood, with fearful step pursuing

  Hopes of strange converse with the storied dead

  I called on that false name with which our youth is fed

  He heard me not—I saw them not—

  55 When musing deeply on the lot

  Of Life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing

  All vocal things that live to bring

  News of buds & blossoming—

  Sudden thy shadow fell on me

  60I shrieked & clasped my hands in extasy.

  6

  I vowed that I would dedicate my powers

  To thee & thine—have I not kept the vow?

  With streaming eyes & panting heart even now

  I call the spectres of a thousand hours

  65Each from his voiceless grave, who have in visioned bowers

  Of studious zeal or love’s delight

  Outwatched with me the waning night

  To tell that never joy illumed my brow

  Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free

  70 This world from its dark slavery

  That thou, O, awful Loveliness!

  Would give whate’er these words cannot express.

  7

  The day becomes more solemn & serene

  When Noon is past—there is a harmony

  75 In Autumn & a lustre in the sky

  Which thro’ the summer is not heard or seen

  As if it could not be—as if it had not been—

  Thus let thy shade—which like the truth

  Of Nature on my passive youth

  80Descended, to my onward life supply

  Its hues, to one that worships thee

  And every form containing thee

  Whom fleeting power! thy spells did bind

  To fear himself & love all human Kind.

  Mont Blanc

  [Version A]

  Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni

  I

  The everlasting universe of things

  Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,

  Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—

  Now lending splendour, where from secret springs

  5The source of human thought its tribute brings

  Of waters,—with a sound but half its own,

  Such as a feeble brook will oft assume

  In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,

  Where waterfalls around it leap for ever,

  10Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river

  Over its rocks c
easelessly bursts and raves.

  II

  Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine—

  Thou many-coloured, many-voiced vale,

  Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail

  15Fast cloud shadows and sunbeams: awful scene,

  Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down

  From the ice gulphs that gird his secret throne,

  Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame

  Of lightning thro’ the tempest;—thou dost lie,

  20Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,

  Children of elder time, in whose devotion

  The chainless winds still come and ever came

  To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging

  To hear—an old and solemn harmony;

  25Thine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep

  Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil

  Robes some unsculptured image; the strange sleep

  Which when the voices of the desart fail

  Wraps all in its own deep eternity;—

  30Thy caverns echoing to the Arve’s commotion,

  A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;

  Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,

  Thou art the path of that unresting sound—

  Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee

  35I seem as in a trance sublime and strange

  To muse on my own separate phantasy,

  My own, my human mind, which passively

  Now renders and receives fast influencings,

  Holding an unremitting interchange

  40With the clear universe of things around;

  One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings

  Now float above thy darkness, and now rest

  Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,

  In the still cave of the witch Poesy,

  45Seeking among the shadows that pass by,

  Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,

  Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast

  From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!

  III

  Some say that gleams of a remoter world