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Where all things flow to all, as rivers to the sea;
Familiar acts are beautiful through love;
Labour, and pain, and grief, in life's green grove Sport like tame beasts, none knew how gentle they could be !
His will, with all mean passions, bad delights,
And selfish cares, its trembling satellites, A spirit ill to guide, but mighty to obey,
Is as a tempest-winged ship, whose helm
Love rules, through waves which dare not overwhelm, Forcing life's wildest shores to own its sovereign sway.
All things confess his strength. Through the cold mass
Of marble and of colour his dreams pass; Bright threads whence mothers weave the robes their children
wear; Language is a perpetual Orphic song,
Which rules with Dædal barmony a throng Of thoughts and forms, which else senseless and shapeless
The lightning is his slave; heaven's utmost deep
The tempest is his steed, he strides the air;
And the abyss shouts from her depth laid bare,
From my path in heaven at last,
And through my newly-woven bowers,
Wander happy paramours,
And wanders up the vault of the blue day,
Outlives the noon, and on the sun's last ray
In the light which is undying
All suns and constellations shower
On thee a light, a life, a power
On mine, on mine !
As a youth lulled in love-dreams faintly sighing,
Under the shadow of his beauty lying,
When soul meets soul on lovers' lips,
So, when thy shadow falls on me,
Then am I mute and still, by thee
Full, oh, too full !
Thou art speeding round the sun,
Gazes on the azure sky
As a grey and watery mist
Glows like solid amethyst
When the sunset sleeps
That it should be so.
Through isles for ever calm ;
Made wounds which need thy balm.
Ah me! sweet sister,
Ione. There is a sense of words upon mine ear.
Sphere of divinest shapes and harmonies,
With wonder, as it gazes upon thee;
Ætherial Dominations ! who possess
Beyond Heaven's constellated wilderness
A VOICE FROM ABOVE.
Are clouds to hide, not colours to portray,
Or as they
DEMOGORGON. Ye elemental Genii, who have homes
From man's high mind even to the central stone Of sullen lead; from Heaven's star-fretted domes To the dull weed some sea-worm battens on:
A CONFUSED VOICE. We hear: thy words waken Oblivion.
DEMOGORGON. Spirits ! whose homes are flesh : ye beasts and birds,
Ye worms and fish; ye living leaves and buds;
A dupe and a deceiver; a decay ;
And conquest is dragged captive through the deep; Love, from its awful throne of patient power In the wise heart, from the last giddy hour
Of dread endurance, from the slippery steep,
Which bars the pit over Destruction's strength;
The serpent that would clasp her with his length,
To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;
To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;
Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent;
A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS.
TO LEIGH HUNT, ESQ. MY DEAR FRIEND,
I INSCRIBE with your name, from a distant country, and after an absence whose months have seemed years, this the latest of my literary efforts.
Those writings which I have hitherto published, have been little else than visions which impersonate my own apprehensions of the beautiful and the just. I can also perceive in them the literary defects incidental to youth and impatience; they are dreams of what ought to be, or may be. The drama which I now present to you is a sad reality. I lay aside the presumptuous attitude of an instructor, and am content to paint, with such colours as my own heart furnishes, that which has been.
Had I known a person more highly endowed than yourself with all that it becomes a man to possess, I had solicited for this work the ornament of his name. One more gentle, honour. able, innocent and brave; one of more exalted toleration for all who do and think evil, and yet himself more free from evil; one who knows better how to receive, and how to confer a benefit, though he must ever confer far more than he can receive; one of simpler, and, in the highest sense of the world of pi rer life and manners, I never knew; and I had already been fo tunate in friendships when your name was added to the list.
In that patient and irreconcilable enmity with domestic avd political tyranny and imposture which the tenor of your life