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Strip every impious gawd, rend Error veil by veil :
O'er Ruin desolate,
O'er Falsehood's fallen state, Sit thou sublime, unawed ; be the Destroyer pale!
And equal laws be thine,
And winged words let sail,
That wealth, surviving fate,
ANTISTROPHE 6.. y.
From land to land re-echoed solemnly,
To the cold Alps, eternal Italy
Starts to hear thine! The Sea Which paves the desert streets of Venice laughs
In light and music; widow'd Genoa wan,
Within whose veins long ran
(If Hope and Truth and Justice can avail)
EPODE 11. ß.
Which rulest and dost move
Who spreadest heaven around it,
Whose woods, rocks, waves, surround it;
Spirit of beauty! at whose soft command
From the Earth's bosom chill;
Bid the Earth's plenty kill!
To make it ours and thine!
And frowns and fears from Thee,
Would not more swiftly tlee
Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine
This city of thy worship ever free!
ANTISTROPHE B. y.
Of cities fairest one,
From eyes of quenchless hope
Rome tears the priestly cope,
An athlete stript to run
From a remoter station
As then Hope, Truth, and Justice did avail,
I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the scas and the streams ;
In their noon-day dreams.
The sweet buds every one,
As she dances about the sun.
And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
EPODE 1. ß.
Array'd against the ever-living Gods ?
Of crags and thunder-clouds ?
Jowrought with emblems of barbaric pride ?
With iron light is dyed,
Like Chaos o'er creation, uncreating ;
Of the white Alps, desolating,
Famishi'd wolves that bide no waiting, Blotting the glowing footsteps of old glory, Trampling our column'd cities into dust,
Their dull and savage lust On Beauty's corse to sickness satiatingThey come! The fields they tread look black and hoary With fire--from their red feet the streams run gory!
"Aaa, the Island of Circe.
* The viper was the armorial device of the Visconti, tyrants of Milan.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 't is my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Lightning my pilot sits,
It struggles and howls at fils;
This pilot is guiding me,
In the depths of the purple sca;
Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever be dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
Higher still and higher,
From the earth thou spridgest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou widgest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alii one moment may sit
In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
Thou dost tloat and run ;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.
The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of heaven,
In the broad day-light
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the while dawn clear,
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd.
What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see,
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.
Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
Like a high-boro maiden
In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour I am the daughter of earth and water,
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower :
Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Its aërial hue
view : I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a rose embower'd
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflower'd,
Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged TO A SKYLARK.
Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.
Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
Not to shed a tear,
Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
That in books are found,
Spirit of BEAUTY! that dost consecrate
Ask why the sunlight not for ever
Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river; Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown;
Why fear and dream and death and birth
Such gloom, why man has such a scope
Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
From my lips would flow,
No voice from some sublimer world hath ever
To sage or poet these responses given :
Therefore the names of Demon, Ghost, and Heaven, Remain the records of their vain endeavour : Frail spells, whose utter'd charm might not avail to sever,
From all we hear and all we see,
Doubt, chance, and mutability.
Or music by the night-wind sent
Or moonlight on a midnight stream,
and truth to life's unquiet dream.
AN EXHORTATION. CAMELEONS feed on light and air;
Poets' food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care
Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they,
Would they ever change their hue
As the light cameleons do, Suiting it to every ray 'Twenty times a-day?
Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds, depart
And come, for some uncertain moments lent.
Man were immortal, and omnipotent,
LINE.S WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.
The waves were fiercely vomited
O'er that vast flood's suspended foam, Beneath the smoke which hung its night
I. On the stain'd cope of heaven's light.
The everlasting universe of things
Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, The plank whereon that Lady sate
Now dark-now glittering---now reflecting gloomWas driven through the chasms, about and about, Now lending splendour, where from secret springs Between the peaks so desolate
The source of humau thought its tribute brinus Of the drowning mountain, in and out,
Of waters, with a sound but half its own, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails
Such as a feeble brook will oft assume While the flood was filling those hollow vales.
In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,
Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, At last her plank an eddy crost,
Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river And bore her to the city's wall,
Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.
Thus thou, Ravine of Arve-dark, deep RavineThrough the domes of those mighty palaces.
Thou many-colour'd, many-voiced vale,
Over whose pines and crags and caverns sail The eddy whirl'd her round and round
Fast clouds, shadows, and sunbeams : awful scene,
Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down Before a gorgeous gate, which stood Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound
From the ice gulfs that gird his secret throne, Its aery arch with light like blood;
Bursting through these dark mountains, like the flame She look'd on that gate of marble clear,
Of lightning through the tempest; thou dost lie, With wonder that extinguish'd fear.
Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,
Children of elder time, in whose devotion For it was filld with sculptures rarest,
The chainless winds still come and ever came Or forms most beautiful and strange,
To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging Like nothing human, but the fairest
To hear-an old and solemn harmony: Of winged shapes, whose legions range
Thine earthly rainbows stretcli'd across the sweep Throughout the sleep of those that are,
Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil Like this same Lady, good and fair.
Robes some unsculptured imaye; the strange sleep
Which, when the voices of the desert fail,
Wraps all in its own deep eternity ;-
A loud lone sound, no other sound can tame: