The inheritors of unfulfilled renown
Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought, Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton
Rose pale, his solemn agony had not
Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought And as he fell, and as he lived and loved, Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot, Arose; and Lucan, by his death approved; Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved.
And many more, whose names on Earth are dark, But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. "Thou art become as one of us," they cry; "It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty,
Silent alone amid a Heaven of song.
Assume thy wingèd throne, thou Vesper of our throng!"
Who mourns for Adonais? Oh, come forth, Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright. Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth; As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might Satiate the void circumference: then shrink Even to a point within our day and night; And keep thy heart light, lest it make thee sink
When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the brink.
go to Rome, which is the sepulchre, Oh, not of him, but of our joy: 't is nought That ages, empires, and religions there Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; For such as he can lend, - they borrow not Glory from those who made the world their prey; And he is gathered to the kings of thought Who waged contention with their time's decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away.
Go thou to Rome, - at once the Paradise, The grave, the city, and the wilderness;
And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, And flowering weeds and fragrant copses dress
The bones of Desolation's nakedness,
Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access, Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass
And grey walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand;
And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand
Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath A field is spread, on which a newer band
Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath.
Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned Its charge to each; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find Thine own well full, if thou returnest home, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is, why fear we to become?
The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Until Death tramples it to fragments.
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! Follow where all is fled! - Rome's azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.
Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart? Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here They have departed; thou shouldst now depart! A light is past from the revolving year, And man, and woman; and what still is dear Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. The soft sky smiles, - the low wind whispers near: 'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither,
No more let Life divide what Death can join together.
That light whose smile kindles the Universe, That Beauty in which all things work and move, That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which, through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and spherèd skies are riven!
I am borne darkly, fearfully afar;
Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know That things depart which never may return;
Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine, Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore; Thou wert as a lone star whose light did shine
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar; Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood Above the blind and battling multitude; In honored poverty thy voice did weave Songs consecrate to truth and liberty;- Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve, Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be. Percy Bysshe Shelley
IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free; The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder-everlastingly.
Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. - William Wordsworth
IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802
O Friend! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest
To think that now our life is only drest
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