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Percy Bysshe Shelley - The Revolt Of Islam: Canto I-XII
Work rating: Medium

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    To quell the unbelievers; a dire guest
    Even to his friends was he, for in his breast
  Did hate and guile lie watchful, intertwined,
    Twin serpents in one deep and winding nest;
  He loathed all faith beside his own, and pined
To wreak his fear of Heaven in vengeance on mankind.


  But more he loathed and hated the clear light
    Of wisdom and free thought, and more did fear,
  Lest, kindled once, its beams might pierce the night,
    Even where his Idol stood; for, far and near
    Did many a heart in Europe leap to hear
  That faith and tyranny were trampled down;
    Many a pale victim, doomed for truth to share
  The murderer`s cell, or see, with helpless groan,
The priests his children drag for slaves to serve their own.


  He dared not kill the infidels with fire
    Or steel, in Europe; the slow agonies
  Of legal torture mocked his keen desire:
    So he made truce with those who did despise
    The expiation, and the sacrifice,
  That, though detested, Islam`s kindred creed
    Might crush for him those deadlier enemies;
  For fear of God did in his bosom breed
A jealous hate of man, an unreposing need.


  `Peace! Peace!` he cried, `when we are dead, the Day
    Of Judgement comes, and all shall surely know
  Whose God is God, each fearfully shall pay
    The errors of his faith in endless woe!
    But there is sent a mortal vengeance now
  On earth, because an impious race had spurned
    Him whom we all adore,—a subtle foe,
  By whom for ye this dread reward was earned,
And kingly thrones, which rest on faith, nigh overturned.


  `Think ye, because ye weep, and kneel, and pray,
    That God will lull the pestilence? It rose
  Even from beneath his throne, where, many a day,
    His mercy soothed it to a dark repose:
    It walks upon the earth to judge his foes;
  And what are thou and I, that he should deign
    To curb his ghastly minister, or close
  The gates of death, ere they receive the twain
Who shook with mortal spells his undefended reign?


  `Ay, there is famine in the gulf of hell,
    Its giant worms of fire for ever yawn,—
  Their lurid eyes are on us! those who fell
    By the swift shafts of pestilence ere dawn,
    Are in their jaws! they hunger for the spawn
  Of Satan, their own brethren, who were sent
    To make our souls their spoil. See! see! they fawn
  Like dogs, and they will sleep with luxury spent,
When those detested hearts their iron fangs have rent!


  `Our God may then lull Pestilence to sleep:—
    Pile high the pyre of expiation now,
  A forest`s spoil of boughs, and on the heap
    Pour venomous gums, which sullenly and slow,
    When touched by flame, shall burn, and melt, and flow,
  A stream of clinging fire,—and fix on high
    A net of iron, and spread forth below
  A couch of snakes, and scorpions, and the fry
Of centipedes and worms, earth`s hellish progeny!


  `Let Laon and Laone on that pyre,
    Linked tight with burning brass, perish!—then pray
  That, with this sacrifice, the withering ire
    Of Heaven may be appeased.` He ceased, and they
    A space stood silent, as far, far away
  The echoes of his voice among them died;
    And he knelt down upon the dust, alway
  Muttering the curses of his speechless pride,
Whilst shame, and fear, and awe, the armies did divide.


  His voice was like a blast that burst the portal
    Of fabled hell; and as he spake, each one
  Saw gape beneath the chasms of fire immortal,
    And Heaven above seemed cloven, where, on a throne
    Girt round with storms and shadows, sate alone
  Their King and Judge—fear killed in every breast
    All natural pity then, a fear unknown
  Before, and with an inward fire possessed,
They raged like homeless beasts whom burning woods invest.


  `Twas morn.—At noon the public crier went forth,
    Proclaiming through the living and the dead,
  `The Monarch saith, that his great Empire`s worth
    Is set on Laon and Laone`s head:
    He who but one yet living here can lead,
  Or who the life from both their hearts can wring,
    Shall be the kingdom`s heir, a glorious meed!
  But he who both alive can hither bring,
The Princess shall espouse, and reign an equal King.`


  Ere night the pyre was piled, the net of iron
    Was spread above, the fearful couch below:
  It overtopped the towers that did environ
    That spacious square; for Fear is never slow
    To build the thrones of Hate, her mate and foe,
  So, she scourged forth the maniac multitude
    To rear this pyramid—tottering and slow,
  Plague-stricken, foodless, like lean herds pursued
By gadflies, they have piled the heath, and gums, and wood.


  Night came, a starless and a moonless gloom.
    Until the dawn, those hosts of many a nation
  Stood round that pile, as near one lover`s tomb
    Two gentle sisters mourn their desolation;
    And in the silence of that expectation,
  Was heard on high the reptiles` hiss and crawl—
    It was so deep—save when the devastation
  Of the swift pest, with fearful interval,
Marking its path with shrieks, among the crowd would fall.


  Morn came,—among those sleepless multitudes,
    Madness, and Fear, and Plague, and Famine still
  Heaped corpse on corpse, as in autumnal woods
    The frosts of many a wind with dead leaves fill
    Earth`s cold and sullen brooks; in silence, still
  The pale survivors stood; ere noon, the fear
    Of Hell became a panic, which did kill
  Like hunger or disease, with whispers drear,
As `Hush! hark! Come they yet? Just Heaven! thine hour is near!`


  And Priests rushed through their ranks, some counterfeiting
    The rage they did inspire, some mad indeed
  With their own lies; they said their god was waiting
    To see his enemies writhe, and burn, and bleed,—
    And that, till then, the snakes of Hell had need
  Of human souls:—three hundred furnaces
    Soon blazed through the wide City, where, with speed,
  Men brought their infidel kindred to appease
God`s wrath, and while they burned, knelt round on quivering knees.


  The noontide sun was darkened with that smoke,
    The winds of eve dispersed those ashes gray.
  The madness which these rites had lulled, awoke
    Again at sunset.—Who shall dare to say
    The deeds which night and fear brought forth, or weigh
  In balance just the good and evil there?
    He might man`s deep and searchless heart display,
  And cast a light on those dim labyrinths, where
Hope, near imagined chasms, is struggling with despair.


  `Tis said, a mother dragged three children then,
    To those fierce flames which roast the eyes in the head,
  And laughed, and died; and that unholy men,
    Feasting like fiends upon the infidel dead,
    Looked from their meal, and saw an Angel tread
  The visible floor of Heaven, and it was she!
    And, on that night, one without doubt or dread
  Came to the fire, and said, `Stop, I am he!
Kill me!`—They burned them both with hellish mockery.


  And, one by one, that night, young maidens came,
    Beauteous and calm, like shapes of living stone
  Clothed in the light of dreams, and by the flame
    Which shrank as overgorged, they laid them down.
    And sung a low sweet song, of which alone
  One word was heard, and that was Liberty;
    And that some kissed their marble feet, with moan
  Like love, and died; and then that they did die
With happy smiles, which sunk in white tranquillity.


CANTO XI

  She saw me not—she heard me not—alone
    Upon the mountain`s dizzy brink she stood;
  She spake not, breathed not, moved not—there was thrown
    Over her look, the shadow of a mood
    Which only clothes the heart in solitude.
  A thought of voiceless depth;—she stood alone,
    Above, the Heavens were spread;—below, the flood
  Was murmuring in its caves;—the wind had blown
Her hair apart, through which her eyes and forehead shone.


  A cloud was hanging o`er the western mountains;
    Before its blue and moveless depth were flying
  Gray mists poured forth from the unresting fountains
    Of darkness in the North:—the day was dying:—
    Sudden, the sun shone forth, its beams were lying
  Like boiling gold on Ocean, strange to see,
    And on the shattered vapours, which defying
  The power of light in vain, tossed restlessly
In the red Heaven, like wrecks in a tempestuous sea.


  It was a stream of living beams, whose bank
    On either side by the cloud`s cleft was made;
  And where its chasms that flood of glory drank,
    Its waves gushed forth like fire, and as if swayed
    By some mute tempest, rolled on her; the shade
  Of her bright image floated on the river
    Of liquid light, which then did end and fade—
  Her radiant shape upon its verge did shiver;
Aloft, her flowing hair like strings of flame did quiver.


  I stood beside her, but she saw me not—
    She looked upon the sea, and skies, and earth;
  Rapture, and love, and admiration wrought
    A passion deeper far than tears, or mirth,
    Or speech, or gesture, or whate`er has birth
  From common joy; which with the speechless feeling
    That led her there united, and shot forth
  From her far eyes a light of deep revealing,
All but her dearest self from my regard concealing.


  Her lips were parted, and the measured breath
    Was now heard there;—her dark and intricate eyes
  Orb within orb, deeper than sleep or death,
    Absorbed the glories of the burning skies,
    Which, mingling with her heart`s deep ecstasies,
  Burst from her looks and gestures;—and a light
    Of liquid tenderness, like love, did rise
  From her whole frame, an atmosphere which quite
Arrayed her in its beams, tremulous and soft and bright.


  She would have clasped me to her glowing frame;
    Those warm and odorous lips might soon have shed
  On mine the fragrance and the invisible flame
    Which now the cold winds stole;—she would have laid
    Upon my languid heart her dearest head;
  I might have heard her voice, tender and sweet;
    Her eyes mingling with mine, might soon have fed
  My soul with their own joy.—One moment yet
I gazed—we parted then, never again to meet!


  Never but once to meet on Earth again!
    She heard me as I fled—her eager tone
  Sunk on my heart, and almost wove a chain
    Around my will to link it with her own,
    So that my stern resolve was almost gone.
  `I cannot reach thee! whither dost thou fly?
    My steps are faint—Come back, thou dearest one—
  Return, ah me! return!`—The wind passed by
On which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly.


  Woe! Woe! that moonless midnight!—Want and Pest
    Were horrible, but one more fell doth rear,
  As in a hydra`s swarming lair, its crest
    Eminent among those victims—even the Fear
    Of Hell: each girt by the hot atmosphere
  Of his blind agony, like a scorpion stung
    By his own rage upon his burning bier
  Of circling coals of fire; but still there clung
One hope, like a keen sword on starting threads uphung:


  Not death—death was no more refuge or rest;
    Not life—it was despair to be!—not sleep,
  For fiends and chasms of fire had dispossessed
    All natural dreams: to wake was not to weep,
    But to gaze mad and pallid, at the leap
  To which the Future, like a snaky scourge,
    Or like some tyrant`s eye, which aye doth keep
  Its withering beam upon his slaves, did urge
Their steps; they heard the roar of Hell`s sulphureous surge.


  Each of that multitude, alone, and lost
    To sense of outward things, one hope yet knew;
  As on a foam-girt crag some seaman tossed
    Stares at the rising tide, or like the crew
    Whilst now the ship is splitting through and through;
  Each, if the tramp of a far steed was heard,
    Started from sick despair, or if there flew
  One murmur on the wind, or if some word
Which none can gather yet, the distant crowd has stirred.


  Why became cheeks, wan with the kiss of death,
    Paler from hope? they had sustained despair.
  Why watched those myriads with suspended breath
    Sleepless a second night? they are not here,
    The victims, and hour by hour, a vision drear,
  Warm corpses fall upon the clay-cold dead;
    And even in death their lips are wreathed with fear.—
  The crowd is mute and moveless—overhead
Silent Arcturus shines—`Ha! hear`st thou not the tread


  `Of rushing feet? laughter? the shout, the scream,
    Of triumph not to be contained? See! hark!
  They come, they come! give way!` Alas, ye deem
    Falsely—`tis but a crowd of maniacs stark
    Driven, like a troop of spectres, through the dark,
  From the choked well, whence a bright death-fire sprung,
    A lurid earth-star, which dropped many a spark
  From its blue train, and spreading widely, clung
To their wild hair, like mist the topmost pines among.


  And many, from the crowd collected there,
    Joined that strange dance in fearful sympathies;
  There was the silence of a long despair,
    When the last echo of those terrible cries
    Came from a distant street, like agonies
  Stifled afar.—Before the Tyrant`s throne
    All night his aged Senate sate, their eyes
  In stony expectation fixed; when one
Sudden before them stood, a Stranger and alone.


  Dark Priests and haughty Warriors gazed on him
    With baffled wonder, for a hermit`s vest
  Concealed his face; but, when he spake, his tone,
    Ere yet the matter did their thoughts arrest,—
    Earnest, benignant, calm, as from a breast
  Void of all hate or terror—made them start;
    For as with gentle accents he addressed
  His speech to them, on each unwilling heart
Unusual awe did fall—a spirit-quelling dart.


  `Ye Princes of the Earth, ye sit aghast
    Amid the ruin which yourselves have made,
  Yes, Desolation heard your trumpet`s blast,
    And sprang from sleep!—dark Terror has obeyed
    Your bidding—O, that I whom ye have made
  Your foe, could set my dearest enemy free
    From pain and fear! but evil casts a shade,
  Which cannot pass so soon, and Hate must be
The nurse and parent still of an ill progeny.


  `Ye turn to Heaven for aid in your distress;
    Alas, that ye, the mighty and the wise,
  Who, if ye dared, might not aspire to less
    Than ye conceive of power, should fear the lies
    Which thou, and thou, didst frame for mysteries
  To blind your slaves:—consider your own thought,
    An empty and a cruel sacrifice
  Ye now prepare, for a vain idol wrought
Out of the fears and hate which vain desires have brought.


  `Ye seek for happiness—alas, the day!
    Ye find it not in luxury nor in gold,
  Nor in the fame, nor in the envied sway
    For which, O willing slaves to Custom old,
    Severe taskmistress! ye your hearts have sold.
  Ye seek for peace, and when ye die, to dream
    No evil dreams: all mortal things are cold
  And senseless then; if aught survive, I deem
It must be love and joy, for they immortal seem.


  `Fear not the future, weep not for the past.
    O, could I win your ears to dare be now
  Glorious, and great, and calm! that ye would cast
    Into the dust those symbols of your woe,
    Purple, and gold, and steel! that ye would go
  Proclaiming to the nations whence ye came,
    That Want, and Plague, and Fear, from slavery flow;
  And that mankind is free, and that the shame
Of royalty and faith is lost in freedom`s fame!


  `If thus, `tis well—if not, I come to say
    That Laon—` while the Stranger spoke, among
  The Council sudden tumult and affray
    Arose, for many of those warriors young,
    Had on his eloquent accents fed and hung
  Like bees on mountain-flowers; they knew the truth,
    And from their thrones in vindication sprung;
  The men of faith and law then without ruth
Drew forth their secret steel, and stabbed each ardent youth.


  They stabbed them in the back and sneered—a slave
    Who stood behind the throne, those corpses drew
  Each to its bloody, dark, and secret grave;
    And one more daring raised his steel anew
    To pierce the Stranger. `What hast thou to do
  With me, poor wretch?`—Calm, solemn, and severe,
    That voice unstrung his sinews, and he threw
  His dagger on the ground, and pale with fear,
Sate silently—his voice then did the Stranger rear.


  `It doth avail not that I weep for ye—
    Ye cannot change, since ye are old and gray,
  And ye have chosen your lot—your fame must be
    A book of blood, whence in a milder day
    Men shall learn truth, when ye are wrapped in clay:
  Now ye shall triumph. I am Laon`s friend,
    And him to your revenge will I betray,
  So ye concede one easy boon. Attend!
For now I speak of things which ye can apprehend.


  `There is a People mighty in its youth,
    A land beyond the Oceans of the West,
  Where, though with rudest rites, Freedom and Truth
    Are worshipped; from a glorious Mother`s breast,
    Who, since high Athens fell, among the rest
  Sate like the Queen of Nations, but in woe,
    By inbred monsters outraged and oppressed,
  Turns to her chainless child for succour now,
It draws the milk of Power in Wisdom`s fullest flow.


  `That land is like an Eagle, whose young gaze
    Feeds on the noontide beam, whose golden plume
  Floats moveless on the storm, and in the blaze
    Of sunrise gleams when Earth is wrapped in gloom;
    An epitaph of glory for the tomb
  Of murdered Europe may thy fame be made,
    Great People! as the sands shalt thou become;
  Thy growth is swift as morn, when night must fade;
The multitudinous Earth shall sleep beneath thy shade.


  `Yes, in the desert there is built a home
    For Freedom. Genius is made strong to rear
  The monuments of man beneath the dome
    Of a new Heaven; myriads assemble there,
    Whom the proud lords of man, in rage or fear,
  Drive from their wasted homes: the boon I pray
    Is this—that Cythna shall be convoyed there—
  Nay, start not at the name—America!
And then to you this night Laon will I betray.


  `With me do what you will. I am your foe!`
    The light of such a joy as makes the stare
  Of hungry snakes like living emeralds glow,
    Shone in a hundred human eyes—`Where, where
    Is Laon? Haste! fly! drag him swiftly here!
  We grant thy boon.`—`I put no trust in ye,
    Swear by the Power ye dread.`—`We swear, we swear!`
  The Stranger threw his vest back suddenly,
And smiled in gentle pride, and said, Lo! I am he!`


CANTO XII

  The transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness
    Spread through the multitudinous streets, fast flying
  Upon the winds of fear; from his dull madness
    The starveling waked, and died in joy; the dying,
    Among the corpses in stark agony lying,
  Just heard the happy tidings, and in hope
    Closed their faint eyes; from house to house replying
  With loud acclaim, the living shook Heaven`s cope,
And filled the startled Earth with echoes: morn did ope


  Its pale eyes then; and lo! the long array
    Of guards in golden arms, and Priests beside,
  Singing their bloody hymns, whose garbs betray
    The blackness of the faith it seems to hide;
    And see, the Tyrant`s gem-wrought chariot glide
  Among the gloomy cowls and glittering spears—
    A Shape of light is sitting by his side,
  A child most beautiful. I` the midst appears
Laon,—exempt alone from mortal hopes and fears.


  His head and feet are bare, his hands are bound
    Behind with heavy chains, yet none do wreak
  Their scoffs on him, though myriads throng around;
    There are no sneers upon his lip which speak
    That scorn or hate has made him bold; his cheek
  Resolve has not turned pale,—his eyes are mild
    And calm, and, like the morn about to break,
  Smile on mankind—his heart seems reconciled
To all things and itself, like a reposing child.


  Tumult was in the soul of all beside,
    Ill joy, or doubt, or fear; but those who saw
  Their tranquil victim pass, felt wonder glide
    Into their brain, and became calm with awe.—
    See, the slow pageant near the pile doth draw.
  A thousand torches in the spacious square,
    Borne by the ready slaves of ruthless law,
  Await the signal round: the morning fair
Is changed to a dim night by that unnatural glare.


  And see! beneath a sun-bright canopy,
    Upon a platform level with the pile,
  The anxious Tyrant sit, enthroned on high,
    Girt by the chieftains of the host; all smile
    In expectation, but one child: the while
  I, Laon, led by mutes, ascend my bier
    Of fire, and look around: each distant isle
  Is dark in the bright dawn; towers far and near,
Pierce like reposing flames the tremulous atmosphere.


  There was such silence through the host, as when
    An earthquake trampling on some populous town,
  Has crushed ten thousand with one tread, and men
    Expect the second; all were mute but one,
    That fairest child, who, bold with love, alone
  Stood up before the King, without avail,
    Pleading for Laon`s life—her stifled groan
  Was heard—she trembled like one aspen pale
Among the gloomy pines of a Norwegian vale.


  What were his thoughts linked in the morning sun,
    Among those reptiles, stingless with delay,
  Even like a tyrant`s wrath?—The signal-gun
    Roared—hark, again! In that dread pause he lay
    As in a quiet dream—the slaves obey—
  A thousand torches drop,—and hark, the last
    Bursts on that awful silence; far away,
  Millions, with hearts that beat both loud and fast,
Watch for the springing flame expectant and aghast.


  They fly—the torches fall—a cry of fear
    Has startled the triumphant!—they recede!
  For ere the cannon`s roar has died, they hear
    The tramp of hoofs like earthquake, and a steed
    Dark and gigantic, with the tempest`s speed,
  Bursts through their ranks: a woman sits thereon,
    Fairer, it seems, than aught that earth can breed,
  Calm, radiant, like the phantom of the dawn,
A spirit from the caves of daylight wandering gone.


  All thought it was God`s Angel come to sweep
    The lingering guilty to their fiery grave;
  The Tyrant from his throne in dread did leap,—
    Her innocence his child from fear did save;
    Scared by the faith they feigned, each priestly slave
  Knelt for his mercy whom they served with blood,
    And, like the refluence of a mighty wave
  Sucked into the loud sea, the multitude
With crushing panic, fled in terror`s altered mood.


  They pause, they blush, they gaze,—a gathering shout
    Bursts like one sound from the ten thousand streams
  Of a tempestuous sea:—that sudden rout
    One checked, who, never in his mildest dreams
    Felt awe from grace or loveliness, the seams
  Of his rent heart so hard and cold a creed
    Had seared with blistering ice—but he misdeems
  That he is wise, whose wounds do only bleed
Inly for self—thus thought the Iberian Priest indeed,


  And others too, thought he was wise to see,
    In pain, and fear, and hate, something divine;
  In love and beauty, no divinity.—
    Now with a bitter smile, whose light did shine
    Like a fiend`s hope upon his lips and eyne,
  He said, and the persuasion of that sneer
    Rallied his trembling comrades—`Is it mine
  To stand alone, when kings and soldiers fear
A woman? Heaven has sent its other victim here.`


  `Were it not impious,` said the King, `to break
    Our holy oath?`—`Impious to keep it, say!`
  Shrieked the exulting Priest—`Slaves, to the stake
    Bind her, and on my head the burden lay
    Of her just torments:—at the Judgement Day
  Will I stand up before the golden throne
    Of Heaven, and cry, "To thee did I betray
  An Infidel; but for me she would have known
Another moment`s joy! the glory be thine own!"`


  They trembled, but replied not, nor obeyed,
    Pausing in breathless silence. Cythna sprung
  From her gigantic steed, who, like a shade
    Chased by the winds, those vacant streets among
    Fled tameless, as the brazen rein she flung
  Upon his neck, and kissed his moonèd brow.
    A piteous sight, that one so fair and young,
  The clasp of such a fearful death should woo
With smiles of tender joy as beamed from Cythna now.


  The warm tears burst in spite of faith and fear
    From many a tremulous eye, but like soft dews
  Which feed Spring`s earliest buds, hung gathered there,
    Frozen by doubt,—alas! they could not choose
    But weep; for when her faint limbs did refuse
  To climb the pyre, upon the mutes she smiled;
    And with her eloquent gestures, and the hues
  Of her quick lips, even as a weary child
Wins sleep from some fond nurse with its caresses mild,


  She won them, though unwilling, her to bind
    Near me, among the snakes. When there had fled
  One soft reproach that was most thrilling kind,
    She smiled on me, and nothing then we said,
    But each upon the other`s countenance fed
  Looks of insatiate love; the mighty veil
    Which doth divide the living and the dead
  Was almost rent, the world grew dim and pale,—
All light in Heaven or Earth beside our love did fail.—


  Yet—yet—one brief relapse, like the last beam
    Of dying flames, the stainless air around
  Hung silent and serene—a blood-red gleam
    Burst upwards, hurling fiercely from the ground
    The globèd smoke,—I heard the mighty sound
  Of its uprise, like a tempestuous ocean;
    And through its chasms I saw, as in a swound,
  The tyrant`s child fall without life or motion
Before his throne, subdued by some unseen emotion.


  And is this death?—The pyre has disappeared,
    The Pestilence, the Tyrant, and the throng;
  The flames grow silent—slowly there is heard
    The music of a breath-suspending song,
    Which, like the kiss of love when life is young,
  Steeps the faint eyes in darkness sweet and deep;
    With ever-changing notes it floats along,
  Till on my passive soul there seemed to creep
A melody, like waves on wrinkled sands that leap.


  The warm touch of a soft and tremulous hand
    Wakened me then; lo! Cythna sate reclined
  Beside me, on the waved and golden sand
    Of a clear pool, upon a bank o`ertwined
    With strange and star-bright flowers, which to the wind
  Breathed divine odour; high above, was spread
    The emerald heaven of trees of unknown kind,
  Whose moonlike blooms and bright fruit overhead
A shadow, which was light, upon the waters shed.


  And round about sloped many a lawny mountain
    With incense-bearing forests, and vast caves
  Of marble radiance, to that mighty fountain;
    And where the flood its own bright margin laves,
    Their echoes talk with its eternal waves,
  Which, from the depths whose jaggèd caverns breed
    Their unreposing strife, it lifts and heaves,—
  Till through a chasm of hills they roll, and feed
A river deep, which flies with smooth but arrowy speed.


  As we sate gazing in a trance of wonder,
    A boat approached, borne by the musical air
  Along the waves which sung and sparkled under
    Its rapid keel—a wingèd shape sate there,
    A child with silver-shining wings, so fair,
  That as her bark did through the waters glide,
    The shadow of the lingering waves did wear
  Light, as from starry beams; from side to side,
While veering to the wind her plumes the bark did guide.


  The boat was one curved shell of hollow pearl,
    Almost translucent with the light divine
  Of her within; the prow and stern did curl
    Hornèd on high, like the young moon supine,
    When o`er dim twilight mountains dark with pine,
  It floats upon the sunset`s sea of beams,
    Whose golden waves in many a purple line
  Fade fast, till borne on sunlight`s ebbing streams,
Dilating, on earth`s verge the sunken meteor gleams.


  Its keel has struck the sands beside our feet;—
    Then Cythna turned to me, and from her eyes
  Which swam with unshed tears, a look more sweet
    Than happy love, a wild and glad surprise,
    Glanced as she spake: `Ay, this is Paradise
  And not a dream, and we are all united!
    Lo, that is mine own child, who in the guise
  Of madness came, like day to one benighted
In lonesome woods: my heart is now too well requited!`


  And then she wept aloud, and in her arms
    Clasped that bright Shape, less marvellously fair
  Than her own human hues and living charms;
    Which, as she leaned in passion`s silence there,
    Breathed warmth on the cold bosom of the air,
  Which seemed to blush and tremble with delight;
    The glossy darkness of her streaming hair
  Fell o`er that snowy child, and wrapped from sight
The fond and long embrace which did their hearts unite.


  Then the bright child, the plumèd Seraph came,
    And fixed its blue and beaming eyes on mine,
  And said, `I was disturbed by tremulous shame
    When once we met, yet knew that I was thine
    From the same hour in which thy lips divine
  Kindled a clinging dream within my brain,
    Which ever waked when I might sleep, to twine
  Thine image with her memory dear—again
We meet; exempted now from mortal fear or pain.


  `When the consuming flames had wrapped ye round,
    The hope which I had cherished went away;
  I fell in agony on the senseless ground,
    And hid mine eyes in dust, and far astray
    My mind was gone, when bright, like dawning day,
  The Spectre of the Plague before me flew,
    And breathed upon my lips, and seemed to say,
  "They wait for thee, belovèd!"—then I knew
The death-mark on my breast, and became calm anew.


  `It was the calm of love—for I was dying.
    I saw the black and half-extinguished pyre
  In its own gray and shrunken ashes lying;
    The pitchy smoke of the departed fire
    Still hung in many a hollow dome and spire
  Above the towers, like night; beneath whose shade
    Awed by the ending of their own desire
  The armies stood; a vacancy was made
In expectation`s depth, and so they stood dismayed.


  `The frightful silence of that altered mood,
    The tortures of the dying clove alone,
  Till one uprose among the multitude,
    And said—"The flood of time is rolling on,
    We stand upon its brink, whilst they are gone
  To glide in peace down death`s mysterious stream.
    Have ye done well? They moulder flesh and bone,
  Who might have made this life`s envenomed dream
A sweeter draught than ye will ever taste, I deem.


  `"These perish as the good and great of yore
    Have perished, and their murderers will repent,—
  Yes, vain and barren tears shall flow before
    Yon smoke has faded from the firmament
    Even for this cause, that ye who must lament
  The death of those that made this world so fair,
    Cannot recall them now; but there is lent
  To man the wisdom of a high despair,
When such can die, and he live on and linger here.


  `"Ay, ye may fear not now the Pestilence,
    From fabled hell as by a charm withdrawn;
  All power and faith must pass, since calmly hence
    In pain and fire have unbelievers gone;
    And ye must sadly turn away, and moan
  In secret, to his home each one returning,
    And to long ages shall this hour be known;
  And slowly shall its memory, ever burning,
Fill this dark night of things with an eternal morning.


  `"For me the world is grown too void and cold,
    Since Hope pursues immortal Destiny
  With steps thus slow—therefore shall ye behold
    How those who love, yet fear not, dare to die;
    Tell to your children this!" Then suddenly
  He sheathed a dagger in his heart and fell;
    My brain grew dark in death, and yet to me
  There came a murmur from the crowd, to tell
Of deep and mighty change which suddenly befell.


  `Then suddenly I stood, a wingèd Thought,
    Before the immortal Senate, and the seat
  Of that star-shining spirit, whence is wrought
    The strength of its dominion, good and great,
    The better Genius of this world`s estate.
  His realm around one mighty Fane is spread,
    Elysian islands bright and fortunate,
  Calm dwellings of the free and happy dead,
Where I am sent to lead!` These wingèd words she said,


  And with the silence of her eloquent smile,
    Bade us embark in her divine canoe;
  Then at the helm we took our seat, the while
    Above her head those plumes of dazzling hue
    Into the winds` invisible stream she threw,
  Sitting beside the prow: like gossamer
    On the swift breath of morn, the vessel flew
  O`er the bright whirlpools of that fountain fair,
Whose shores receded fast, whilst we seemed lingering there;


  Till down that mighty stream, dark, calm, and fleet,
    Between a chasm of cedarn mountains riven,
  Chased by the thronging winds whose viewless feet
    As swift as twinkling beams, had, under Heaven,
    From woods and waves wild sounds and odours driven,
  The boat fled visibly—three nights and days,
    Borne like a cloud through morn, and noon, and even,
  We sailed along the winding watery ways
Of the vast stream, a long and labyrinthine maze.


  A scene of joy and wonder to behold
    That river`s shapes and shadows changing ever,
  When the broad sunrise filled with deepening gold
    Its whirlpools, where all hues did spread and quiver;
    And where melodious falls did burst and shiver
  Among rocks clad with flowers, the foam and spray
    Sparkled like stars upon the sunny river,
  Or when the moonlight poured a holier day,
One vast and glittering lake around green islands lay.


  Morn, noon, and even, that boat of pearl outran
    The streams which bore it, like the arrowy cloud
  Of tempest, or the speedier thought of man,
    Which flieth forth and cannot make abode;
    Sometimes through forests, deep like night, we glode,
  Between the walls of mighty mountains crowned
    With Cyclopean piles, whose turrets proud,
  The homes of the departed, dimly frowned
O`er the bright waves which girt their dark foundations round.


  Sometimes between the wide and flowering meadows,
    Mile after mile we sailed, and `twas delight
  To see far off the sunbeams chase the shadows
    Over the grass; sometimes beneath the night
    Of wide and vaulted caves, whose roofs were bright
  With starry gems, we fled, whilst from their deep
    And dark-green chasms, shades beautiful and white,
  Amid sweet sounds across our path would sweep,
Like swift and lovely dreams that walk the waves of sleep.


  And ever as we sailed, our minds were full
    Of love and wisdom, which would overflow
  In converse wild, and sweet, and wonderful,
    And in quick smiles whose light would come and go
    Like music o`er wide waves, and in the flow
  Of sudden tears, and in the mute caress—
    For a deep shade was cleft, and we did know,
  That virtue, though obscured on Earth, not less
Survives all mortal change in lasting loveliness.


  Three days and nights we sailed, as thought and feeling
    Number delightful hours—for through the sky
  The spherèd lamps of day and night, revealing
    New changes and new glories, rolled on high,
    Sun, Moon, and moonlike lamps, the progeny
  Of a diviner Heaven, serene and fair:
    On the fourth day, wild as a windwrought sea
  The stream became, and fast and faster bare
The spirit-wingèd boat, steadily speeding there.


  Steady and swift, where the waves rolled like mountains
    Within the vast ravine, whose rifts did pour
  Tumultuous floods from their ten thousand fountains,
    The thunder of whose earth-uplifting roar
    Made the air sweep in whirlwinds from the shore,
  Calm as a shade, the boat of that fair child
    Securely fled, that rapid stress before,
  Amid the topmost spray, and sunbows wild,
Wreathed in the silver mist: in joy and pride we smiled.


  The torrent of that wide and raging river
    Is passed, and our aëreal speed suspended.
  We look behind; a golden mist did quiver
    Where its wild surges with the lake were blended,—
    Our bark hung there, as on a line suspended
  Between two heavens,—that windless waveless lake
    Which four great cataracts from four vales, attended
  By mists, aye feed; from rocks and clouds they break,
And of that azure sea a silent refuge make.


  Motionless resting on the lake awhile,
    I saw its marge of snow-bright mountains rear
  Their peaks aloft, I saw each radiant isle,
    And in the midst, afar, even like a sphere
    Hung in one hollow sky, did there appear
  The Temple of the Spirit; on the sound
    Which issued thence, drawn nearer and more near,
  Like the swift moon this glorious earth around,
The charmèd boat approached, and there its haven found.
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