The wingless boat paused where an ivory stair
Its fretwork in the crystal sea did steep,
Encircling that vast Fane's aërial heap:
We disembarked, and thro' a portal wide.

We past-whose roof of moonstone carved, did keep A glimmering o'er the forms on every side, Sculptures like life and thought; immoveable, deep-eyed.

LII.

We came to a vast hall, whose glorious roof

Was diamond, which had drank1 the lightning's sheen
In darkness, and now poured it thro' the woof
Of spell-inwoven clouds hung there to screen
Its blinding splendour-thro' such veil was seen
That work of subtlest power, divine and rare;
Orb above orb, with starry shapes between,

And horned moons, and meteors strange and fair,
On night-black columns poised-one hollow hemisphere !

LIII.

Ten thousand columns in that quivering light
Distinct-between whose shafts wound far away
The long and labyrinthine aisles-more bright
With their own radiance than the Heaven of Day;
And on the jasper walls around, there lay
Paintings, the poesy of mightiest thought,
Which did the Spirit's history display;

A tale of passionate change, divinely taught,
Which, in their wingèd dance, unconscious Genii wrought.

LIV.

Beneath, there sate on many a sapphire throne,
The Great, who had departed from mankind,

1 Drunk in Mrs. Shelley's editions.

A mighty Senate ;-some, whose white hair shone
Like mountain snow, mild, beautiful, and blind.

Some, female forms, whose gestures beamed with mind; And ardent youths, and children bright and fair; And some had lyres whose strings were intertwined With pale and clinging flames, which ever there Waked faint yet thrilling sounds that pierced the crystal air.

LV.

One seat was vacant in the midst, a throne,
Reared on a pyramid like sculptured flame,
Distinct with circling steps which rested on
Their own deep fire-soon as the Woman came
Into that hall, she shrieked the Spirit's name
And fell; and vanished slowly from the sight.
Darkness arose from her dissolving frame,
Which gathering, filled that dome of woven light,
Blotting it's sphered stars with supernatural night.

LVI.

Then first, two glittering lights were seen to glide
In circles on the amethystine floor,

Small serpent eyes trailing from side to side,

Like meteors on a river's grassy shore,

They round each other rolled, dilating more
And more then rose, commingling into one,
One clear and mighty planet hanging o'er

A cloud of deepest shadow, which was thrown
Athwart the glowing steps and the crystalline throne.

LVII.

The cloud which rested on that cone of flame
Was cloven; beneath the planet sate a Form,

Fairer than tongue can speak or thought may frame,

The radiance of whose limbs rose-like and warm Flowed forth, and did with softest light inform The shadowy dome, the sculptures, and the state Of those assembled shapes-with clinging charm Sinking upon their hearts and mine-He sate Majestic, yet most mild-calm, yet compassionate.

LVIII.

Wonder and joy a passing faintness threw
Over my brow-a hand supported me,

Whose touch was magic strength: an eye of blue
Looked into mine, like moonlight, soothingly;

And a voice said-Thou must a listener be
This day-two mighty Spirits now return,

Like birds of calm, from the world's raging sea, They pour fresh light from Hope's immortal urn; A tale of human power-despair not-list and learn!

LIX.

I looked, and lo! one stood forth eloquently, His eyes were dark and deep, and the clear brow Which shadowed them was like the morning sky, The cloudless Heaven of Spring, when in their flow Thro' the bright air, the soft winds as they blow Wake the green world-his gesture did obey The oracular mind that made his features glow, And where his curvèd lips half open lay, Passion's divinest stream had made impetuous way.

LX.

Beneath the darkness of his outspread hair
He stood thus beautiful: but there was One
Who sate beside him like his shadow there,
And held his hand-far lovelier-she was known

K

To be thus fair, by the few lines1 alone

Which thro' her floating locks and gathered cloke,2

Glances of soul-dissolving glory, shone:—

None else beheld her eyes-in him they woke

Memories which found a tongue, as thus he silence broke.3

1I can see no reason for questioning this word, or construing it, as Mr. Rossetti does, to mean "lines, rays, or pencils of light." It seems to me to mean simply such broken lines of her form as could be discerned through her hair and garment,-shone being used metaphorically, as a poet talks of anything beautiful shining

or beaming.

2 I presume Shelley preferred this unusual orthography on the ground of the commonplace associations of the word cloak as ordinarily spelt.

3 It is to be noted that, at this point, the poet ostensibly disappears, the remaining eleven cantos being uttered by Laon.

Canto Second.

I.

The star-light smile of children, the sweet looks Of women, the fair breast from which I fed, The murmur of the unreposing brooks, And the green light which shifting overhead, Some tangled bower of vines around me shed, The shells on the sea-sand, and the wild flowers, The lamp-light thro' the rafters cheerly spread, And on the twining flax-in life's young hours These sights and sounds did nurse my spirit's1 folded powers.

II.

In Argolis, beside the echoing sea,
Such impulses within my mortal frame
Arose, and they were dear to memory,
Like tokens of the dead-but others came
Soon, in another shape: the wondrous fame

1 Spirits' in Shelley's edition.