A PICTURE. How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear, Were discord to the speaking quietude [vault, That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon Studded with stars unutterably bright, [rolls, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur Seems like a canopy which love has spread Above the sleeping world. Yon gentle hills, Robed in a garment of untrodden snow; Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend, So stainless, that their white and glittering spires Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep, Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower So idly, that 'rapt fancy deemeth it A metaphor of peace-all form a scene Where musing solitude might love to lift Her soul above this sphere of earthliness; Where silence undisturb'd might watch alone, So cold, so bright, so still! The orb of day, In southern climes, o'er ocean's waveless field Sinks sweetly smiling: not the faintest breath Steals o'er the unruffled deep; the clouds of eve Reflect unmoved the lingering beam of day; And vesper's image on the western main Is beautifully still. To-morrow comes: Cloud upon cloud, in dark and deepening mass, Roll o'er the blackened waters; the deep roar Of distant thunder mutters awfully; Tempest unfolds its pinions o'er the gloom That shrouds the boiling surge; the pitiless fiend, With all his winds and lightnings, tracks his prey; The torn deep yawns-the vessel finds a grave Beneath its jagged gulf. Ah! whence yon glare That fires the arch of heaven ?-that dark red smoke Blotting the silver moon? The stars are quench'd In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round! Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals In countless echoes through the mountains ring, Startling pale midnight on her starry throne! Now swells the intermingling din; the jar, Frequent and frightful, of the bursting bomb; The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout, The ceaseless clangour, and the rush of men Inebriate with rage!-Loud and more loud The discord grows; till pale death shuts the scene, And o'er the conqueror and the conquer'd draws His cold and bloody shroud. Of all the men Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there, In proud and vigorous health-of all the hearts That beat with anxious life at sunset thereHow few survive, how few are beating now! All is deep silence, like the fearful calm That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause; Save when the frantic wail of widow'd love Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay Wrapt round its struggling powers. The gray morn Dawns on the mournfulscene; the sulphurous smoke Before the icy wind slow rolls away, And the bright beams of frosty morning dance Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood, Each tree which guards its darkness from the day SPRING. THE blasts of autumn drive the winged seeds Over the earth,-next come the snows, and rain, And frost, and storms, which dreary winter leads Out of his Scythian cave, a savage train; Behold! Spring sweeps over the world again, Shedding soft dews from her ethereal wings; Flowers on the mountains, fruits over the plain, And music on the waves and woods she flings, And love on all that lives, and calm on lifeless things. O spring! of hope, and love, and youth, and glad ness, Wind-wing'd emblem! brightest, best, and fairest! Whence comest thou, when with dark winter's sadness The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest? Sister of joy! thou art the child who wearest Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet; Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gertle feet [sheet. Disturbing not the leaves which are her windingVirtue, and hope, and love, like light and heaven, Surround the world. We are their chosen slaves. Has not the whirlwind of our spirit driven Truth's deathless germs to thought's remotest caves? Lo, winter comes !-the grief of many graves, The frost of death, the tempest of the sword, The flood of tyranny, whose sanguine waves Stagnate like ice at faith, the enchanter's word And bind all human hearts in its repose abhorr'd. The seeds are sleeping in the soil: meanwhile The tyrant peoples dungeons with his prey; Pale victims on the guarded scaffold smile Because they cannot speak; and, day by day, The moon of wasting science wanes away Among her stars, and in that darkness vast The sons of earth to their foul idols pray, And gray priests triumph, and like blight or blast A shade of selfish care o'er human looks is cast. This is the winter of the world;-and here We die, even as the winds of autumn fade, [made Expiring in the frore and foggy air.Behold! Spring comes, though we must pass, who The promise of its birth,--even as the shade Which from our death, as from a mountain, flings The future, a broad sunrise; thus array'd As with the plumes of overshadowing wings, From its dark gulf of chains, earth like an eagle springs. FROM ADONAIS: AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS. He lives, he wakes-'tis death is dead, not he; He is made one with Nature: there is heard In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own; Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above. He is a portion of the loveliness Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear His part, while the one spirit's plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear; Torturing the unwilling dross that checks its flight To its own likeness, as each mass may bear; And bursting in its beauty and its might From trees and beasts and men, into the Heaven's light. The splendours of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguish'd not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb, And death is a low mist which cannot, blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend in it, for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. The inheritors of unfulfill'd renown Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought, Rose pale. his solemn agony had not Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought And many more, whose names on earth are dark, Assume thy winged throne, thou vesper of our throng." THE SERPENT IS SHUT OUT FROM PARADISE. THE serpent is shut out from paradise. The widow'd dove must cease to haunt a bower, I too must seldom seek again Of hatred I am proud,—with scorn content; But, not to speak of love, pity alone Turns the mind's poison into food,— Therefore if now I see you seldomer, The very comfort that they minister So deeply is the arrow gone, Should quickly perish if it were withdrawn. When I return to my cold home, you ask You spoil me for the task Of acting a forced part on life's dull scene,— In the world's carnival I sought Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot To speak what you may know too well: The crane o'er seas and forests seeks her home; Would ne'er have thus relieved To send to you, but that I know, LIBERTY. WHAT art thou, Freedom? Oh! could slaves Thou art not, as impostors say, Thou art clothes, and fire, and food To dim, but not extinguish thee! Thou art Love: the rich have kist And through the rough world follow'd thee. On wealth and war and fraud; whence they Of the dwellers in a cot Such, they curse their maker not. All that can adorn and bless, Art thou: let deeds, not words, express Thine exceeding loveliness. Let a great assembly be The green earth, on which ye tread, Where pale as corpses newly risen, With common wants and common cares, Where the murmur of distress Those prison-halls of wealth and fashion, Your lost country bought and sold Be your strong and simple words Gleam with sharp desire to wet Like a forest close and mute, With folded arms, and looks which are The old laws of England-they Whose reverend heads with age are gray, And whose solemn voice must be On those who first should violate Let them ride among you there; Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew; What they like, that let them do. Every woman in the land Will point at them as they stand- Who have hugg'd danger in the wars, A volcano heard afar: And these words shall then become A LAMENT. SWIFTER far than summer's flight, Swifter far than youth's delight, Swifter far than happy night, Art thou come and gone: As the earth when leaves are dead, The swallow summer comes again, To fly with thee, false as thou. Sunny leaves from any bough. Lilies for a bridal bed, Pansies let my flowers be: Waste one hope, one fear for me. THE SUN IS WARM, THE SKY IS CLEAR. THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, The purple moon's transparent light: The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods, I see the deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown: I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: I sit upon the sands alone, The lightning of the noontide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, The sage in meditation found, Smiling they live, and call life pleasure: Even as the winds and waters are; My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Whom men love not-and yet regret, Will linger, though enjoy'd, like joy in memory yet. THE HOURS, FROM PROMETHEUS. CARS drawn by rainbow-winged steeds, Which trample the dim winds: in each there stands A wild-eyed charioteer, urging their flight. Some look behind, as fiends pursued them there, And yet I see no shapes but the keen stars: Others, with burning eyes, lean forth, and drink With eager lips the wind of their own speed, As if the thing they loved fled on before, [locks And now, even now, they clasp'd it. Their bright Stream like a comet's flashing hair: they all Sweep onward. LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. THE fountains mingle with the river, See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the moonbeams kiss the sea ;- |