His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.* IX. O, weep for Adonais !-The quick Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot X. And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head, A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain." She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain XI. One from a lucid urn of starry dew Washed his light limbs as if embalming them; A greater loss with one which was more weak; XII. Another Splendour on his mouth alit, That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music: the damp death And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips, It flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its eclipse. XIII. And others came... Desires and Adorations, Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies, In the original edition the last line ran thus: Of mortal change shall fill the grave which is her maw. Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam Came in slow pomp ;-the moving pomp might seem Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream. XIV. All he had loved, and moulded into thought, Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound, Afar the melancholy thunder moaned, Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, And the wild winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay. XV. Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, Or amorous birds perched on the young green spray, Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear. XVI. Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown, For whom should she have waked the sullen year? To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear, Not to himself Narcissus, as to both Thou Adonais: wan they stand and sere Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears; odour, to sighing ruth. XVII. Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain; XVIII. Ah woe is me! Winter is come and gone, The airs and streams renew their joyous tone; Like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake. XIX. Through wood and stream and field and hill and Ocean XX. The leprous corpse touched by this spirit tender By sightless lightning?-the intense atom glows XXI. Alas! that all we loved of him should be, But for our grief, as if it had not been, And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me! Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene The actors or spectators? Great and mean Meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow. As long as skies are blue, and fields are green, Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow. XXII. He will awake no more, oh, never more! "Wake thou," cried Misery, "childless Mother, rise Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's core, A wound more fierce than his with tears and sighs." Had held in holy silence, cried: "Arise!" XXIII. She rose like an Autumnal Night, that springs The golden Day, which, on eternal wings, Had left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear So saddened round her like an atmosphere XXIV. Out of her secret Paradise she sped, Through camps and cities rough with stone, and steel, Yielding not, wounded the invisible Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell: And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they Rent the soft Form they never could repel, Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of May, Paved with eternal flowers that undeserving way. XXV. In the death-chamber for a moment Death Shamed by the presence of that living Might Revisited those lips, and life's pale light Flashed through those limbs, so late her dear delight. "Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless, As silent lightning leaves the starless night! Leave me not !" cried Urania: her distress Roused Death: Death rose and smiled, and met her vain caress XXVI. Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again; Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live; And in my heartless breast and burning brain That word, that kiss shall all thoughts else survive, With food of saddest memory kept alive, Now thou art dead, as if it were a part Of thee, my Adonais! I would give But I am chained to 'Time, and cannot thence depart! " XXVII. Oh gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart Defenceless as thou wert, oh where was then Thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere, XXVIII. "The herded wolves, bold only to pursue ; The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead; The vultures to the conqueror's banner true, The Pythian of the age one arrow sped And smiled!-The spoilers tempt no second blow, They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them as they go. XXIX. "The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn; He sets, and each ephemeral insect then A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when XXX. Thus ceased she: and the mountain shepherds came, The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow; from her wilds Ierne sent The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, And love taught grief to fall like music from his tongue. XXXI. 'Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, Actæon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey. XXXII. A pard-like Spirit beautiful and swift A Love in desolation masked;-a Power Girt round with weakness;-it can scarce uplift The weight of the superincumbent hour; It is a dying lamp, a falling shower, A breaking billow;-even whilst we speak Is it not broken? On the withering flower The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break. XXXIII. His head was bound with pansies over-blown, And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue; |