And on the bosom of the deep The smile of heaven lay;
It seemed as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun A light of paradise.
3. We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents interlaced,
And soothed, by every azure breath That under heaven is blown, To harmonies and hues beneath, As tender as its own;
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep
Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be.
4. How calm it was!-The silence there By such a chain was bound That even the busy woodpecker Made stiller with her sound
The inviolable quietness;
The breath of peace we drew
With its soft motion made not less
The calm that round us grew.
There seemed, from the remotest seat Of the white mountain waste, To the soft flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced,-
A spirit interfused around,
A thrilling silent life :
To momentary peace it bound
Our mortal nature's strife.
And still, I felt, the centre of The magic circle there
Was one fair form that filled with love The lifeless atmosphere.
5. We paused beside the pools that lie Under the forest bough.
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky Gulfed in a world below:
A firmament of purple light
Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night, And purer than the day-
In which the lovely forests grew
As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue
Than any spreading there.
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
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-winged chariots sent O'er some serenest element For ministrations strange and far, As if to some elysian star
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