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XXXVIII.

XLIV. Nor let us weep that our delight is fled

The splendors of the firmament of time Far from these carrion-kites that scream below; May be eclipsed, but are extinguish'd not , He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead ; Like stars to their appointed height they climb, Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. And death is a low mist which cannot blot Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Back to the burning fountain whence it came, Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, A portion of the Eternal, which must glow

And love and life contend in it, for what Through time and change, unquenchably the same, Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of And move like winds of light on dark and stormy shame.

air.
XXXIX.

XLV.
Peace! peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep The inheritors of unfulfill'd renown
He hath awaken'd from the dream of life

Rose from their thrones built beyond mortal thought *T is we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep

Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,

Rose pale, his solemn agony had not
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife Yet faded from him ; Sidney, as he fought
Invulnerable nothings— We decay

And as he fell, and as he lived and loved,
Like corpses in a charnel ; fear and grief

Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot, Convulse us and consume us day by day,

Arose ; and Lucan, by his death approved : And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved. clay. XL.

XLVI. He has outsoar'd the shadow of our night;

And many more, whose names on earth are dark, Envy and calumny, and hate and pain,

But whose transmitted effluence cannot die And that unrest which men miscall delight, So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Can touch him not and torture not again ;

Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. From the contagion of the world's slow stain

Thou art become as one of us," they cry, He is secure, and now can never mourn

" It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain ; Swung blind in unascended majesty,

Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, Silent alone amid a Heaven of Song. With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our

throng!” XLI.

XLVII. He lives, he wakes--'t is Death is dead, not he ; Who mourns for Adonais ? oh come forth, Mourn not for Adonais.- Thou young Dawn Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright. Turn all thy dew to splendor, for from thee Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth ; The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;

As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!

Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might Cease ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air, Satiate the void circumference: then shrink Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown Even to a point within our day and night ;

O'er the abandon d Earth, now leave it bare And keep thy heart light, lest it make thee sink Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair! When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the

brink.
XLII.

XLVIII.
He is made one with Nature: there is heard
His voice in all her music, from the moan

Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre,
Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ;

0, not of him, but of our joy : 'tis naught He is a presence to be felt and known

That ages, empires, and religions there In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,

Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; Spreading itself where'er that Power may move

For such as he can lend,--they borrow not Which has withdrawn his being to its own;

Glory from those who made the world their prey; Which wields the world with never-wearied love,

And he is gather'd to the kings of thought Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.!

Who waged contention with their time's decay,

And of the past are all that cannot pass away.
XLIII.

XLIX.
He is a portion of the loveliness
Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear Go thou to Rome,-at once the Paradise,
His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress The grave, the city, and the wilderness ;
Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling And where its wrecks like shatter'd mountains rise,
there

And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses, dress All new successions to the forms they wear; The bones of Desolation's nakedness, Torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its flight Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead To its own likeness, as each mass may bear; Thy footsteps to a slope of green access, And bursting in its beauty and its might

Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead, Foom trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light. A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread.

L.

LIII. And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart! Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand;

Thy hopes are gone before : from all things bere And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, They have departed ; thou shouldst now depart! Pavilioning the dust of him who plann'd

A light is pass'd from the revolving year, This refuge for his memory, doth stand

And man, and woman; and what still is dear Like flame transform'd to marble; and beneath, Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. A field is spread, on which a newer band

The soft sky smiles,—the low wind whispers near : Have pitch'd in Heaven's smile their camp of death, "Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguish'd No more let Life divide what Death can join tobreath.

gether. LI.

LIV. Here, pause: these graves are all too young as yet That Light whose smiles kindle the Universe, To have outgrown the sorrows which consign'd That Beauty in which all things work and more, Its charge to each; and if the seal is set,

That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Break it not thou! 100 surely shalt thou find Which through the web of being blindly wove Thine own well full, if thou returnest home, By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb.

The fire for which all thint; now beams on me, What Adonais is, why fear we to become ? Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

LII.

LV. The One remains, the many change and pass ; The breath whose might I have invoked in song Heaven's light for ever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven Life, like a dome of many-color'd glass,

Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Stains the white radiance of Eternity,

Whose sails were never to the tempest giren; Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die, The massy earth and sphered skies are riven : If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Follow where all is fled !-- Rome's azure sky, Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,

Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The soul of Adonais, like a star, The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

Epipsychidion;

VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE NOBLE AND UNFORTUNATE LADY EMILIA V

NOW IMPRISONED IN THE CONVENT OF

L'anima amante si slancia fuori del creato, e si crea nell' infinito un Mondo tutto per essa,

diverso assai da questo oscuro e pauroso l'aratro.-HER OWN WORDS.

ADVERTISEMENT.

of the circumstances to which it relates; and to e

certain other class it must ever remain incomprehen(BY A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR.)

sible, from a defect of a common organ of perception for the ideas of which it treats. Not but that, “gran

vergogna sarebbe a colui, che rimasse cose sollo reste The writer of the following Lines died at Florence, di figura, o di colore rettorico: e domandalo nam se as he was preparing for a voyage to one of the wild- pesse denudare le sue parole da cotal veste, in guisa est of the Sporades, which he had bought, and where che avessero verace intendimento." he had fitted up the ruins of an old building, and The present Poem appears to have been intended where it was his hope to have realized a scheme of by the Writer as the dedication to some longer one life, suited perhaps to that happier and better world The stanza prefixed to the Poem is alınost a literal of which he is now an inhabitant, but hardly practi- translation from Dante's famous Canzone, cable in this. His life was singular; less on account of the romantic vicissitudes which diversified it, than

Voi, ch' intendendo, il terzo ciel movete, etc. the ideal tinge which it received from his own char- The presumptuous application of the concluding lizen acter and feelings. The present Poem, like the Vita to his own composition will raise a smile at the er Nuova of Dante, is sufficiently intelligible to a cer- pense of my unfortunate friend : be it a smile not of tain class of readers without a matter-of-fact history contempt, but pity.

EPIPSYCHIDION.

Yet were one lawful and the other true,
These names, though dear, could paint not, as is due,
How beyond refuge I am thine. Ah me!
I am not thine: I am a part of thee.

My Song, I fear that thou wilt find but few
Who fitly shall conceive thy reasoning,

Sweet Lamp! my moth-like Muse has burnt its wings;
Of such hard matter dost thou entertain ;

Or, like a dying swan who soars and sings,
Whence, if by misadventure, chance should bring
'Thee to base company (as chance may do),

Young Love should teach Time, in his own gray style,
Quite unaware of what thou dost contain,

All that thou art. Art thou not void of guile,
I prithee, comfort thy sweet soll again,

A lovely soul form'd to be blest and bless ?
My last delight! tell them that they are dull,

A well of seal'd and secret happiness,
And bid them own that thou art beautiful.

Whose waters like blithe light and music are,
Vanquishing dissonance and gloom? A Star
Which moves not in the moving Heavens alone?

A smile amid dark frowns? a gentle tone
SWEET Spirit! Sister of that orphan one,
Whose empire is the name thou weepest on,

Amid rude voices? a beloved light?
In my heart's temple I suspend to thee

A Solitude, a Refuge, a Delight ?
These votive wreaths of wither'd memory.

A lute, which those whom love has taught to play
Make music on, to soothe the roughest day,

And lull fond grief asleep? A buried treasure ? Poor captive bird! who, from thy narrow cage,

A cradle of young thoughts of wingless pleasure ? Pourest such music, that it might assuage

A violet-shrouded grave of Woe?-I measure
The rugged hearts of those who prison'd thee, The world of fancies, seeking one like thee,
Were they not deaf to all sweet melody;

And find-alas! mine own infirmity.
This song shall be thy rose : its petals pale
Are dead, indeed, my adored Nightingale!
But soft and fragrant is the faded blossom,

She met me, Stranger, upon life's rough way,
And it has no thorn left to wound thy bosom. And lured me towards sweet Death: as Night by Day,

Winter by Spring, or Sorrow by swift Hope, High, spirit-winged Heart! who dost for ever

Led into light, life, peace. An antelope, Beat thine unseeling bars with vain endeavor,

In the suspended impulse of its lightness,
Till those bright plumes of thought, in which array'd Of her divinest presence trembles through

Were less ethereally light: the brightness
It over-toared this low and worldly shade,
Le shatter'd; and thy panting, wounded breast

Her limbs, as underneath a cloud of dew
Stains with dear blood its unmaternal nest!

Embodied in the windless Heaven of June,

Amid the splendor-winged stars, the Moon I

weep vain tears: blood would less bitter be, Yet pour d forth gladlier, could it profit thee.

Burns, inextinguishably beautiful :
And from her lips, as from a hyacinth full

Of honey-dew, a liquid murmur drops,
Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human,

Killing the sense with passion; sweet as stops Veiling beneath that radiant form of Woman

of planetary music heard in trance. All that is insupportable in thee

In her mild lights the starry spirits dance, Of light, and love, and immortality!

The sunbeams of those wells which ever leap Sweet Benediction in the eternal curse!

Under the lightnings of the soul—too deep Veild Glory of this lampless Universe!

For the brief fathom-line of thought or sense. Thou Moon beyond the clouds! Thou living Form The glory of her being, issuing thence, Among the Dead! Thou Star above the Storm!

Stains the dead, blank, cold air with a warm shade Thou Wonder, and thou Beauty, and thou Terror!

Of unentangled intermixture, made Thou Harmony of Nature's ari! Thou Mirror

By Love, of light and motion : one intense In whom, as in the splendor of the Sun,

Diffusion, one serene Omnipresence, All shapes look glorious which thou guzest on!

Whose flowing outlines mingle in their flowing Ay, even the dim words which obscure thee now

Around her cheeks and utmost fingers glowing Flash, lightning-like, with unaccustom'd glow;

With the unintermitted blood, which there
I pray thee that thou blot from this sad song

Quivers (as in a fleece of snow-like air
All of its much mortality and wrong,
With those clear drops, which start like sacred dew Continuously prolong'd, and ending never,

The crimson pulse of living morning quiver),
From the twin lights thy sweet soul darkens through, Till they are lost, and in that Beauty furl'd
Weeping, till sorrow becomes ecstasy :

Which penetrates and clasps and fills the world; Then smile on it, so that it may not die.

Scarce visible from extremne loveliness.

Warm fragrance seems to fall from her light dress, I never thought before my death to see

And her loose hair ; and where some heavy tress Youth's vision thus made perfect. Emily,

The air of her own speed has disentwined, I love thee; though the world hy no thin name The sweetness seems to satiate the faint wind; Will hide that love, from its unvalued shame, And in the soul a wild odor is felt, Would we two had been twins of the same mother! Beyond the sense, like fiery dews that melt Or, that the name my heart lent to another

Into the bosom of a frozen bud Could be a sister's bond for her and thee,

See where she stands! a mortal shape endued Blending two beams of one eternity!

With love and life, and light and deity,

When a voice said: "O Thou of hearts the weakest,

Then I—"where?" the world's echo answer'd "where."

And motion which may change but cannot die; Mind from its object differs most in this:
An image of some bright Eternity;

Evil from good; misery from happiness;
A shadow of some golden dream; a Splendor

The baser from the nobler; the impure Leaving the third sphere pilotless; a tender

And frail, from what is clear and must endore. Reflection of the eternal Moon of Love,

If you divide suffering and dross, you may Under whose motions life's dull billows move; Diminish till it is consumed away; A Metaphor of Spring and Youth and Morning; If you divide pleasure and love and thought, A Vision like incarnate April, warning,

Each part exceeds the whole; and we know Dot With smiles and tears, Frost the Anatomy

How much, while any yet remains unshared, Into his summer grave.

Of pleasure may be gain’d, of sorrow spared:
This truth is that deep well, whence sages draw

The unenvied light of hope ; the etemal law
Ah, woe is me!

By which those live, to whom this world of life What have I dared ? where am I lifted ? how

Is as a garden ravaged, and whose strife
Shall I descend, and perish not? I know

Tills for the promise of a later birth
That Love makes all things equal : I have heard The wilderness of this Elysian earth.
By mine own heart this joyous truth averrid:
The spirit of the worm beneath the sod,
In love and worship blends itself with God.

There was a Being whom my spirit oft
Met on its vision'd wanderings, far aloft,

In the clear golden prime of my youth's daani, Spouse! Sister! Angel! Pilot of the Fate

Upon the fairy isles of sunny lawn, Whose course has been so starless! O too late

Amid the enchanted mountains, and the caves Beloved ! O too soon adored, by me!

Of divine sleep, and on the air-like waves For in the fields of immortality

Of wonder-level dream, whose tremulous floor My spirit should at first have worshipp'd thine,

Paved her light steps ;-on an imagined shore, A divine presence in a place divine;

Under the gray beak of some promontory Or should have moved beside it on this earth,

She met me, robed in such exceeding glory, A shadow of that substance, from its birth; That I beheld her not. In solitudes But not as now :- I love thee; yes, I feel

Her voice came to me through the whispering woots, That on the fountain of my heart a seal

And from the fountains, and the odor deep Is set, to keep its waters pure and bright

of flowers, which, like lips murmuring in their sleep For thee, since in those lears thou hast delight.

Of the sweet kisses which had lulld them there, We-are we not form'd, as notes of music are, Breathed but of her to the enamor'd air; For one another, though dissimilar;

And from the breezes, whether low or loud, Such difference without discord, as can make

And from the rain of every passing cloud, Those sweetest sounds, in which all spirits shake

And from the singing of the summer-birds, As trembling leaves in a continuous air?

And from all sounds, all silence. In the words

Of antique verse and high romance,—in form, Thy wisdom speaks in me, and bids me dare

Sound, color-in whatever checks that Storm Beacon the rocks on which high hearts are wreckt.

Which with the shatter'd present chokes the past ; I never was attach'd to that great sect,

And in that best philosophy, whose taste Whose doctrine is, that each one should select

Makes this cold common hell, our life, a doom Out of the crowd a mistress or a friend,

As glorious as a fiery martyrdom;
And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend

Her Spirit was the harmony of truth.-
To cold oblivion, though it is in the code
Of modern morals, and the beaten road
Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread,

Then, from the caverns of my dreamy youth Who travel to their home among the dead I sprang, as one sandall'd with plumes of fire, By the broad highway of the world, and so

And towards the loadstar of my one desire, With one chain'd friend, perhaps a jealous foe,

I flitted, like a dizzy moth, whose flight
The dreariest and the longest journey go.

Is as a dead leaf's in the owlet light,
When it would seek in Hesper's setting sphere

A radiant death, a fiery sepulchre,
True Love in this differs from gold and clay, As if it were a lamp of earthly flame.-
That to divide is not to take away.

But She, whom prayers or fears then could not tame. Love is like understanding, that grows bright, Past, like a God throned on a winged planet, Gazing on many truths; 't is like thy light, Whose burning plumes to tenfold swifines fan it

, Imagination! which from earth and sky,

Into the dreary cone of our life's shade; And from the depths of human phantasy,

And as a man with mighty loss dismay'd, As from a thousand prisms and mirrors, fills I would have follow'd, though the grave between The Universe with glorious beams, and kills Yawn'd like a gulf whose spectres are unseen : Error, the worm, with many a sunlike arrow Of its reverberated lightning. Narrow

The phantom is beside thee whom thou seekest." The heart that loves, the brain that contemplates, The life that wears, the spirit that creates

And in that silence, and in my despair, One object, and one form, and builds thereby

I question'd every tongueless wind that flew A sepulchre for its Eternity.

Over my tower of mourning, if it knew

Whither 't was fled, this soul out of my soul ; Mask'd like twin babes, a sister and a brother, And murmur'd names and spells which have control The wondering hopes of one abandon'd mother, Over the sightless tyrants of our fate ;

And through the cavern without wings they flew, But neither prayer nor verse could dissipate And cried “Away, he is not of our crew." The night which closed on her; nor uncrente I wept, and though it be a dream, I weep. That world within this Chaos, mine and me, Of which she was the veil'd Divinity, The world I say of thoughts that worshipp'd her:

What storms then shook the ocean of my sleep, And therefore I went forth, with hope and fear Blotting that Moon, whose pale and waning lips And every gentle passion sick to death,

Then shrank as in the sickness of eclipse ;Feeding my course with expectation's breath,

And how my soul was as a lampless sea, into the wintry forest of our life ;

And who was then its Tempest; and when She, And struggling through its error with vain strise, The Planet of that hour, was quench'd, what frost And stumbling in my weakness and my haste, Crept o'er those waters, till from coast to coast And half bewilder'd by new forms, I past

The moving billows of my being fell Seeking among those untaught foresters

Into a death of ice, immovable;If I could find one form resembling hers,

And then-what earthquakes made it gape and split, In which she might have mask'd herself from me. The white Moon smiling all the while on it, There,-One, whose voice was venom'd melody These words conceal :-If not, each word would be Sale by a well, under blue nightshade bowers; The key of stanchless tears. Weep not for me! The breath of her false mouth was like faint flowers, Her touch was as electric poison,-flame Out of her looks into my vitals came,

At length, into the obscure Forest came And from her living cheeks and bosom flew The Vision I had sought through grief and shame. A kindling air, which pierced like honey-dew

Athwart that wintry wilderness of thorns Into the core of my green heart, and lay

Flash'd from her motion splendor like the Morn's, ['pon its leaves; until, as hair grown gray

And from her presence life was radiated O'er a young brow, they hid its unblown prime

Through the gray earth and branches bare and dead; With ruins of unseasonable time.

So that her way was paved, and roof'd above,
With flowers as soft as thoughts of budding love;
And music from her respiration spread

Like light,-all other sounds were penetrated
In many mortal forms I rashly sought

By the small, still, sweet spirit of that sound, The shadow of that idol of my thought.

So that the savage winds hung mule around; And some were fair—but beauty dies away: And odors warm and fresh fell from her hair, Others were wise-but honey'd words betray:

Dissolving the dull cold in the froze air : And One was true-oh! why not true to me?

Soft as an Incarnation of the Sun, Then, as a hunted deer that could not flee,

When light is changed to love, this glorious One I turn d upon my thoughts, and stood at bay, Floated into the cavern where I lay, Wounded and weak and panting; the cold day And call'd my Spirit, and the dreaming clay Trembled, for pity of my strise and pain.

Was lifted by the thing that dream'd below When, like a noonday dawn, there shone again As smoke by fire, and in her beauty's glow Deliverance. One stood on my path who seem'd I stood, and felt the dawn of my long night As lihe the glorious shape which I had dream'd,

Was penetrating me with living light: As is the Moon, whose changes ever run

I knew it was the Vision veil'd from me Into themselves, to the eternal Sun;

So many years—that it was Emily. The cold chaste Moon, the Queen of Heaven's bright

isles, Who makes all beautiful on which she smiles. Twin Spheres of light who rule this passive Earth, That wandering shrine of soft yet icy flame, This world of love, this me; and into birth Which ever is transform'd, yet still the same, Awaken all its fruits and flowers, and dart And warms not but illumines. Young and fair Magnetic might into its central heart; As the descended Spirit of that sphere,

And lift its billows and its mists, and guide She hid me, as the Moon may hide the night By everlasting laws, each wind and tide From its own darkness, until all was bright

To its fit cloud, and its appointed cave; Between the Heaven and Earth of my calm mind, And lull its storms, each in the craggy grave And, as a cloud charioted by the wind,

Which was its cradle, luring to faint bowers She led me to a cave in that wild place,

The armies of the rainbow-winged showers; And sate beside me, with her downward face And, as those married lights, which from the towers Ilumnining my slumbers, like the Moon

Of Heaven look forth and fold the wandering globe Waxing and waning o'er Endymion.

In liquid sleep and splendor, as a robe ; And I was laid asleep, spirit and limb,

And all their many-mingled influence blend, And all my being became bright or dim

If equal, yet unlike, lo one sweet end ;As the Moon's image in a summer sea,

So ye, bright regents, with alternate sway According as she smiled or frown'd on me; Govern my sphere of being, night and day! And there I lay, within a chaste cold bed:

Thou, not disdaining even a borrow'd might; Alas, I then was nor alive nor dead :

Thou, not eclipsing a remoter light; For at her silver voice came Death and Life, And, through the shadow of the seasons three, l'nmindful each of their accustom'd strife, From Spring to Autumn's sere maturity,

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