POEMS. ΔΑΚΡΥΕΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜΟΝ ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ. [TO COLERIDGE.] O THERE are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, As star-beams among twilight trees: Such lovely ministers to meet Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet. With mountain winds, and babbling springs, And moonlight1 seas, that are the voice Of these inexplicable things Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice When they did answer thee; but they Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away. And thou hast sought in starry eyes Beams that were never meant for thine,2 To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? 1 Mountain seas in the collected editions. 2 There is no comma here in Shelley's edition it may fairly be presumed to have dropped out by accident. E Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope Of love, or moving thoughts to thee? That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.1 Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted; The glory of the moon is dead; Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed; Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery. This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, STANZAS.-APRIL, 1814. AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank2 the last pale beam of even: Away the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven. 1 Of course the note of interrogation should, in strictness, come after wiles. I have left it at thee, as in Shelley's edition, because I have no doubt he preferred a method of punctuation in support of which, though eccentric, it may be urged that it Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away! Tempt not with one last tear1 thy friend's ungentle mood: Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude. Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head: The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet: But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace may meet. The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep: Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. Thou in the grave shalt rest-yet till the phantoms flee Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile. 1 Mrs. Shelley puts glance for tear; and Mr. Rossetti follows her. MUTABILITY. WE are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly!-—yet soon Night closes round, and they are lost for ever: Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings We rest. A dream has power to poison sleep; Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away: It is the same!-For, be it joy or sorrow, THERE IS NO WORK, NOR DEVICE, NOR KNOWLEDGE, NOR WISDOM, IN THE GRAVE, WHITHER THOU GOEST. Ecclesiastes. THE pale, the cold, and the moony smile Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle, Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone. O man! hold thee on in courage of soul Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way, And the billows of cloud that around thee roll Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny. This world is the nurse of all we know, To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel; The secret things of the grave are there, All that is great and all that is strange Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death? Who lifteth the veil of what is to come? Who painteth the shadows that are beneath The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see? |