IONE. There is a sense of words upon mine ear. PANTHEA. An universal sound like words: Oh, list! DEMOGORGON. Thou, Earth, calm empire of a happy soul, 520 Beautiful orb! gathering as thou dost roll The love which paves thy path along the skies: THE EARTH. I hear: I am as a drop of dew that dies. DEMOGORGON. Thou, Moon, which gazest on the nightly Earth With wonder, as it gazes upon thee; Whilst each to men, and beasts, and the swift birth THE MOON. I hear: I am a leaf shaken by thee! DEMOGORGON. Ye kings of suns and stars, Dæmons and Gods, Etherial Dominations, who possess Elysian, windless, fortunate abodes Beyond Heaven's constellated wilderness: A VOICE from above. Our great Republic hears, we are bless'd, and bless. 525 530 DEMOGORGON. Ye happy dead, whom beams of brightest verse Which once ye saw and suffered — A VOICE from beneath. Or as they Whom we have left, we change and pass away. 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: Spirits, whose homes are flesh : ye beasts and birds, A VOICE. Thy voice to us is wind among still woods. DEMOGORGON. Man, who wert once a despot and a slave; A dupe and a deceiver; a decay; A traveller from the cradle to the grave Through the dim night of this immortal day: 535 540 545 550 ALL. Speak: thy strong words may never pass away. DEMOGORGON. This is the day, which down the void abysm At the Earth-born's spell yawns for Heaven's despotism, 555 Love, from its awful throne of patient power Of dead endurance, from the slippery, steep, Gentleness, Virtue, Wisdom, and Endurance, 560 Which bars the pit over Destruction's strength; And if, with infirm hand, Eternity, 565 Mother of many acts and hours, should free The serpent that would clasp her with his length; To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; 570 To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent; This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautiful and free; 575 SONNET: ENGLAND IN 1819. AN old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king, - But leech-like to their fainting country cling, Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow, — Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield: 1819. 5 10 SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND. I. MEN of England, wherefore plough II. Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, Those ungrateful drones who would Drain your sweat - nay, drink your blood? 5 III. Wherefore, Bees of England, forge IV. Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, With your pain and with your fear? V. The seed ye sow, another reaps; VI. Sow seed,- but let no tyrant reap ; let no impostor heap; Weave robes, let not the idle wear; Forge arms, in your defence to bear. VII. Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells; 25 In halls ye deck another dwells. Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see VIII. With plough and spade, and hoe and loom, Trace your grave, and build your tomb, And weave your winding-sheet, till fair 30 1819. |