There lay the glade, the neighbouring lawn, And through the dark-green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above Can never well be seen Were imaged in the water's love Of that fair forest green;
And all was interfused beneath With an elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath, A softer day below.
Like one beloved, the scene had lent To the dark water's breast
Its every leaf and lineament
With more than truth expressed;
Until an envious wind crept by,- Like an unwelcome thought
Which from the mind's too faithful eye Blots one dear image out.
Though thou art ever fair and kind, And forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind Than calm in water seen.
WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE.
Ariel to Miranda.-Take
This slave of Music, for the sake Of him who is the slave of thee; And teach it all the harmony In which thou canst, and only thou, Make the delighted spirit glow, Till joy denies itself again, And, too intense, is turned to pain. For, by permission and command Of thine own Prince Ferdinand, Poor Ariel sends this silent token Of more than ever can be spoken; Your guardian spirit Ariel, who From life to life must still pursue Your happiness, for thus alone Can Ariel ever find his own. From Prospero's enchanted cell, As the mighty verses tell, To the throne of Naples he Lit you o'er the trackless sea, Flitting on, your prow before, Like a living meteor.
When you die, the silent Moon In her interlunar swoon
Is not sadder in her cell Than deserted Ariel.
When you live again on earth,— Like an unseen star of birth, Ariel guides you o'er the sea Of life from your nativity. Many changes have been run Since Ferdinand and you begun Your.course of love, and Ariel still
Has tracked your steps and served your will. Now, in humbler happier lot,
This is all remembered not;
And now, alas! the poor Sprite is Imprisoned for some fault of his In a body like a grave:
From you he only dares to crave, For his service and his sorrow, A smile to-day, a song to-morrow.
The artist who this idol wrought, To echo all harmonious thought, Felled a tree while on the steep The woods were in their winter sleep, Rocked in that repose divine On the wind-swept Apennine, And dreaming, some of Autumn past, And some of Spring approaching fast, And some of April buds and showers, And some of songs in July bowers, And all of love. And so this tree- Oh that such our death may be !- Died in sleep, and felt no pain, To live in happier form again:
From which, beneath heaven's fairest star,
The artist wrought this loved Guitar, And taught it justly to reply, To all who question skilfully, In language gentle as thine own; Whispering in enamoured tone Sweet oracles of woods and dells, And summer winds in sylvan cells. For it had learnt all harmonies Of the plains and of the skies, Of the forests and the mountains, And the many-voiced fountains; The clearest echoes of the hills, The softest notes of falling rills, The melodies of birds and bees, The murmuring of summer seas,
And pattering rain, and breathing dew. And airs of evening; and it knew That seldom-heard mysterious sound Which, driven on its diurnal round As it floats through boundless day, Our world enkindles on its way. All this it knows; but will not tell To those who cannot question well The Spirit that inhabits it. It talks according to the wit Of its companions; and no more Is heard than has been felt before By those who tempt it to betray These secrets of an elder day. But, sweetly as its answers will Flatter hands of perfect skill, It keeps its highest holiest tone For our beloved Jane alone.
ROUGH wind that moanest loud Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind when sullen cloud Knells all the night long; Sad storm whose tears are vain, Bare woods whose branches stain,
Deep caves and dreary main,
Wail for the world's wrong!
THE keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among them,
The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them Again.
As the moon's soft splendour
O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven
So your voice most tender
To the strings without soul had then given
The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later,
No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter Delight.
Though the sound overpowers,
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing A tone
Of some world far from ours Where music and moonlight and feeling Are one.
LINES WRITTEN IN THE BAY OF LERICI. SHE left me at the silent time
When the moon had ceased to climb The azure path of heaven's steep, And, like an albatross asleep, Balanced on her wings of light, Hovered in the purple night, Ere she sought her ocean nest In the chambers of the west. She left me; and I stayed alone, Thinking over every tone, Which, though silent to the ear, The enchanted heart could hear,
Like notes which die when born, but still Haunt the echoes of the hill,
And feeling ever-oh too much!- The soft vibration of her touch, As if her gentle hand even now Lightly trembled on my brow. And thus, although she absent were, Memory gave me all of her
That even Fancy dares to claim.
Her presence had made weak and tame All passions, and I lived alone In the time which is our own; The past and future were forgot, As they had been, and would be, not. But soon, the guardian angel gone, The dæmon reassumed his throne In my faint heart. I dare not speak My thoughts; but thus disturbed and weak I sat, and saw the vessels glide Over the ocean bright and wide, Like spirit-wingèd chariots sent O'er some serenest element For ministrations strange and far, As if to some elysian star
They sailed for drink to medicine Such sweet and bitter pain as mine. And the wind that winged their flight From the land came fresh and light; And the scent of winged flowers, And the coolness of the hours
Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day, Were scattered o'er the twinkling bay; And the fisher, with his lamp
And spear, about the low rocks damp Crept, and struck the fish which came To worship the delusive flame.
Too happy they, whose pleasure sought Extinguishes all sense and thought Of the regret that pleasure leaves,- Destroying life alone, not peace!
THESE are two friends whose lives were undivided; So let their memory be, now they have glided Under their grave; let not their bones be parted, For their two hearts in life were single-hearted.
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