Where's the Poet? Show him! show him Where's the Poet? Show him! show him, Muses nine! that I may know him! 'Tis the man who with a man Is an equal, be he king, Or poorest of the beggar-clan, Or any other wondrous thing A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato; 'Tis the man who with a bird, Wren or eagle, finds his way to All its instincts; he hath heard The lion's roaring, and can tell What his horny throat expresseth, And to him the tiger's yell Comes articulate and presseth On his ear like mother-tongue; . . . Fancy Ever let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her Open wide the mind's cage-door, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet Fancy! let her loose; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the spring Fades as does its blossoming; Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with tasting What do then? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter's night; When the soundless earth is muffled, And the caked snow is shuffled From the ploughboy's heavy shoon; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy To banish Even from her sky. Sit thee there, and send abroad, With a mind self-overaw'd, Fancy, high-commission'd ‐ send her! She has vassals to attend her She will bring, in spite of frost, Beauties that the earth hath lost; She will bring thee, all together, All delights of summer weather; All the buds and bells of May, From dewy sward or thorny spray All the heaped autumn's wealth, With a still, mysterious stealth She will mix these pleasures up Like three fit wines in a cup, And thou shalt quaff it ‐ thou shalt hear Distant harvest-carols clear; Rustle of the reaped corn; Sweet birds antheming the morn And, in the same moment ‐ hark! 'Tis the early April lark, Or the rooks, with busy caw, Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold The daisy and the marigold; White-plum'd lilies, and the first Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst; Shaded hyacinth, alway Sapphire queen of the mid-May); And every leaf, and every flower Pearled with the self-same shower. Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep Meagre from its celled sleep; And the snake all winter-thin Cast on sunny bank its skin; Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see Hatching in the hawthorn-tree, When the hen-bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest; Then the hurry and alarm When the bee-hive casts its swarm; Acorns ripe down-pattering, While the autumn breezes sing. Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose; Every thing is spoilt by use Wheres the cheek that doth not fade, Too much gaz'd at? Wheres the maid Whose lip mature is ever new? Where's the eye, however blue, Doth not weary? Where's the face One would meet in every place? Where's the voice, however soft, One would hear so very oft? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. Let, then, winged Fancy find Thee a mistress to thy mind Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Torment taught her How to frown and how to chide; With a waist and with a side White as Hebe's, when her zone Slipt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet, And Jove grew languid. ‐ Break the mesh Of the Fancy's silken leash; Quickly break her prison-string And such joys as these she'll bring. ‐ Let the winged Fancy roam Pleasure never is at home. Bards of passion and of mirth Bards of passion and of mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new? Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon; With the noise of fountains wond'rous, And the parle of voices thund'rous; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease Seated on Elysian lawns Brows'd by none but Dian's fawns Underneath large blue-bells tented, Where the daisies are rose-scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume which on earth is not; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth; Philosophic numbers smooth; Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mysteries. Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying, Never slumber'd, never cloying. Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week; Of their sorrows and delights; Of their passions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame; What does strengthen and what maim. Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of passion and of mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new! Spirit here that reignest Spirit here that reignest! Spirit here that painest! Spirit here that burnest! Spirit here that mournest! Spirit! I bow My forehead low, Enshaded with thy pinions! Spirit! I look All passion-struck Into thy pale dominions! Spirit here that laughest! Spirit here that quaffest! Spirit here that dancest! Noble soul that prancest! Spirit! with thee I join in the glee, A-nudging the elbow of Momus! Spirit! I flush With a Bacchanal blush Just fresh from the banquet of Comus! I had a dove, and the sweet dove died I had a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving O, what could it grieve for? It was tied, With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving; Sweet little red feet! why did you die ‐ Why would you leave me, sweet dove! why? You liv'd alone on the forest-tree, Why, pretty thing! could you not live with me? I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas; Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees? Hush. hush, tread softly, hush, hush, my dear Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush, my dear! All the house is asleep, but we know very well That the jealous, the jealous old bald-pate may hear, Tho' you've padded his night-cap ‐ O sweet Isabel! Tho' your feet are more light than a faery's feet, Who dances on bubbles where brooklets meet, ‐ Hush, hush! soft tiptoe! hush, hush, my dear! For less than a nothing the jealous can hear. No leaf doth tremble, no ripple is there On the river, ‐ all's still, and the night's sleepy eye Closes up, and forgets all its Lethean care, Charm'd to death by the drone of the humming may-fly; And the moon, whether prudish or complaisant, Has fled to her bower, well knowing I want No light in the dusk, no torch in the gloom, But my Isabel's eyes, and her lips pulp'd with bloom. Lift the latch! ah gently! ah tenderly ‐ sweet! We are dead if that latchet gives one little clink! Well done ‐ now those lips, and a flowery seat ‐ The old man may sleep, and the planets may wink; The shut rose shall dream of our loves and awake Full-blown, and such warmth for the morning's take, The stock-dove shall hatch her soft brace and shall coo, While I kiss to the melody, aching all through! Ah! woe is me! poor Silver-wing Ah! woe is me! poor Silver-wing! That I must chaunt thy lady's dirge, And death to this fair haunt of spring, Of melody, and streams of flowery verge, ‐ Poor Silver-wing! Ah! woe is me! That I must see These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall! Go, pretty page! and in her ear Whisper that the hour is near! Softly tell her not to fear Such calm favonian burial! Go, pretty page! and soothly tell, ‐ The blossoms hang by a melting spell, And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice Upon her closed eyes, That now in vain are weeping their last tears, At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green, ‐ Rich dowry from the spirit of the spheres, ‐ Alas! poor queen! The Eve of St. Agnes St. Agnes' Eve ‐ Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in wooly fold Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death, Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man; Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze, Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor; But no ‐ already had his deathbell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve Another way he went, and soon among Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve, And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve. That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide, From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide The level chambers, ready with their pride, Were glowing to receive a thousand guests The carved angels, ever eager-eyed, Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts. At length burst in the argent revelry, With plume, tiara, and all rich array, Numerous as shadows haunting fairily The brain, new stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay Of old romance. These let us wish away, And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there, Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care, As she had heard old dames full many times declare. They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve, Young virgins might have visions of delight, And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honey'd middle of the night, If ceremonies due they did aright; As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire. Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline The music, yearning like a god in pain, She scarcely heard her maiden eyes divine, Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Pass by ‐ she heeded not at all in vain Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain, But she saw not her heart was otherwhere She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year. She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short The hallow'd hour was near at hand she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; 'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort, Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. So, purposing each moment to retire, She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors, Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze and worship all unseen; Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss ‐ c In sooth such things have been. c He ventures in let not buzz'd whisper tell All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes, Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul. Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came, Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand, To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame, Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond The sound of merriment and chorus bland He startled her; but soon she knew his face, And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand, Saying, " Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; " They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race! " Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand; " He had a fever late, and in the fit " He cursed thee and thine, both house and land " Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit " More tame for his gray hairs ‐ Alas me! flit! " Flit like a ghost away. " ‐ " Ah, Gossip dear, " We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit, " And tell me how " ‐ " Good Saints! not here, not here; " Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier. " He follow'd through a lowly arched way, Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume, And as she mutter'd " Well-a ‐ well-a-day! " He found him in a little moonlight room, Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb. " Now tell me where is Madeline, " said he, " O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom " Which none but secret sisterhood may see, " When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously. " " St. Agnes! ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve ‐ " Yet men will murder upon holy days " Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve, " And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, " To venture so it fills me with amaze " To see thee, Porphyro! ‐ St. Agnes' Eve! " God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays " This very night good angels her deceive! " But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve. " Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous riddle-book, As spectacled she sits in chimney nook. But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart Made purple riot then doth he propose A stratagem, that makes the beldame start " A cruel man and impious thou art " Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream " Alone with her good angels, far apart " From wicked men like thee. Go, go! ‐ I deem " Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem. " " I will not harm her, by all saints I swear, " Quoth Porphyro " O may I ne'er find grace " When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, " If one of her soft ringlets I displace, " Or look with ruffian passion in her face " Good Angela, believe me by these tears; " Or I will, even in a moment's space, " Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears, " And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears. " " Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? " A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing, " Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; " Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening, " Were never miss'd. " ‐ Thus plaining, doth she bring A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; So woful, and of such deep sorrowing, That angela gives promise she will do Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe. Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide Him in a closet, of such privacy That he might see her beauty unespied, And win perhaps that night a peerless bride, While legion'd fairies pac'd the coverlet, And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed. Never on such a night have lovers met, Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. " It shall be as thou wishest, " said the Dame " All cates and dainties shall be stored there " Quickly on this feast-night by the tambour frame " Her own lute thou wilt see no time to spare, " For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare " On such a catering trust my dizzy head. " Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer " The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed, " Or may I never leave my grave among the dead. " So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear. The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd; The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear To follow her; with aged eyes aghast From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, Through many a dusky gallery, they gain The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste; Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain. His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade, Old Angela was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid, Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware With silver taper's light, and pious care, She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led To a safe level matting. Now prepare, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled. Out went the taper as she hurried in; Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! But to her heart, her heart was voluble, Paining with eloquence her balmy side; As though a tongueless nightingale should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell. A casement high and triple-arch'd there was, All garlanded with carven imag'ries Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries, And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings. Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven ‐ Porphyro grew faint She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. Anon his heart revives her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breath'd himself then from the closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept, And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo! ‐ how fast she slept. Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet ‐ O for some drowsy Morphean amulet! The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone ‐ The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd, While he from forth the closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand On golden dishes and in baskets bright Of wreathed silver sumptuous they stand In the retired quiet of the night, Filling the chilly room with perfume light. ‐ " And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! " Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite " Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, " Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache. " Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains ‐ 'twas a midnight charm Impossible to melt as iced stream The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies It seem'd he never, never could redeem From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes; So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, ‐ Tumultuous, ‐ and, in chords that tenderest be, He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence call'd, " La belle dame sans mercy " Close to her ear touching the melody; ‐ Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan He ceased ‐ she panted quick ‐ and suddenly Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd The blisses of her dream so pure and deep At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. " Ah, Porphyro! " said she, " but even now " Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear, " Made tuneable with every sweetest vow; " And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear " How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! " Give me that voice again, my Porphyro. " Those looks immortal, those complainings dear! " Oh leave me not in this eternal woe, " For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go. " Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet, ‐ Solution sweet meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set. 'Tis dark quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet " This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline! " 'Tis dark the iced gusts still rave and beat " No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! " Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. ‐ " Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? " I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine " Though thou forsakest a deceived thing; ‐ " A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing. " " My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! " Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? " Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed? " Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest " After so many hours of toil and quest, " A famish'd pilgrim, ‐ saved by miracle. " Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest " Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well " To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel. " " Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land, " Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed " Arise ‐ arise! the morning is at hand; ‐ " The bloated wassaillers will never heed ‐ " Let us away, my love, with happy speed; " There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, ‐ " Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead " Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be, " For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee. " She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears ‐ Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. ‐ In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall; Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide; Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, With a huge empty flaggon by his side The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, But his sagacious eye an inmate owns By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide ‐ The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; ‐ The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans. And they are gone ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold. The Eve of St. Mark Upon a Sabbath-day it fell; Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell, That call'd the folk to evening prayer; The city streets were clean and fair From wholesome drench of April rains; And, on the western window panes, The chilly sunset faintly told Of unmatured green vallies cold, Of the green thorny bloomless hedge, Of rivers new with spring-tide sedge, Of primroses by shelter'd rills, And daisies on the aguish hills. Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell The silent streets were crowded well With staid and pious companies, Warm from their fire-side orat'ries; And moving, with demurest air, To even-song, and vesper prayer. Each arched porch, and entry low, Was fill'd with patient folk and slow, With whispers hush, and shuffling feet, While play'd the organ loud and sweet. The bells had ceased, the prayers begun, And Bertha had not yet half done A curious volume, patch'd and torn, That all day long, from earliest morn, Had taken captive her two eyes, Among its golden broideries; Perplex'd her with a thousand things, ‐ The stars of heaven, and angels' wings, Martyrs in a fiery blaze, Azure saints in silver rays, Aaron's breastplate, and the seven Candlesticks John saw in heaven, The winged Lion of Saint Mark, And the Covenantal Ark, With its many mysteries, Cherubim and golden mice. Bertha was a maiden fair, Dwelling in the old Minster-Square; From her fire-side she could see, Sidelong, its rich antiquity, Far as the bishop's garden-wall; Where sycamores and elm-trees tall, Full-leaved, the forest had outstript, By no sharp north-wind ever nipt, So shelter'd by the mighty pile. Bertha arose, and read awhile, With forehead 'gainst the window-pane. Again she tried, and then again, Until the dusk eve left her dark Upon the legend of St. Mark. From plaited lawn-frill, fine and thin, She lifted up her soft warm chin, With aching neck and swimming eyes, And dazed with saintly imag'ries. All was gloom, and silent all, Save now and then the still foot-fall Of one returning homewards late, Past the echoing minster-gate. The clamorous daws, that all the day Above tree-tops and towers play, Pair by pair had gone to rest, Each in its ancient belfry-nest, Where asleep they fall betimes, To music of the drowsy chimes. All was silent, all was gloom, Abroad and in the homely room Down she sat, poor cheated soul! And struck a lamp from the dismal coal; Leaned forward, with bright drooping hair And slant book, full against the glare. Her shadow, in uneasy guise, Hover'd about, a giant size, On ceiling-beam and old oak chair, The parrot's cage, and panel square; And the warm angled winter screen, On which were many monsters seen, Call'd doves of Siam, Lima mice, And legless birds of paradise, Macaw, and tender av'davat, And silken-furr'd Angora cat. Untired she read, her shadow still Glower'd about, as it would fill The room with wildest forms and shades, As though some ghostly queen of spades Had come to mock behind her back, And dance, and ruffle her garments black. Untired she read the legend page, Of holy Mark, from youth to age, On land, on sea, in pagan chains, Rejoicing for his many pains. Sometimes the learned eremite, With golden star, or dagger bright, Referr'd to pious poesies Written in smallest crow-quill size Beneath the text; and thus the rhyme Was parcell'd out from time to time " Gif ye wol stonden hardie wight ‐ Amiddes of the blacke night ‐ Righte in the churche porch, pardie Ye wol behold a companie Appouchen thee full dolourouse For sooth to sain from everich house Be it in city or village Wol come the phantom and image Of ilka gent and ilka carle Whom colde deathe hath in parle And wol some day that very year Touchen with foule venime spear And sadly do them all to die ‐ Hem all shalt thou see verilie ‐ And everichon shall by the!e5 pass All who must die that year alas ‐ " Als writith he of swevenis, Men han beforne they wake in bliss, Whanne that hir friendes thinke hem bound In crimped shroude farre under grounde; And how a litling child mote be A saint er its nativitie, Gif that the modre ( God her blesse! ) Kepen in solitarinesse, And kissen devoute the holy croce. Of Goddes love, and Sathan's force, ‐ He writith; and thinges many mo Of swiche thinges I may not show. Bot I must tellen verilie Somdel of Sainte Cicilie, And chieflie what he auctorethe Of Sainte Markis life and dethe " At length her constant eyelids come Upon the fervent martyrdom; Then lastly to his holy shrine, Exalt amid the tapers' shine At Venice, ‐ Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell Why did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell No god, no demon of severe response, Deigns to reply from heaven or from hell. Then to my human heart I turn at once. Heart! thou and I are here sad and alone; I say, why did I laugh? O mortal pain! O darkness! darkness! ever must I moan, To question heaven and hell and heart in vain. Why did I laugh? I know this being's lease, My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads; Yet would I on this very midnight cease, And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds; Verse, fame, and beauty are intense indeed, But death intenser ‐ death is life's high meed. When they were come unto the Faery's court When they were come into the Faery's court They rang ‐ no one at home ‐ all gone to sport And dance and kiss and love as faeries do For faeries be as humans, lovers true ‐ Amid the woods they were, so lone and wild, Where even the robin feels himself exil'd And where the very brooks as if afraid Hurry along to some less magic shade. " No one at home! " the fretful Princess cry'd " And all for nothing such a dreary ride, And all for nothing my new diamond cross, No one to see my Persian feathers toss, No one to see my Ape, my Dwarf, my Fool, Or how I pace my Otahaietan mule. Ape, Dwarf and Fool, why stand you gaping there? Burst the door open, quick ‐ or I declare I'll switch you soundly and in pieces tear. " The Dwarf began to tremble and the Ape Star'd at the Fool, the Fool was all agape, The Princess grasp'd her switch, but just in time The Dwarf with piteous face began to rhyme. " O mighty Princess, did you ne'er hear tell What your poor servants know but too too well? Know you the three great crimes in faery land? The first, alas! poor Dwarf, I understand ‐ I made a whipstock of a faery's wand ‐ The next is snoring in their company ‐ The next, the last, the direst of the three Is making free when they are not at home. I was a Prince ‐ a baby Prince ‐ my doom You see, I made a whipstock of a wand ‐ My top has henceforth slept in faery land. He was a Prince, the Fool, a grown up prince, But he has never been a king's son since He fell a-snoring at a faery ball ‐ Your poor Ape was a prince, and he, poor thing, Picklock'd a faery's boudoir ‐ now no king, But Ape ‐ so pray your highness stay awhile; 'Tis sooth indeed, we know it to our sorrow ‐ Persist and you) may be an Ape tomorrow " ‐ While the Dwarf spake the princess all for spite Peel'd the brown hazel twig to lilly white, Clench'd her small teeth, and held her lips apart, Try'd to look unconcern'd with beating heart. They saw her highness had made up her mind Quavering like the reeds before the wind, And they had had it, but, O happy chance! The Ape for very fear began to dance And grin'd as all his ugliness did ache ‐ She staid her vixen fingers for his sake, He was so very ugly then she took Her pocket mirror and began to look First at herself and then at him and then She smil'd at her own beauteous face again. Yet for all this ‐ for all her pretty face She took it in her head to see the place. Women gain little from experience Either in lovers, husbands or expence. " The more the beauty, the more fortune too Beauty before the wide world never knew " ‐ So each Fair reasons, tho' it oft miscarries. She thought her) pretty face would please the faeries, " My darling Ape I won't whip you today ‐ Give me the picklock, sirrah, and go play. " They all three wept ‐ but counsel was as vain As crying " c'up, biddy " to drops of rain. Yet lingeringly did the sad Ape forth draw The picklock from the pocket in his jaw. The princess took it and dismounting straight Trip'd in blue silver'd slippers to the gate And touch'd the wards, the door full courteously Opened ‐ she enter'd with her servants three. Again it clos'd and there was nothing seen But the Mule grazing on the herbage green. The Mule no sooner saw himself alone Than he prick'd up his ears ‐ and said " well done! At least, unhappy prince, I may be free ‐ No more a princess shall side-saddle me. O king of Otahaiete ‐ tho' a mule Aye every inch a king _ ‐ tho' _ Fortune's fool _ ‐ Well done ‐ for by what Mr. Dwarfy said I would not give a sixpence for her head. " Even as he spake he trotted in high glee To the knotty side of an old pollard tree And rub'd his sides against the mossed bark Till his girths burst and left him naked stark Except his bridle ‐ how get rid of that, Buckled and tied with many a twist and plait? At last it struck him to pretend to sleep And then the thievish monkies down would creep No sooner thought of than adown he lay, And filch the unpleasant trammels quite away. Shamm'd a good snore ‐ the monkey-men descended And whom they thought to injure they befriended. They hung his bridle on a topmost bough And off he went, run, trot, or any how. As Hermes once took to his feathers light As Hermes once took to his feathers light, When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon'd and slept, So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright So play'd, so charm'd, so conquer'd, so bereft The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes; And, seeing it asleep, so fled away, Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies, Nor unto Tempe, where Jove griev'd that day; But to that second circle of sad hell, Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell Their sorrows, ‐ pale were the sweet lips I saw, Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form I floated with, about that melancholy storm. Character of C.B. He is to weet a melancholy carle Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair, As hath the seeded thistle when in parle It holds the zephyr, ere it sendeth fair Its light balloons into the summer air; Therto his beard had not begun to bloom, No brush had touch'd his chin or razor sheer; No care had touch'd his cheek with mortal doom, But new he was and bright as scarf from Persian loom. Ne cared he for wine, or half-and-half; Ne cared he for fish or flesh or fowl, And sauces held he worthless as the chaff; He 'sdeigned the swine-head at the wassail-bowl; Ne with lewd ribbalds sat he cheek by jowl; Ne with sly lemans in the scorner's chair; But after water-brooks this pilgrim's soul Panted, and all his food was woodland air Though he would oft-times feast on gilliflowers rare. The slang of cities in no wise he knew, Tipping) the) wink) to him was heathen Greek; He sipp'd no olden Tom or ruin blue, Or nantz or cherry-brandy drank full meek By many a damsel hoarse and rouge of cheek; Nor did he know each aged watchman's beat, Nor in obscured purlieus would he seek For curled Jewesses, with ankles neat, Who as they walk abroad make tinkling with their feet. Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art ‐ Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors ‐ No ‐ yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever ‐ or else swoon to death. Hyperion: A Fragment. Book I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair; Forest on forest hung above his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more By reason of his fallen divinity Spreading a shade the Naiad 'mid her reeds Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips. Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went, No further than to where his feet had stray'd, And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed; While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth, His ancient mother, for some comfort yet. It seem'd no force could wake him from his place; But there came one, who with a kindred hand Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not. She was a Goddess of the infant world; By her in stature the tall Amazon Had stood a pigmy's height she would have ta'en Achilles by the hair and bent his neck; Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel. Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx, Pedestal'd haply in a palace court, When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore. But oh! how unlike marble was that face How Beautiful, if sorrow had not made Sorrow more beautiful than beauty's self. There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun; As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear Was with its stored thunder labouring up. One hand she press'd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his ear Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake In solemn tenour and deep organ tone Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue Would come in these like accents; O how frail To that large utterance of the early Gods! " Saturn, look up! ‐ though wherefore, poor old King? " I have no comfort for thee, no not one " I cannot say, _ O wherefore sleepest thou? _ " For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth " Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God; " And ocean too, with all its solemn noise, " Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air " Is emptied of thine hoary majesty. " Thy thunder, conscious of the new command, " Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house; " And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands " Scorches and burns our once serene domain. " O aching time! O moments big as years! " All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth, " And press it so upon our weary griefs " That unbelief has not a space to breathe. " Saturn, sleep on ‐ o thoughtless, why did I " Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude? " Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes? " Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep. " As when, upon a tranced summer-night, Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a stir, Save from one gradual solitary gust Which comes upon the silence, and dies off, As if the ebbing air had but one wave; So came these words and went; the while in tears She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground, Just where her falling hair might be outspread, A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet. One moon, with alteration slow, had shed Her silver seasons four upon the night, And still these two were postured motionless, Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern; The frozen God still couchant on the earth, And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet: Until at length old Saturn lifted up His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone, And all the gloom and sorrow of the place, And that fair kneeling Goddess: and then spake, As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard Shook horrid with such aspen-malady: "O tender spouse of gold Hyperion, Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face; Look up, and let me see our doom in it; Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape, Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow, Naked and bare of its great diadem, Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power To make me desolate? whence came the strength? How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth, While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp? But it is so; and I am smother'd up, And buried from all godlike exercise Of influence benign on planets pale, Of admonitions to the winds and seas, Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting, And all those acts which Deity supreme Doth ease its heart of love in. ‐ I am gone Away from my own bosom: I have left My strong identity, my real self, Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search! Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round Upon all space: space starr'd, and lorn of light; Space region'd with life-air; and barren void; Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell.‐ Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest A certain shape or shadow, making way With wings or chariot fierce to repossess A heaven he lost erewhile: it must ‐ it must Be of ripe progress ‐ Saturn must be King. Yes, there must be a golden victory; There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be Beautiful things made new, for the surprise Of the sky-children; I will give command: Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?" This passion lifted him upon his feet, And made his hands to struggle in the air, His \druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat, His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease. He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing deep; A little time, and then again he snatch'd Utterance thus. ‐ "But cannot I create? Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth Another world, another universe, To overbear and crumble this to nought? Where is another Chaos? Where?" ‐ That word Found way unto Olympus, and made quake The rebel three.‐Thea was startled up, And in her bearing was a sort of hope, As thus she quick-voic'd spake, yet full of awe. "This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends, O Saturn! come away, and give them heart; I know the covert, for thence came I hither." Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went With backward footing through the shade a space: He follow'd, and she turn'd to lead the way Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest. Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed, More sorrow like to this, and such like woe, Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe: The Titans fierce, self-hid, or prison-bound, Groan'd for the old allegiance once more, And listen'd in sharp pain for Saturn's voice. But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept His sov'reignty, and rule, and majesty;‐ Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire Still sat, still snuff'd the incense, teeming up From man to the sun's God; yet unsecure: For as among us mortals omens drear Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he‐ Not at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's hated screech, Or the familiar visiting of one Upon the first toll of his passing-bell, Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp; But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve, Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright, Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold, And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks, Glar'd a blood-red through all its thousand courts, Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries; And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds Flush'd angerly: while sometimes eagle's wings, Unseen before by Gods or wondering men, Darken'd the place; and neighing steeds were heard, Not heard before by Gods or wondering men. Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths Of incense, breath'd aloft from sacred hills, Instead of sweets, his ample palate took Savour of poisonous brass and metal sick: And so, when harbour'd in the sleepy west, After the full completion of fair day,‐ For rest divine upon exalted couch And slumber in the arms of melody, He pac'd away the pleasant hours of ease With stride colossal, on from hall to hall; While far within each aisle and deep recess, His winged minions in close clusters stood, Amaz'd and full of fear; like anxious men Who on wide plains gather in panting troops, When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers. Even now, while Saturn, rous'd from icy trance, Went step for step with Thea through the woods, Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear, Came slope upon the threshold of the west; Then, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope In smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes, Blown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet And wandering sounds, slow-breathed melodies; And like a rose in vermeil tint and shape, In fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye, That inlet to severe magnificence Stood full blown, for the God to enter in. He enter'd, but he enter'd full of wrath; His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels, And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire, That scar'd away the meek ethereal Hours And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared, From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault, Through bowers of fragrant and enwreathed light, And diamond-paved lustrous long arcades, Until he reach'd the great main cupola; There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot, And from the basements deep to the high towers Jarr'd his own golden region; and before The quavering thunder thereupon had ceas'd, His voice leapt out, despite of godlike curb, To this result: "O dreams of day and night! O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain! O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom! O lank-eared Phantoms of black-weeded pools! Why do I know ye? why why have I seen ye? Is my eternal essence thus distraught To see and to behold these horrors new? Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall? Am I to leave this haven of my rest, This cradle of my glory, this soft clime, This calm luxuriance of blissful light, These crystalline pavillions, and pure fanes, Of all my lucent empire? It is left Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine. The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry, I cannot see‐but darkness, death and darkness. Even here, into my centre of repose, The shady visions come to domineer, Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp.‐ Fall!‐ No, by Tellus and her briny robes! Over the fiery frontier of my realms I will advance a terrible right arm Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove, And bid old Saturn take his throne again."‐ He spake, and ceas'd, the while a heavier threat Held struggle with his throat but came not forth; For as in theatres of crowded men Hubbub increases more they call out "Hush!" So at Hyperion's words the Phantoms pale Bestirr'd themselves, thrice horrible and cold; And from the mirror'd level where he stood A mist arose, as from a scummy marsh. At this, through all his bulk an agony Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown, Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular Making slow way, with head and neck convuls'd From over-strained might. Releas'd, he fled To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours Before the dawn in season due should blush, He breath'd fierce breath against the sleepy portals, Clear'd them of heavy vapours, burst them wide Suddenly on the ocean's chilly streams. The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode Each day from east to west the heavens through, Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds; Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid, But ever and anon the glancing spheres, Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure, Glow'd through, and wrought upon the muffling dark Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep Up to the zenith,‐ hieroglyphics old, Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers Then living on the earth, with labouring thought Won from the gaze of many centuries: Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge Of stone, or marble swart; their import gone, Their wisdom long since fled.‐ Two wings this orb Possess'd for glory, two fair argent wings, Ever exalted at the God's approach: And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense, Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were; While still the dazzling globe maintain'd eclipse, Awaiting for Hyperion's command. Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne And bid the day begin, if but for change. He might not:‐ No, though a primeval God: The sacred seasons might not be disturb'd. Therefore the operations of the dawn Stay'd in their birth, even as here 'tis told. Those silver wings expanded sisterly, Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide Open'd upon the dusk demesnes of night; And the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes, Unus'd to bend, by hard compulsion bent His spirit to the sorrow of the time; And all along a dismal rack of clouds, Upon the boundaries of day and night, He stretch'd himself in grief and radiance faint. There as he lay, the heaven with its stars Look'd down on him with pity, and the voice Of Coelus, from the universal space, Thus whisper'd low and solemn in his ear. "O brightest of my children dear, earth-born And sky-engendered, Son of Mysteries All unrevealed even to the powers Which met at thy creating; at whose joys And palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft, I, Coelus, wonder, how they came and whence; And at the fruits thereof what shapes they be, Distinct, and visible; symbols divine, Manifestations of that beauteous life Diffus'd unseen throughout eternal space: Of these new-form'd art thou, oh brightest child! Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses! There is sad feud among ye, and rebellion Of son against his sire. I saw him fall. I saw my first-born tumbled from his throne! To me his arms were spread, to me his voice Found way from forth the thunders round his head! Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face. Art thou, too, near such doom? vague fear there is: For I have seen my sons most unlike Gods. Divine ye were created, and divine In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb'd, Unruffled, like high Gods, ye liv'd and ruled: Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath; Actions of rage and passion; even as I see them, on the mortal world beneath, In men who die.‐ This is the grief, O Son! Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall! Yet do thou strive; as thou art capable, As thou canst move about, an evident God; And canst oppose to each malignant hour Ethereal presence:‐I am but a voice; My life is but the life of winds and tides, No more than winds and tides can I avail:‐ But thou canst.‐ Be thou therefore in the van Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow's barb Before the tense string murmur.‐ To the earth! For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes. Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun, And of thy seasons be a careful nurse."‐ Ere half this region-whisper had come down, Hyperion arose, and on the stars Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide Until it ceas'd; and still he kept them wide: And still they were the same bright, patient stars. Then with a slow incline of his broad breast. Like to a diver in the pearly seas, Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore, And plung'd all noiseless into the deep night. Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings Hyperion slid into the rustled air, And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad place Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn'd. It was a den where no insulting light Could glimmer on their tears; where their own groans They felt, but heard not, for the solid roar Of thunderous waterfalls and torrents hoarse, Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where. Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seem'd Ever as if just rising from a sleep, Forehead to forehead held their monstrous horns; And thus in thousand hugest phantasies Made a fit roofing to this nest of woe. Instead of thrones, hard flint they sat upon, Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge Stubborn'd with iron. All were not assembled: Some chain'd in torture, and some wandering. Coeus, and Gyges, and Briareus, Typhon, and Dolor, and Porphyrion, With many more, the brawniest in assault, Were pent in regions of laborious breath; Dungeon'd in opaque element, to keep Their clenched teeth still clench'd, and all their limbs Lock'd up like veins of metal, crampt and screw'd; Without a motion, save of their big hearts Heaving in pain, and horribly convuls'd With sanguine feverous boiling gurge of pulse. Mnemosyne was straying in the world; Far from her moon had Phoebe wandered; And many else were free to roam abroad, But for the main, here found they covert drear. Scarce images of life, one here, one there, Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor, When the chill rain begins at shut of eve, In dull November, and their chancel vault, The heaven itself, is blinded throughout night. Each one kept shroud, nor to his neighbour gave Or word, or look, or action of despair. Creu@s was one; his ponderous iron mace Lay by him, and a shatter'd rib of rock Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined. Iapetus another; in his grasp, A serpent's plashy neck; its barbed tongue Squeez'd from the gorge, and all its uncurl'd length Dead; and because the creature could not spit Its poison in the eyes of conquering Jove. Next Cottus: prone he lay, chin uppermost, As though in pain; for still upon the flint He ground severe his skull, with open mouth And eyes at horrid working. Nearest him Asia, born of most enormous Caf, Who cost her mother Tellus keener pangs, Though feminine, than any of her sons: More thought than woe was in her dusky face, For she was prophesying of her glory; And in her wide imagination stood Palm-shaded temples, and high rival fanes, By Oxus or in Ganges' sacred isles. Even as Hope upon her anchor leans, So leant she, not so fair, upon a tusk Shed from the broadest of her elephants. Above her, on a crag's uneasy shelve, Upon his elbow rais'd, all prostrate else, Shadow'd Enceladus; once tame and mild As grazing ox unworried in the meads; Now tiger-passion'd, lion-thoughted, wroth, He meditated, plotted, and even now Was hurtling mountains in that second war, Not long delay'd, that scar'd the younger Gods To hide themselves in forms of beast and bird. Not far hence Atlas; and beside him prone Phorcus, the sire of Gorgons. Neighbour'd close Oceanus, and Tethys, in whose lap Sobb'd Clymene among her tangled hair. In midst of all lay Themis, at the feet Of Ops the queen all clouded round from sight; No shape distinguishable, more than when Thick night confounds the pine-tops with the clouds: And many else whose names may not be told. For when the Muse's wings are air-ward spread, Who shall delay her flight? And she must chaunt Of Saturn, and his guide, who now had climb'd With damp and slippery footing from a depth More horrid still. Above a sombre cliff Their heads appear'd, and up their stature grew Till on the level height their steps found ease: Then Thea spread abroad her trembling arms Upon the precincts of this nest of pain, And sidelong fix'd her eye on Saturn's face: There saw she direst strife; the supreme God At war with all the frailty of grief, Of rage, of fear, anxiety, revenge, Remorse, spleen, hope, but most of all despair. Against these plagues he strove in vain; for Fate Had pour'd a mortal oil upon his head, A disanointing poison: so that Thea, Affrighted, kept her still, and let him pass First onwards in, among the fallen tribe. As with us mortal men, the laden heart Is persecuted more, and fever'd more, When it is nighing to the mournful house Where other hearts are sick of the same bruise; So Saturn, as he walk'd into the midst, Felt faint, and would have sunk among the rest, But that he met Enceladus's eye, Whose mightiness, and awe of him, at once Came like an inspiration: and he shouted, "Titans, behold your God!" at which some groan'd; Some started on their feet; some also shouted; Some wept, some wail'd, all bow'd with reverence; And Ops, uplifting her black folded veil, Show'd her pale cheeks, and all her forehead wan, Her eye-brows thin and jet, and hollow eyes. There is a roaring in the bleak-grown pines When Winter lifts his voice; there is a noise Among immortals when a God gives sign, With hushing finger, how he means to load His tongue with the full weight of utterless thought, With Thunder, and with music, and with pomp: Such noise is like the roar of bleak-grown pines; Which, when it ceases in this mountain'd world, No other sound succeeds; but ceasing here, Among these fallen, Saturn's voice therefrom Grew up like organ, that begins anew Its strain, when other harmonies, stopt short, Leave the dimn'd air vibrating silverly. Thus grew it up ‐"not in my own sad breast, Which is its own great judge and searcher out, Can I find reason why ye should be thus: Not in the legends of the first of days, Studied from that old spirit-leaved book Which starry Uranus with finger bright Sav'd from the shores of darkness, when the waves Low‐ebb'd still hid it up in shallow gloom;- And the which book ye know I ever kept For my firm‐based footstool:- Ah, infirm! Not there, nor in sign, symbol, or portent Of element, earth, water, air, and fire,‐ At war, at peace, or inter-quarreling One against one, or two, or three, or all Each several one against the other three, As fire with air loud warring when rain-floods Drown both, and press them both against earth's face, Where, finding sulphur, a quadruple wrath Unhinges the poor world;‐ not in that strife, Wherefrom I take strange lore, and read it deep, Can I find reason why ye should be thus: No, no-where can unriddle, though I search, And pore on Nature's universal scroll Even to swooning, why ye, Divinities, The first-born of all shap'd and palpable Gods, Should cower beneath what, in comparison, Is untremendous might. Yet ye are here, O Titans, shall I say ""Arise!""‐ Ye groan: Shall I say ""Crouch!""‐ Ye groan. What can I then?"‐ O Heaven wide! O unseen parent dear! What can I? Tell me, all ye brethren Gods, How we can war, how engine our great wrath! O speak your counsel now, for Saturn's ear Is all a-hunger'd. Thou, Oceanus, Ponderest high and deep; and in thy face I see, astonied, that severe content Which comes of thought and musing: give us help!" So ended Saturn; and the God of the Sea, Sophist and sage, from no Athenian grove, But cogitation in his watery shades, Arose, with locks not oozy, and began, In murmurs, which his first-endeavouring tongue Caught infant-like from the far-foamed sands. "O ye, whom wrath consumes! who, passion-stung, Writhe at defeat, and nurse your agonies! Shut up your senses, stifle up your ears, My voice is not a bellows unto ire. Yet listen, ye who will, whilst I bring proof How ye, perforce, must be content to stoop: And in the proof much comfort will \i give, If ye will take that comfort in its truth. We fall by course of Nature's law, not force Of thunder, or of Jove. Great Saturn, thou Hast sifted well the atom-universe; But for this reason, that thou art the King, And only blind from sheer supremacy, One avenue was shaded from thine eyes, Through which I wandered to eternal truth. And first, as thou wast not the first of powers, So art thou not the last; it cannot be: Thou art not the beginning nor the end. From Chaos and parental Darkness came, Light, the first fruits of that intestine broil, That sullen ferment, which for wondrous ends Was ripening in itself. The ripe hour came, And with it Light, and Light, engendering Upon its own producer, forthwith touch'd The whole enormous matter into life. Upon that very hour, our parentage, The Heavens and the Earth, were manifest: Then thou first-born, and we the giant-race, Found ourselves ruling new and beauteous realms. Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain; O folly! for to bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty. Mark well! As Heaven and Earth are fairer, fairer far Than Chaos and blank Darkness, though once chiefs; And as we show beyond that Heaven and Earth In form and shape compact and beautiful, In will, in action free, companionship, And thousand other signs of purer life; So on our heels a fresh perfection treads, A power more strong in beauty, born of us And fated to excel us, as we pass In glory that old Darkness: nor are we Thereby more conquer'd, than by us the rule Of shapeless Chaos. Say, doth the dull soil Quarrel with the proud forests it hath fed, And feedeth still, more comely than itself? Can it deny the chiefdom of green groves? Or shall the tree be envious of the dove Because it cooeth, and hath snowy wings To wander wherewithal and find its joys? We are such forest-trees, and our fair boughs Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves, But eagles golden-feather'd, who do tower Above us in their beauty, and must reign In right thereof; for 'tis the eternal law That first in beauty should be first in might: Yea, by that law, another race may drive Our conquerors to mourn as we do now. Have ye beheld the young God of the Seas, My dispossessor? Have ye seen his face? Have ye beheld his chariot, foam'd along By noble winged creatures he hath made? I saw him on the calmed waters scud, With such a glow of beauty in his eyes, That it enforc'd me to bid sad farewell To all my empire: farewell sad I took, And hither came, to see how dolorous fate Had wrought upon ye; and how I might best Give consolation in this woe extreme. Receive the truth, and let it be your balm." Whether through poz'd conviction, or disdain, They guarded silence, when Oceanus Left murmuring, what deepest thought can tell? But so it was, none answer'd for a space, Save one whom none regarded, Clymene; And yet she answer'd not, only complain'd, With hectic lips, and eyes up-looking mild, Thus wording timidily among the fierce: "O Father, I am here the simplest voice, And all my knowledge is that joy is gone, And this thing woe crept in among our hearts, There to remain for ever, as I fear: I would not bode of evil, if I thought So weak a creature could turn off the help Which by just right should come of mighty Gods; Yet let me tell my sorrow, let me tell Of what I heard, and how it made we weep, And know that we had parted from all hope. I stood upon a shore, a pleasant shore, Where a sweet clime was breathed from a land Of fragrance, quietness, and trees, and flowers. Full of calm joy it was, as I of grief; Too full of joy and soft delicious warmth; So that I felt a movement in my heart To chide, and to reproach that solitude With songs of misery, music of our woes; And sat me down, and took a mouthed shell And murmur'd into it , and made melody‐ O melody no more! for while I sang, And with poor skill let pass into the breeze The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand Just opposite, an island of the sea, There came enchantment with the shifting wind, That did both drown and keep alive my ears. I threw my shell away upon the sand, And a wave fill'd it, as my sense was fill'd With that new blissful golden melody. A living death was in each gush of sounds, Each family of rapturous hurried notes, That fell, one after one, yet all at once, Like pearl beads dropping sudden from their string: And then another, then another strain, Each like a dove leaving its olive perch, With music wing'd instead of silent plumes, To hover round my head, and make me sick Of joy and grief at once. Grief overcame, And I was stopping up my frantic ears, When, past all hindrance of my trembling hands, A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune, And still it cried, ""Apollo! young Apollo! The morning-bright Apollo! young Apollo!"" I fled, it follow'd me, and cried ""Apollo!"" O Father, and O Brethren, had ye felt Those pains of mine; O Saturn, hadst thou felt, Ye would not call this too indulged tongue Presumptous, in thus venturing to be heard." So far her voice flow'd on, like timorous brook That, lingering along a pebbled coast, Doth fear to meet the sea: but sea it met, And shudder'd; for the overwhelming voice Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath: The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks, Came booming thus, while still upon his arm He lean'd; not rising, from supreme contempt. "Or shall we listen to the over-wise, Or to the over-foolish, Giant-Gods? Not thunderbolt on thunderbolt, till all That rebel Jove's whole armoury were spent, Not world on world upon these shoulders piled, Could agonize me more than baby-words In midst of this dethronement horrible. Speak! roar! shout! yell! ye sleepy Titans all. Do ye forget the blows, the buffets vile? Are ye not smitten by a youngling arm? Dost thou forget, sham Monarch of the Waves, Thy scalding in the seas? What, have I rous'd Your spleens with so few simple words as these? O joy! for now I see ye are not lost: O joy! for now I see a thousand eyes Wide glaring for revenge!"‐ As this he said, He lifted up his stature vast, and stood, Still without intermission speaking thus: "Now ye are flames, I'll tell you how to burn, And purge the ether of our enemies; How to feed fierce the crooked stings of fire, And singe away the swollen clouds of Jove, Stifling that puny essence in its tent. O let him feel the evil he hath done; For though I scorn Oceanus's lore, Much pain have I for more than loss of realms: The days of peace and slumberous calm are fled; Those days, all innocent of scathing war, When all the fair Existences of heaven Came open-eyed to guess what we would speak:‐ That was before our brows were taught to frown, Before our lips knew else but solemn sounds; That was before we knew the winged thing, Victory, might be lost, or might be won. And be ye mindful that Hyperion, Our brightest brother, still is undisgraced‐ Hyperion, lo! his radiance is here!" All eyes were on Enceladus's face, And they beheld, while still Hyperion's name Flew from his lips up to the vaulted rocks, A pallid gleam across his features stern: Not savage, for he saw full many a God Wroth as himself. He look'd upon them all, And in each face he saw a gleam of light, But splendider in Saturn's, whose hoar locks Shone like the bubbling foam about a keel When the prow sweeps into a midnight cove. In pale and silver silence they remain'd, Till suddenly a splendour, like the morn, Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps, All the sad spaces of oblivion, And every gulf, and every chasm old, And every height, and every sullen depth, Voiceless, or hoarse with loud tormented streams: And all the everlasting cataracts, And all the headlong torrents far and near, Mantled before in darkness and huge shade, Now saw the light and made it terrible. It was Hyperion:‐a granite peak His bright feet touch'd, and there he stay'd to view The misery his brillance had betray'd To the most hateful seeing of itself. Golden his hair of short Numidian curl, Regal his shape majestic, a vast shade In midst of his own brightness, like the bulk Of Memnon's image at the set of sun To one who travels from the dusking east: Sighs, too as mournful as that Memnon's harp He utter'd, while his hands contemplative He press'd together, and in silence stood. Despondence seiz'd again the fallen Gods At sight of the dejected King of Day, And many hid their faces from the light: But fierce Enceladus sent forth his eyes Among the brotherhood; and, at their glare, Uprose Ia@petus, and Creu@s too, And Phorcus, sea-born, and together strode To where he towered on his eminence. There those four shouted forth old Saturn's name; Hyperion from the peak loud answered, "Saturn!" Saturn sat near the Mother of the Gods, In whose face was no joy, though all the Gods Gave from their hollow throats the name of "Saturn!" . Thus in alternate uproar and sad peace, Amazed were those Titans utterly, O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes; For thou art weak to sing such tumults dire: A solitary sorrow best befits Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief. Leave them. O Muse! for thou anon wilt find Many a fallen old Divinity Wandering in vain about bewildered shores. Meantime touch piously the Delphic harp, And not a wind of heaven but will breathe In aid soft warble from the Dorian flute; For lo! 'tis for the Father of all verse. Flush every thing that hath a vermeil hue, Let the rose glow intense and warm the air, And let the clouds of even and of morn Float in voluptuous fleeces o'er the hills; Let the red wine within the goblet boil, Cold as a bubbling well; let faint-lipp'd shells, On sands, or in great deeps, vermilion turn Through all their labyrinths; and let the maid Blush keenly, as with some warm kiss surpris'd. Chief isle of the embowered Cyclades, Rejoice, O Delos, with thine olives green, And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech, In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song, And hazels thick, dark-stemm'd beneath the shade: Apollo is once more the golden theme! Where was he, when the Giant of the Sun Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers? Together had he left his mother fair And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower, And in the morning twilight wandered forth Beside the osiers of a rivulet, Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale. The nightingale had ceas'd, and a few stars Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle There was no covert, no retired cave Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves, Though scarcely heard in many a green recess. He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears Went trickling down the golden bow he held. Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood, While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by With solemn step an awful Goddess came, And there was purport in her looks for him, Which he with eager guess began to read Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said: "How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea? Or hath that antique mien and robed form Mov'd in these vales invisible till now? Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone In cool mid-forest. Surely I have traced The rustle of those ample skirts about These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd. Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before, And their eternal calm, and all that face, Or I have dream'd." ‐ "Yes," said the supreme shape, "Thou has dream'd of me; and awaking up Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side, Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast Unwearied ear of the whole universe Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth Of such new tuneful wonder. Is't not strange That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth, What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad When thou dost shed a tear: explain thy griefs To one who in this lonely isle hath been The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life, From the young day when first thy infant hand Pluck'd witless the weak flowers, till thine arm Could bend that bow heroic to all times. Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones For prophecies of thee, and for the sake Of loveliness new born." ‐ Apollo then, With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes, Thus answer'd while his white melodious throat Throbb'd with the syllables.‐"Mnemosyne! Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how; Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest? Why should I strive to show what from thy lips Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark, And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes: I strive to search wherefore I am so sad, Until a melancholy numbs my limbs; And then upon the grass I sit, and moan, Like one who once had wings.‐O why should I Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the liegeless air Yields to my step aspirant? why should I Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet? Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing: Are there not other regions than this isle? What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun! And the most patient brilliance of the moon! And stars by thousands! Point me out the way To any one particular beauteous star, And I will flit into it with my lyre, And make its silvery splendour pant with bliss. I have heard the cloudy thunder: Where is power? Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity Makes this alarum in the elements, While I here idle listen on the shores In fearless yet in aching ignorance? O tell me, lonely Goddess, by thy harp, That waileth every morn and eventide, Tell me why thus I rave, about these groves! Mute thou remainest‐mute! yet I can read A wondrous lesson in thy silent face: Knowledge enormous makes a God of me. Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, Majesties, sovran voices, agonies, Creations and destroyings, all at once Pour into the wide hollows of my brain, And deify me, as if some blithe wine Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk, And so become immortal."‐Thus the God, While his enkindled eyes, with level glance Beneath his white soft temples, stedfast kept Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne. Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush All the immortal fairness of his limbs; Most like the struggle at the gate of death; Or liker still to one who should take leave Of pale immortal death, and with a pang As hot as death's is chill, with fierce convulse Die into life: so young Apollo anguish'd: His very hair, his golden tresses famed, Kept undulation round his eager neck. During the pain Mnemosyne upheld Her arms as one who prophesied.‐At length Apollo shriek'd;‐and lo! from all his limbs Celestial La Belle Dame sans Merci A Ballad O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. I see a lilly on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful ‐ a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery's song. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said ‐ " I love thee true " . She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'd ‐ Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill side. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried ‐ " La belle dame sans merci Hath thee in thrall! " I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill's side. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge has wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. Song of Four Fairies: Fire, Air, Earth, and Water< /head> Sal. Happy, happy glowing fire! Zep. Fragrant air! Delicious light! Dus. Let me to my glooms retire! Brea. I to green-weed rivers bright! Sal. Happy, happy glowing Fire! Sal. Dazzling bowers of soft retire, Sal. Ever let my nourish'd wing, Sal. Like a bat's, still wandering, Sal. Faintly fan your fiery spaces, Sal. Spirit sole in deadly places. Sal. In unhaunted roar and blaze, Sal. Open eyes that never daze, Sal. Let me see the myriad shapes Sal. Of men, and beasts, and fish, and apes, Sal. Portray'd in many a fiery den, Sal. And wrought by spumy bitumen. Sal. On the deep intenser roof, Sal. Arched every way aloof, Sal. Let me breathe upon their skies, Sal. And anger their live tapestries; Sal. Free from cold, and every care, Sal. Of chilly rain, and shivering air. Zep. Spirit of Fire! away! away! Zep. Or your very roundelay Zep. Will sear my plumage newly budded Zep. From its quilled sheath, all studded Zep. With the self-same dews that fell Zep. On the may-grown asphodel. Zep. Spirit of Fire ‐ away! away! Brea. Spirit of fire ‐ away! away! Brea. Zephyr, blue-eyed fairy, turn, Brea. And see my cool sedge-buried urn, Brea. Where it rests its mossy brim Brea. 'Mid water-mint and cresses dim; Brea. And the flowers, in sweet troubles, Brea. Lift their eyes above the bubbles, Brea. Like our Queen, when she would please Brea. To sleep, and Oberon will teaze. Brea. Love me, blue-eyed fairy true, Brea. Soothly I am sick for you. Zep. Gentle Breama! by the first Zep. Violet young nature nurst, Zep. I will bathe myself with thee, Zep. So you sometimes follow me Zep. To my home, far, far, in west, Zep. Beyond the nimble-wheeled quest Zep. Of the golden-presenc'd sun Zep. Come with me, o'er tops of trees, Zep. To my fragrant palaces, Zep. Where they ever floating are Zep. Beneath the cherish of a star Zep. Call'd Vesper, who with silver veil Zep. Ever hides his brilliance pale, Zep. Ever gently-drows'd doth keep Zep. Twilight for the fayes to sleep. Zep. Fear not that your watery hair Zep. Will thirst in drouthy ringlets there; Zep. Clouds of stored summer rains Zep. Thou shalt taste, before the stains Zep. Of the mountain soil they take, Zep. And too unlucent for thee make. Zep. I love thee, crystal fairy, true! Zep. Sooth I am as sick for you! Sal. Out, ye aguish fairies, out! Sal. Chilly lovers, what a rout Sal. Keep ye with your frozen breath, Sal. Colder than the mortal death. Sal. Adder-eyed Dusketha, speak, Sal. Shall we leave these, and go seek Sal. In the earth's wide entrails old Sal. Couches warm as their's are cold? Sal. O for a fiery gloom and thee, Sal. Dusketha, so enchantingly Sal. Freckle-wing'd and lizard-sided! Dus. By thee, sprite, will I be guided! Dus. I care not for cold or heat; Dus. Frost and flame, or sparks, or sleet, Dus. To my essence are the same; ‐ Dus. But I honour more the flame. Dus. Sprite of Fire, I follow thee Dus. Wheresoever it may be, Dus. To the torrid spouts and fountains, Dus. Underneath earth-quaked mountains; Dus. Or, at thy supreme desire, Dus. Touch the very pulse of fire Dus. With my bare unlidded eyes. Sal. Sweet Dusketha! Paradise! Sal. Off, ye icy spirits, fly! Sal. Frosty creatures of the sky! Dus. Breathe upon them, fiery sprite! Zep. and Brea. Away! away to our delight! Sal. Go, feed on icicles, while we Sal. Bedded in tongued-flames will be. Dus. Lead me to those feverous glooms, Sus. Sprite of fire! brea. Me to the blooms, Brea. Blue-eyed Zephyr, of those flowers Brea. Far in the west where the May-cloud lowers; Brea. And the beams of still Vesper, when winds are all wist, Brea. Are shed thro' the rain and the milder mist, Brea. And twilight your floating bowers. Sonnet to Sleep O soft embalmer of the still midnight, Shutting, with careful fingers and benign, Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light, Enshaded in forgetfulness divine; O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close, In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes, Or wait the Amen, ere thy poppy throws Around my bed its lulling charities; Then save me, or the passed day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes; Save me from curious conscience, that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole; Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed casket of my soul. Ode to Psyche O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung Even into thine own soft-conched ear Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes? I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly, And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran A brooklet, scarce espied 'Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed, Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass; Their arms embraced, and their pinions too; Their lips touch'd not, but had not bid adieu, As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber, And ready still past kisses to outnumber At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love The winged boy I knew; But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? His Psyche true! O latest born and loveliest vision far Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy! Fairer than phoebe's sapphire-region'd star, Or vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky; Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none, Nor altar heap'd with flowers; Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan Upon the midnight hours; No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet From chain-swung censer teeming; No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming. O brightest! though too late for antique vows, Too, too late for the fond believing lyre, When holy were the haunted forest boughs, Holy the air, the water, and the fire; Yet even in these days so far retir'd From happy pieties, thy lucent fans, Fluttering among the faint olympians, I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired. So let me be thy choir, and make a moan Upon the midnight hours; Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet From swinged censer teeming; Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming. Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane In some untrodden region of my mind, Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain, Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep; And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees, The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep; And in the midst of this wide quietness A rosy sanctuary will I dress With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain, With buds, and bells, and stars without a name, With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign, Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same And there shall be for thee all soft delight That shadowy thought can win, A bright torch, and a casement ope at night, To let the warm Love in! On Fame Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy To those who woo her with too slavish knees, But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy, And dotes the more upon a heart at ease; She is a gipsey, will not speak to those Who have not learnt to be content without her; A jilt, whose ear was never whisper'd close, Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her; A very gipsey is she, Nilus-born, Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar; Ye love-sick bards! repay her scorn for scorn; Ye artists lovelorn! madmen that ye are! Make your best bow to her and bid adieu, Then, if she likes it, she will follow you. On Fame How fever'd is the man, who cannot look Upon his mortal days with temperate blood, Who vexes all the leaves of his life's book, And robs his fair name of its maidenhood; It is as if the rose should pluck herself, Or the ripe plum finger its misty bloom, As if a Naiad, like a meddling elf, Should darken her pure grot with muddy gloom But the rose leaves herself upon the briar, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed, And the ripe plum still wears its dim attire, The undisturbed lake has crystal space; Why then should man, teasing the world for grace, Spoil his salvation for a fierce miscreed? If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd, And, like Andromeda, the sonnet sweet Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness; Let us find out, if we must be constrain'd, Sandals more interwoven and complete To fit the naked foot of Poesy Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress Of every chord, and see what may be gain'd By ear industrious, and attention meet; Misers of sound and syllable, no less Than Midas of his coinage, let us be Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown; So, if we may not let the muse be free, She will be bound with garlands of her own. Two or three posies Two or three posies With two or three simples ‐ Two or three noses With two or three pimples ‐ Two or three wise men And two or three ninny's ‐ Two or three purses And two or three guineas ‐ Two or three raps At two or three doors ‐ Two or three naps Of two or three hours ‐ Two or three cats And two or three mice ‐ Two or three sprats At a very great price ‐ Two or three sandies And two or three tabbies ‐ Two or three dandies And two Mrs ‐ mum! Two or three smiles And two or three frowns ‐ Two or three miles To two or three towns ‐ Two or three pegs For two or three bonnets ‐ Two or three dove eggs To hatch into sonnets. Ode to a Nightingale My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, ‐ That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm south, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon- is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's) eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain ‐ To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music ‐ Do I wake or sleep? Ode on a Grecian Urn Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal ‐ yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, Beauty is truth, truth beauty, ‐ that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. Ode on Melancholy No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; Make not your rosary of yew-berries, Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; For shade to shade will come too drowsily, And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, Or on the wealth of globed peonies; Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. She dwells with Beauty ‐ Beauty that must die; And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips Ay, in the very temple of Delight Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And be among her cloudy trophies hung. Ode on Indolence One morn before me were three figures seen, With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced, And one behind the other stepp'd serene, In placid sandals, and in white robes graced, They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn, When shifted round to see the other side, They came again, as when the urn once more Is shifted round, the first seen shades return, And they were strange to me, as may betide With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore. How is it, shadows, that I knew ye not? How came ye muffled in so hush a masque? Was it a silent deep-disguised plot To steal away, and leave without a task My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour, The blissful cloud of summer-indolence Benumb'd my eyes, my pulse grew less and less, Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no flower O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense Unhaunted quite of all but ‐ nothingness? A third time came they by, alas, wherefore, My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams, My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams The morn was clouded, but no shower fell, Tho' in her lids hung the sweet tears of may, The open casement press'd a new-leav'd vine, Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay, O shadows, 'twas a time to bid farewell, Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine. A third time pass'd they by, and, passing, turn'd Each one the face a moment whiles to me, Then faded, and to follow them I burn'd And ached for wings because I knew the three, The first was a fair maid, and Love her name, The second was Ambition, pale of cheek, And ever watchful with fatigued eye, The last, whom I love more, the more of blame Is heap'd upon her, maiden most unmeek, I knew to be my demon Poesy. They faded, and, forsooth, I wanted wings O folly, what is Love, and where is it? And for that poor Ambition it springs From a man's little heart's short fever-fit, For Poesy, no, she has not a joy, At least for me, so sweet as drowsy noons, And evenings steep'd in honied indolence, O, for an age so shelter'd from annoy, That I May never know how change the moons, Or hear the voice of busy common-sense, So, ye three ghosts, adieu, ye cannot raise My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass, For I would not be dieted with praise, A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce, Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn, Farewell, I yet have visions for the night, And for the day faint visions there is store, Vanish, ye phantoms, from my idle spright, Into the clouds, and never more return, Shed no tear ‐ O shed no tear Shed no tear ‐ O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more! O! weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core. Dry your eyes! Oh! dry your eyes, For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies ‐ Shed no tear. Overhead! look overhead! 'Mong the blossoms white and red ‐ Look up, look up. I flutter now On this flush pomegranate bough. See me! 'tis this silvery bill Ever cures the good man's ill. Shed no tear! O shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Adieu, adieu ‐ I fly, adieu, I vanish in the heaven's blue ‐ Adieu, adieu! Otho the Great: A tragedy in Five Acts Act I SCE NE I ((Dramatis Personae OTHO THE GREAT, Emperor of Germany LUDOLPH, his Son CONRAD, Duke of Franconia ALBERT, a Knight, favoured by Otho SIGIFRED, an Officer, friend of Ludolph THEODO\r\e, and GONFRID, Officers ETHELBERT, an Abbot GERSA, Prince of Hungary An Hungarian Captain Physician Page Nobles, Knights, Attendants, and Soldiers ERMINIA, Niece of Otho AURANTHE, Conrad's Sister Ladies and Attendants SCENE. The Castle of Friedburg, its vicinity, and the Hungarian Camp TIME, One Day )). SCENE 1. An Apartment in the Castle.> $ENTER $C$O$N$R$A$D. So, I am safe emerged from these broils! Amid the wreck of thousands I am whole; For every crime I have a laurel-wreath, For every lie a lordship. Nor yet has My ship of fortune furl'd her silken sails,‐ Let her glide on! This danger'd neck is saved, By dexterous policy, from the rebel's axe; And of my ducal palace not one stone Is bruised by the Hungarian petards. Toil hard, ye slaves, and from the miser-earth Bring forth once more my bullion, treasured deep, With all my jewell'd salvers, silver and gold, And precious goblets that make rich the wine. But why do I stand babbling to myself? Where is Auranthe? I have news for her Shall‐ Conrad! what tidings? Good, if I may guess From your alert eyes and high-lifted brows. What tidings of the battle? Albert? Ludolph? Otho? You guess aright. And, sister, slurring o'er Our by-gone quarrels, I confess my heart Is beating with a child's anxiety, To make our golden fortune known to you. So serious?

Yes, so serious but before I utter even the shadow of a hint Concerning what will make that sin-worn cheek Blush joyous blood through every lineament, You must make here a solemn vow to me. The hypocrite. What vow would you impose? Trust me for once. That you may be assured 'Tis not confiding in a broken reed, A poor court-bankrupt, outwitted and lost, Revolve these facts in your acutest mood, In such a mood as now you listen to me: A few days since, I was an open rebel,‐ Against the Emperor had suborn'd his son,‐ Drawn off his nobles to revolt,‐ and shown Contented fools causes for discontent, Fresh hatch'd in my ambition's eagle-nest; So thrived I as a rebel,‐ and, behold! Now I am Otho's favorite, his dear friend, His right hand, his brave Conrad!

I confess You have intrigued with these unsteady times To admiration. But to be a favorite‐ I saw my moment. The Hungarians, Collected silently in holes and corners, Appear'd, a sudden host, in the open day. I should have perish'd in our empire's wreck; But, calling interest loyalty, swore faith To most believing Otho; and so help'd His blood-stain'd ensigns to the victory In yesterday's hard fight, that it has turn'd The edge of his sharp wrath to eager kindness. So far yourself. But what is this to me More than that I am glad? I gratulate you. Yes, sister, but it does regard you greatly, Nearly, momentously,‐ aye, painfully! Make me this vow‐ Concerning whom or what? Albert! I would enquire somewhat of him: You had a letter from me touching him? No treason 'gainst his head in deed or word! Surely you spared him at my earnest prayer? Give me the letter‐ it should not exist! At one pernicious charge of the enemy, I, for a moment-whiles, was prisoner ta'en And rifled,‐stuff! the horses' hoofs have minced it! He is alive? He is! but here make oath To alienate him from your scheming brain, Divorce him from your solitary thoughts, And cloud him in such utter banishment, That when his person meets again your eye, Your vision shall quite lose its memory, And wander past him as through vacancy. I'll not be perjured. No, nor great, nor mighty; You would not wear a crown, or rule a kingdom, To you it is indifferent. What means this? You'll not be perjured! Go to Albert then, That camp-mushroom, dishonour of our house; Go, page his dusty heels upon a march, Furbish his jingling baldric while he sleeps, And share his mouldy ratio in a siege. Yet stay,‐perhaps a charm may call you back, And make the widening circlets of your eyes Sparkle with healthy fevers,‐ the Emperor Hath given consent that you should marry Ludolph! Can it be, brother? For a golden crown With a queen's awful lips I doubly thank you! This is to wake in Paradise! farewell, Thou clod of yesterday‐ 'twas not myself! Not till this moment did I ever feel My spirit's faculties! I'll flatter you For this, and be you ever proud of it; Thou, Jove-like, struck'dst thy forehead, And from the teeming marrow of thy brain I spring complete Minerva! But the Prince‐ His Highness Ludolph‐where is he? I kno w not: When, lackeying my counsel at a beck, The rebel-lords, on bended knees, received The Emperor's pardon, Ludolph kept aloof, Sole,‐in a stiff, fool-hardy, sulky pride: Yet, for all this, I never saw a Father In such a sickly longing for his son. We shall soon see him,‐for the Emperor, He will be here this morning. That I heard Among the midnight rumours from the camp. You give up Albert to me? Harm him not! E'en for his Highness Ludolph's sceptry hand, I would not Albert suffer any wrong. Have I not labour'd, plotted‐? See you spare him: Nor be pathetic, my kind benefactor, On all the many bounties of your hand,‐ 'Twas for yourself you labour'd ‐ not for me! Do you not count, when I am queen, to take Advantage of your chance discoveries Of my poor secrets, and so hold a rod Over my life? Let not this slave‐ this villain‐ Be cause of feud between us. See! he comes! Look, woman, look, your Albert is quite safe! In haste it seems. Now shall I be in the way, And wish'd with silent curses in my grave, Or side by side with whelmed mariners. $ENTER $A$L$B$E$R$T. Fair on your Graces fall this early morrow! So it is like to do, without my prayers, For your right noble names, like favorite tunes. Have fallen full frequent from our Emperor's lips, High commented with smiles. Noble Albert! Noble! Such salutation argues a glad heart In our prosperity. We thank you, sir. Lady! O would to heaven your poor servant Could do you better service than mere words! But I have other greeting than mine own From no less man than Otho, who has sent This ring as pledge of dearest amity; 'Tis chosen I hear from Hymen's jewelry, And you will prize it, lady. I doubt not, Beyond all pleasures past, and all to come: To you, great Duke‐ What pleas'd your Grace to say? Your message, sir! You mean not this to me? Sister, this way; For there shall be no "gentle Alberts" now, . No "sweet Auranthes"! The Duke is out of temper; if he knows More than a brother of a sister ought, I should not quarrel with his peevishness, Auranthe‐ heaven preserve her always fair!‐ Is in the heady, proud, ambitious vein; I bicker not with her,‐ bid her farewell! She has taken flight from me, then let her soar,‐ He is a fool who stands at pining gaze! But for poor Ludolph, he is food for sorrow; No leveling bluster of my licensed thoughts, No military swagger of my mind, Can smother from myself the wrong I've done him,‐ Without design indeed,‐ yet it is so,‐ And opiate for the conscience have I none! $EXIT . $S$C$E$N$E II. $THE $COURT-YARD OF THE $CASTLE. and Attendants. The Soldiers halt at the gate, with banners in sight.> Where is my noble herald?Servants. ALB\eRT following.> Well! hast told Auranthe our intent imperial? Lest our rent banners, too o' the sudden shown, Should fright her silken casements, and dismay Her household to our lack of entertainment. A victory! God save illustrious Otho! Aye, Conrad, it will pluck out all grey hairs; It is the best physician for the spleen; The courtliest inviter to a feast; The subtelest excuser of small faults; And a nice judge in the age and smack of wine. up her robes, and a train of Women. She kneels.> Hail, my sweet hostess! I do thank the stars, Or my good soldiers, or their ladies' eyes, That, after such a merry battle fought, I can, all safe in body and in soul, Kiss your fair hand and lady fortune's too. My ring! now, on my life, it doth rejoice These lips to feel't on this soft ivory! Keep it, my brightest daughter; it may prove The little prologue to a line of kings. I strove against thee and my hot-blood son, Dull blockhead that I was to be so blind, But now my sight is clear; forgive me, lady. My lord, I was a vassal to your frown, And now your favour makes me but more humble; In wintry winds the simple snow is safe. But fadeth at the greeting of the sun: Unto thine anger I might well have spoken, Taking on me a woman's privilege, But this so sudden kindness makes me dumb. What need of this? Enough, if you will be A potent tutoress to my wayward boy, And teach him, what it seems his nurse could not, To say for once I thank you. Sigifred! He has not yet return'd, my gracious liege. What then! No tidings of my friendly Arab? None, mighty Otho. Send forth instant ly An hundred horsemen from my honoured gates, To scour the plains and search the cottages. Cry a reward, to him who shall first bring News of that vanished Arabian, A full-heaped helmet of the purest gold. More thanks, good Conrad; for, except my son's, Oth. There is no face I rather would behold Oth. Than that same quick-eyed pagan's. By the saints, Oth. This coming night of banquets must not light Oth. Her dazzling torches; nor the music breathe Oth. Smooth, without clashing cymbal, tones of peace Oth. And in-door melodies; nor the ruddy wine Oth. Ebb spouting to the lees; if I pledge not, Oth. In my first cup, that Arab! al. Mighty caesar, Al. I wonder not this stranger's victor-deeds Al. So hang upon your spirit. Twice in the fight Al. It was my chance to meet his olive brow, Al. Triumphant in the enemy's shatter'd rhomb; Al. And, to say truth, in any Christian arm Al. I never saw such prowess. Oth. Did you ever? Oth. O, 'tis a noble boy! ‐ tut! ‐ what do I say? Oth. I mean a triple Saladin, whose eyes, Oth. When in the glorious scuffle they met mine, Oth. Seem'd to say ‐ " Sleep, old man, in safety sleep; Oth. I am the victory! " con. Pity he's not here. Oth. And my son too, pity he is not here. Oth. Lady Auranthe I would not make you blush, Oth. But can you give a guess where Ludolph is? Oth. Know you not of him? c Aur. Indeed, my liege, no secret ‐ c Oth. Nay, nay, without more words, dost know of him? Aur. I would I were so over-fortunate, Aur. Both for his sake and mine, and to make glad Aur. A father's ears with tidings of his son. Oth. I see 'tis like to be a tedious day. Oth. Were Theodore and Gonfred and the rest Oth. Sent forth with my commands? al. Aye, my lord. Oth. And no news! No news! 'Faith! 'tis very strange Oth. He thus avoids us. Lady, is't not strange? Oth. Will he be truant to you too? It is a shame. Con. Will't please your Highness enter, and accept Con. The unworthy welcome of your servant's house? Con. Leaving your cares to one whose diligence Con. May in few hours make pleasures of them all. Oth. Not so tedious, Conrad. No, no, no, no, ‐ Oth. I must see Ludolph or the ‐ What's that shout? Voic. Huzza! Huzza! Long live the Emperor! Voic. Fall back! Away there! Oth. Say what noise is that? Al. It is young Gersa, the Hungarian prince, Al. Pick'd like a red stag from the fallow herd Al. Of prisoners. Poor prince, forlorn he steps, Al. Slow in the demure proudness of despair. Al. If I may judge by his so tragic bearing, Al. His eye not downcast, and his folded arm, Al. He doth this moment wish himself asleep Al. Among his fallen captains on yon plains. Oth. Well said, Sir Albert. Ger. Not a word of greeting, Ger. No welcome to a princely visitor, Ger. Most mighty Otho? Will not my great host Ger. Vouchsafe a syllable, before he bids Ger. His gentlemen conduct me with all care Ger. To some securest lodging ‐ cold perhaps! Oth. What mood is this? Hath fortune touch'd thy brain? Ger. O kings and princes of this fev'rous world, Ger. What abject things, what mockeries must ye be, Ger. What nerveless minions of safe palaces! Ger. When here, a monarch, whose proud foot is used Ger. To fallen princes' necks, as to his stirrup, Ger. Must needs exclaim that I am mad forsooth, Ger. Because I cannot flatter with bent knees Ger. My conqueror! oth. Gersa, I think you wrong me Oth. I think I have a better fame abroad. Ger. I pr'ythee mock me not with gentle speech, Ger. But, as a favour, bid me from thy presence; Ger. Let me no longer be the wondering food Ger. Of all these eyes; pr'ythee command me hence! Oth. Do not mistake me, Gersa. That you may not, Oth. Come, fair Auranthe, try if your soft hands Oth. Can manage those hard rivets to set free Oth. So brave a prince and soldier. Aur. Welcome task! Ger. I am wound up in deep astonishment! Ger. Thank you, fair lady. Otho! Emperor! Ger. You rob me of myself; my dignity Ger. Is now your infant; I am a weak child. Oth. Give me your hand, and let this kindly grasp Oth. Live in our memories. Ger. In mine it will. Ger. I blush to think of my unchasten'd tongue; Ger. But I was haunted by the monstrous ghost Ger. Of all our slain battalions. Sire, reflect, Ger. And pardon you will grant, that, at this hour, Ger. The bruised remnants of our stricken camp Ger. Are huddling undistinguished, my dear friends, Ger. With common thousands, into shallow graves. Oth. Enough, most noble Gersa. You are free Oth. To cheer the brave remainder of your host Oth. By your own healing presence, and that too, Oth. Not as their leader merely, but their king; Oth. For, as I hear, your wily enemy, Oth. Who eased the crownet from your infant brows, Oth. Bloody Taraxa, is among the dead. Ger. Then I retire, so generous caesar please, Ger. Bearing with me a weight of benefits Ger. Too heavy to be borne. Oth. It is not so; Oth. Still understand me, King of Hungary, Oth. Nor judge my open purposes awry. Oth. Though I did hold you high in my esteem Oth. For your self's sake, I do not personate Oth. The stage-play emperor to entrap applause, Oth. To set the silly sort o' the world agape, Oth. And make the politic smile; no, I have heard Oth. How in the Council you condemn'd this war, Oth. Urging the perfidy of broken faith, ‐ Oth. For that I am your friend. Ger. If ever, sire, Ger. You are my enemy, I dare here swear Ger. 'Twill not be Gersa's fault. Otho, farewell! Oth. Will you return, Prince, to our banqueting? Ger. As to my father's board I will return. Oth. Conrad, with all due ceremony, give Oth. The Prince a regal escort to his camp; Oth. Albert, go thou and bear him company. Oth. Gersa, farewell! ger. All happiness attend you! Oth. Return with what good speed you may; for soon Oth. We must consult upon our terms of peace. Oth. And thus a marble column do I build Oth. To prop my empire's dome. Conrad, in thee Oth. I have another stedfast one, to uphold Oth. The portals of my state; and, for my own Oth. Pre-eminence and safety, I will strive Oth. To keep thy strength upon its pedestal. Oth. For, without thee, this day I might have been Oth. A show-monster about the streets of Prague, Oth. In chains, as just now stood that noble prince Oth. And then to me no mercy had been shown, Oth. For when the conquer'd lion is once dungeon'd, Oth. Who lets him forth again? or dares to give Oth. An old lion sugar-cates of mild reprieve? Oth. Not to thine ear alone I make confession, Oth. But to all here, as, by experience, Oth. I know how the great basement of all power Oth. Is frankness, and a true tongue to the world; Oth. And how intriguing secrecy is proof Oth. Of fear and weakness, and a hollow state. Oth. Conrad, I owe thee much. c Con. To ! kneel and 5 kiss that hand, c Con. My Emperor, is ample recompense, Con. For a mere act of duty. Oth. Thou art wrong; Oth. For what can any man on earth do more? Oth. We will make trial of your house's welcome, Oth. My bright Auranthe! con. How is Friedburg honoured! Eth. The benison of heaven on your head, Eth. Imperial Otho! Oth. Who stays me? Speak! Quick! Eth. Pause but one moment, mighty conqueror! Eth. Upon the threshold of this house of joy. Oth. Pray, do not prose, good Ethelbert, but speak Oth. What is your purpose. Eth. The restoration of some captive maids, Eth. Devoted to heaven's pious ministries, Eth. Who, being driven ! forth 5 from their religious cells, Eth. And kept in thraldom by our enemy, Eth. When late this province was a lawless spoil, Eth. Still weep amid the wild Hungarian camp, Eth. Though hemm'd around by thy victorious arms. Oth. Demand the holy sisterhood in our name Oth. From Gersa's tents. Farewell, old Ethelbert. Eth. The saints will bless you for this pious care. Oth. Daughter, your hand; Ludolph's would fit it best. Con. Ho! let the music sound! Otho the Great:A Tragedy in Five Acts ActI SCENE III Lud. You have my secret; let it not be breath'd. Sig. Still give me leave to wonder that my Prince Sig. Ludolph, and the swift Arab are the same; Sig. Still to rejoice that 'twas a German arm Sig. Death doing in a turban'd masquerade. Lud. The Emperor must not know it, Sigifred. Sig. I prythee, why? what happier hour of time Sig. Could thy pleased star point down upon from heaven Sig. With silver index, bidding thee make peace? Lud. Still it must not be known, good Sigifred; Lud. The star may point oblique. Sig. If Otho knew Sig. His son to be that unknown Mussulman Sig. After whose spurring heels he sent me forth, Sig. With one of his well-pleased Olympian oaths, Sig. The charters of man's greatness, at this hour Sig. He would be watching round the castle walls, Sig. And, like an anxious warder, strain his sight Sig. For the first glimpse of such a son return'd ‐ Sig. Ludolph, that blast of the Hungarians, Sig. That Saracenic meteor of the fight, Sig. That silent fury, whose fell scymitar Sig. Kept danger all aloof from Otho's head, Sig. And left him space for wonder. Lud. Say no more. Lud. Not as a swordsman would I pardon claim, Lud. But as a son. The bronzed centurion, Lud. Long toil'd in foreign wars, and whose high deeds Lud. Are shaded in a forest of tall spears, Lud. Known only to his troop, hath greater plea Lud. Of favour with my sire than I can have. Sig. My lord, forgive me that I cannot see Sig. How this proud temper with clear reason squares. Sig. What made you then, with such an anxious love, Sig. Hover around that life, whose bitter days Sig. You vext with bad revolt? Was't opium, Sig. Or the mad-fumed wine? Nay, do not frown, Sig. I rather would grieve with you than upbraid. Lud. I do believe you. No, 'twas not to make Lud. A father his son's debtor, or to heal Lud. His deep heart-sickness for a rebel child. Lud. 'Twas done in memory of my boyish days, Lud. Poor cancel for his kindness to my youth, Lud. For all his calming of my childish griefs, Lud. And all his smiles upon my merriment. Lud. No, not a thousand foughten fields could sponge Lud. Those days paternal from my memory, Lud. Though now upon my head he heaps disgrace. Sig. My Prince, you think too harshly ‐ Lud. Can I so? Lud. Hath he not gall'd my spirit to the quick? Lud. And with a sullen rigour obstinate Lud. Pour'd out a phial of wrath upon my faults? Lud. Hunted me as a Tartar does the boar, Lud. Driven me to the very edge of the world, Lud. And almost put a price upon my head? Sig. Remember how he spared the rebel lords. Lud. Yes, yes, I know he hath a noble nature Lud. That cannot trample on the fall'n. But his Lud. Is not the only proud heart in his realm. Lud. He hath wrong'd me, and I have done him wrong; Lud. He hath lov'd me, and I have shown him kindness; Lud. We should be almost equal. Sig. Yet, for all this, Sig. I would you had appear'd among those lords, Sig. And ta'en his favour. Lud. Ha! till now I thought Lud. My friend had held poor Ludolph's honour dear. Lud. What! would you have me sue before his throne Lud. And kiss the courtier's missal, its silk steps? Lud. Or hug the golden housings of his steed, Lud. Amid a camp, whose steeled swarms I dared Lud. But yesterday? and, at the trumpet sound, Lud. Bow like some unknown mercenary's flag, Lud. And lick the soiled grass? No, no, my friend, Lud. I would not, I, be pardon'd in the heap, Lud. And bless indemnity with all that scum, ‐ Lud. Those men I mean, who on my shoulders propp'd Lud. Their weak rebellion, winning me with lies, Lud. And pitying forsooth my many wrongs; Lud. Poor self-deceived wretches, who must think Lud. Each one himself a king in embryo, Lud. Because some dozen vassals cry'd ‐ my lord! Lud. Cowards, who never knew their little hearts, Lud. Till flurried danger held the mirror up, Lud. And then they own'd themselves without a blush, Lud. Curling, like spaniels, round my father's feet. Lud. Such things deserted me and are forgiven, Lud. While I, least guilty, am an outcast still, Lud. And will be, for I live such fair disgrace. Sig. I know the clear truth; so would Otho see, Sig. For he is just and noble. Fain would I Sig. Be pleader for you ‐ lud. He'll hear none of it; Lud. You know his temper, hot, proud, obstinate; Lud. Endanger not yourself so uselessly. Lud. I will encounter his thwart spleen myself, Lud. To-day, at the Duke Conrad's, where he keeps Lud. His crowded state after the victory, Lud. There will I be, a most unwelcome guest, Lud. And parley with him, as a son should do, Lud. Who doubly loathes a father's tyranny; Lud. Tell him how feeble is that tyranny; Lud. How the relationship of father and son Lud. Is no more valid than a silken leash Lud. Where lions tug adverse, if love grow not Lud. From interchanged love through many years. Lud. Ay, and those turreted Franconian walls, Lud. Like to a jealous casket, hold my pearl ‐ Lud. My fair Auranthe! Yes, I will be there. Sig. Be not so rash; wait till his wrath shall pass, Sig. Until his royal spirit softly ebbs Sig. Self-influenced; then, in his morning dreams Sig. He will forgive thee, and awake in grief Sig. To have not thy good morrow. Lud. Yes, to-day Lud. I must be there, while her young pulses beat Lud. Among the new-plum'd minions of the war. Lud. Have you seen her of late? No? Auranthe, Lud. Franconia's fair Sister, 'tis I mean. Lud. She should be paler for my troublous days ‐ Lud. And there it is ‐ my father's iron lips Lud. Have sworn divorcement 'twixt me and my right. Sig. Auranthe! I had hoped this whim had pass'd. Lud. And, Sigifred, with all his love of justice, Lud. When will he take that grandchild in his arms, Lud. That, by my love I swear,  shall ^ soon be his? Lud. This reconcilement is impossible, Lud. For see ‐ But who are these? Sig. They are messengers Sig. From our great Emperor; to you I doubt not, Sig. For couriers are abroad to seek you out. Theo. Seeing so many vigilant eyes explore Theo. The province to invite your Highness back Theo. To your high dignities, we are too happy. Gon. We have no eloquence to colour justly Gon. The emperor's anxious wishes. Lud. Go. I follow you. Lud. I play the prude it is but venturing ‐ Lud. Why should he be so earnest? Come, my friend, Lud. Let us to Friedburg castle. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act II SCENE I Lud. No more advices, no more cautioning; Lud. I leave it all to fate ‐ to any thing! Lud. I cannot square my conduct to time, place, Lud. Or circumstance; to me 'tis all a mist! Sig. I say no more. Lud. It seems I am to wait Lud. Here in the ante-room; ‐ that may be a trifle. Lud. You see now how I dance attendance here, Lud. Without that tyrant temper, you so blame, Lud. Snapping the rein. You have medicin'd me Lud. With good advices; and I here remain, Lud. In this most honourable ante-room, Lud. Your patient scholar. Sig. Do not wrong me, Prince. Sig. By heavens, I'd rather kiss Duke Conrad's slipper, Sig. When in the morning he doth yawn with pride, Sig. Than see you humbled but a half-degree! Sig. Truth is, the Emperor would fain dismiss Sig. The nobles ere he sees you. Lud. Well, sir! What! Gon. Great honour to the Prince! The Emperor, Gon. Hearing that his brave son had re-appeared, Gon. Instant dismiss'd the Council from his sight, Gon. As Jove fans off the clouds. Even now they pass. Lud. Not the discoloured poisons of a fen, Lud. Which he, who breathes, feels warning of his death, Lud. Could taste so nauseous in the bodily sense, Lud. As these prodigious sycophants disgust Lud. The soul's fine palate. Con. Princely Ludolph, hail! Con. Welcome, thou younger sceptre to the realm! Con. Strength to thy virgin crownet's golden buds, Con. That they, against the winter of thy sire, Con. May burst, and swell, and flourish round thy brows, Con. Maturing to a weighty diadem! Con. Yet be that hour far off; and may he live, Con. Who waits for thee, as the chapp'd earth for rain. Con. Set my life's star! I have lived long enough, Con. Since under my glad roof, propitiously, Con. Father and son each other re-possess. Lud. Fine wording, Duke! but words could never yet Lud. Forestall the fates; have you not learnt that yet? Lud. Let me look well your features are the same; Lud. Your gait the same; your hair of the same shade; Lud. As one I knew some passed weeks ago, Lud. Who sung far different notes into mine ears. Lud. I have mine own particular comments on 't; Lud. You have your own perhaps. Con. My gracious Prince, Con. All men may err. In truth I was deceived Con. In your great father's nature, as you were. Con. Had I known that of him I have since known, Con. And what you soon will learn, I would have turn'd Con. My sword to my own throat, rather than held Con. Its threatening edge against a good king's quiet Con. Or with one word fever'd you, gentle Prince, Con. Who seem'd to me, as rugged times then went, Con. Indeed too much oppress'd. May I be bold Con. To tell the Emperor you will haste to him? Lud. Your dukedom's privilege will grant so much. Lud. He's very close to Otho, Sigifred Lud. Your Hand ‐ I go. Ha! here the thunder comes Lud. Sullen against the wind! If in two angry brows Lud. My safety lies, then Sigifred, I'm safe. Oth. Will you make Titan play the lackey-page Oth. To chattering pigmies? I would have you know Oth. That such neglect of our high Majesty Oth. Annuls all feel of kindred. What is son, ‐ Oth. Or friend, ‐ or brother, ‐ or all ties of blood, ‐ Oth. When the whole kingdom, centred in ourself, Oth. Is rudely slighted? Who am I to wait? Oth. By Peter's chair! I have upon my tongue Oth. A word to fright the proudest spirit here! ‐ Oth. Death! ‐ and slow tortures to the hardy fool, Oth. Who dares take such large charter from our smiles! Oth. Conrad, we would be private. Sigifred! Oth. Off! And none pass this way on pain of death! Lud. This was but half expected, my good sire, Lud. Yet I am griev'd at it, to the full height, Lud. As though my hopes of favour had been whole. Oth. How you indulge yourself! what can you hope for? Lud. Nothing, my liege, I have to hope for nothing. Lud. I come to greet you as a loving son, Lud. And then depart, if I may be so free, Lud. Seeing that blood of yours in my warm veins Lud. Has not yet mitigated into milk. Oth. What would you, sir? lud. A lenient banishment; Lud. So please you let me unmolested pass Lud. This Conrad's gates, to the wide air again. Lud. I want no more. A rebel wants no more. Oth. And shall I let a rebel loose again Oth. To muster kites and eagles 'gainst my head? Oth. No, obstinate boy, you shall be kept caged up, Oth. Served with harsh food, with scum for Sunday-drink. Lud. Indeed! oth. And chains too heavy for your life Oth. I'll choose a jailor, whose swart monstrous face Oth. Shall be a hell to look upon, and she ‐ Lud. Ha! Oth. Shall be your fair Auranthe. Lud. Amaze! Amaze! Oth. To-day you marry her. Lud. This is a sharp jest! Oth. No. None at all. When have I said a lie? Lud. If I sleep not, I am a waking wretch. Oth. Not one word more. Let me embrace my child. Lud. I dare not.'Twould pollute so good a father! Lud. O heavy crime! that your son's blinded eyes Lud. Could not see all his parent's love aright, Lud. As now I see it. Be not kind to me ‐ Lud. Punish me not with favour. Oth. Are you sure, Oth. Ludolph, you have no saving plea in store? Lud. My father, none! oth. Then you astonish me. Lud. No, I have no plea. Disobedience, Lud. Rebellion, obstinacy, blasphemy, Lud. Are all my counsellors. If they can make Lud. My crooked deed show good and plausible, Lud. Then grant me loving pardon, but not else, Lud. Good gods! not else, in any way, my liege! Oth. You are a most perplexing, noble boy. Lud. You not less a perplexing noble father. Oth. Well, you shall have free passport through the gates. Oth. Farewell! Lud. Farewell! and by these tears believe, Lud. And still remember, I repent in pain Lud. All my misdeeds! oth. Ludolph, I will! I will! Oth. But, ludolph, ere you go, I would enquire Oth. If you, in all your wandering, ever met Oth. A certain Arab haunting in these parts. Lud. No, my good lord, I cannot say I did. Oth. Make not your father blind before his time; Oth. Nor let these arms paternal hunger more Oth. For an embrace, to dull the appetite Oth. Of my great love for thee, my supreme child! Oth. Come near, and let me breathe into thine ear. Oth. I knew you through disguise. You are the Arab! Oth. You can't deny it. Lud. Happiest of days! Oth. We'll make it so. Lud. 'Stead of one fatted calf Lud. Ten hecatombs shall bellow out their last, Lud. Smote 'twixt the horns by the death-stunning mace Lud. Of Mars, and all the soldiery shall feast Lud. Nobly as Nimrod's masons, when the towers Lud. Of Nineveh new kiss'd the parted clouds! Oth. Large as a god speak out, where all is thine. Lud. Aye, father, but the fire in my sad breast Lud. Is quench'd with inward tears! I must rejoice Lud. For you, whose wings so shadow over me Lud. In tender victory, but for myself Lud. I still must mourn. The fair Auranthe mine! Lud. Too great a boon! I pr'ythee let me ask Lud. What more than I know of could so have changed Lud. Your purpose touching her. Oth. At a word, this Oth. In no deed did you give me more offence Oth. Than your rejection of Erminia. Oth. To my appalling, I saw too good proof Oth. Of your keen-eyed suspicion, ‐ she is naught! Lud. You are convinc'd? Oth. Ay, spite of her sweet looks. Oth. O, that my brother's daughter should so fall! Oth. Her fame has pass'd into the grosser lips Oth. Of soldiers in their cups. Lud. 'Tis very sad. Oth. No more of her. Auranthe ‐ Ludolph, come! Oth. This marriage be the bond of endless peace! Normal End In Statement 52 Run Time-Msec 5170 Stmts Executed 62155 Mcsec / Stmt 83 Regenerations 17