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Not that I feel that hunger after fame, Which souls of a half-greatness are beset with;
But that the memory of noble deeds
But, having been a name, to sink and be A something which the world can do without,
Which, having been or not, would never change
The lightest pulse offate, -thisis indeed A cup of bitterness the worst to taste, And this thy heart shall empty to the dregs.
Endless despair shall be thy Caucasus, And memory thy vulture; thou wilt find Oblivion far lonelier than this peak, Behold thy destiny! Thou think'st it much
That I should brave thee, miserable god!
But I have braved a mightier than thou,
Even the tempting of this soaring heart, Which might have made me, scarcely less than thou,
A god among my brethren weak and blind,
Scarce less than thou, a pitiable thing To be down-trodden into darkness
Thou and all strength shall crumble, except Love,
By whom, and for whose glory, ye shall
And, when thou art but a dim moaning heard
From out the pitiless glooms of Chaos, I Shall be a power and a memory,
A name to fright all tyrants with, a light Unsetting as the pole-star, a great voice Heard in the breathless pauses of the fight By truth and freedom ever waged with wrong,
Clear as a silver trumpet, to awake Huge echoes that from age to age live on In kindred spirits, giving them a sense Of boundless power from boundless suffering wrung:
And many a glazing eye shall smile to see The memory of my triumph (for to meet Wrong with endurance, and to overcome The present with a heart that looks beyond,
Are triumph), like a prophet eagle, perch Upon the sacred banner of the Right. Evil springs up. and flowers, and bears
In the unfailing energy of Good, Until they swoop, and their pale quarry make
Of some o'erbloated wrong, spirit which
Scatters great hopes in the seed-field of man,
Like acorns among grain, to grow and be
A roof for freedom in all coming time !
But no, this cannot be; for ages yet, In solitude unbroken, shall I hear The angry Caspian to the Euxine shout, And Euxine answer with a muffled roar, On either side storming the giant walls Of Caucasus with leagues of climbing foam
(Less, from my height, than flakes of downy snow),
That draw back baffled but to hurl again, Snatched up in wrath and horrible tur moil,
Mountain on mountain, as the Titans
My brethren, scaling the high seat of Jove,
Heaved Pelion upon Ossa's shoulders broad
In vain emprise. The moon will come and go
With her monotonous vicissitude; Once beautiful, when I was free to walk Among my fellows, and to interchange The influence benign of loving eyes, But now by aged use grown wear.
The death-watch ticked behind the wall,
A wildness rushing suddenly,
'Tis drear such moonless nights as these,
Thy shroud is all of snowy white,
Why wilt thou haunt me with thineeyes,
THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS.
THERE came a youth upon the earth,
Whether to plough, or reap, or sow.
Upon an empty
He stretched some chords, and drew Music that made men's bosoms swell. Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.
Then King Admetus, one who had
And so, well pleased with being soothed
Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,
And made him viceroy o'er his sheep.
His words were simple words enough,
Men called him but a shiftless youth,
They knew not how he learned at all,
He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,
It seemed the loveliness of things
For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs,
He found a healing power profuse.
Men granted that his speech was wise,
Vet after he was dead and gone,
And e'en his memory dim,
Earth seemed more sweet to live upon,
And day by day more holy grew
It is a mere wild rosebud,
And stir my heart's blood far below
Lips must fade and roses wither,
Stay with us no more:
Years after from the dark will start,
Thou hast given me many roses,
With such a deep, wild bliss;
Earth's stablest things are shadows,