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From which they deem the body of one As if it spoke to every one apart, drowned

Like the clear voice of conscience in each Will be cast forth, from face to face heart. doth creep

XXXVIII. An eager dread that holds all tongues".0 Re

olas all tongues | “O Rest, to weary hearts thou art most fast bound

dear! Until the horror, with a ghastly leap,

O Silence, after life's bewildering din, Starts up, its dead blue arms stretched Th

de arms stretched Thou art most welcome, whether in the aimlessly,

sear Heaved with the swinging of the care

Days of our age thou comest, or we less sea, —

win

Thy poppy-wreath in youth ! then whereXXXV.

fore here So in the faces of all these there grew, Linger I yet, once free to enter in As by one impulse, a dark, freezing At that wished gate which gentle Death awe,

doth ope, Which, with a fearful fascination drew Into the boundless realm of strength and All eyes toward the altar; damp and hope? raw

XXXIX. The air grew suddenly, and no man knew - Think not in death my love could ever Whether perchance his silent neighbor

cease; saw

If thou wast false, more need there is The dreadful thing which all were sure

for me would rise

Still to be true; that slumber were not To scare the strained lids wider from

peace, their eyes.

If it were unvisited with dreams of

thee: XXXVI.

And thou hadst never heard such words The incense trembled as it upward sent as these, Its slow, uncertain thread of wander

Save that in heaven I must forever be ing blue,

| Most comfortless and wretched, seeing As 't were the only living element

this In all the church, so deep the stillness Our unbaptized babe shut out from bliss.

grew; It seemed one might have heard it, as it

XL. went,

“This little spirit with imploring eyes Give out an audible rustle, curling Wanders alone the dreary wild of through

space; The midnight silence of that awe-struck air,

Upon my soul in this new dwellingMore hushed than death, though so

place; much life was there.

His loneliness makes me in Paradise

More lonely, and, unless I see his face,

Even here for grief could I lie down and XXXVII.

die, Nothing they saw, but a low voice was Save for my curse of immortality.

heard Threading the ominous silence of that

XLI. fear,

| “World after world he sees around him Gentle and terrorless as if a bird,

swim Wakened by some volcano's glare, Crowded with happy souls, that take should cheer

no heed The murk air with his song; yet every of the sad eyes that from the night's word

faint rim In the cathedral's farthest arch seemed' Gaze sick with longing on them as near,

they speed

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With golden gates, that only shut on him;

Then the pale priests, with ceremony due, And shapes sometimes from Hell's Baptized the child within its dreadful abysses freed

tomb Flap darkly by him, with enormous Beneath that mother's heart, whose insweep

stinct true Of wings that roughen wide the pitchy Star-like had battled down the triple deep.

gloom XLII.

of sorrow, love, and death : young maid

ens, too, “I am a mother,--spirits do not shake This much of earth from them, - and

Strewed the pale corpse with many a

milk white bloom, I must pine Till I can feel his little hands, and take

And parted the bright hair, and on the

breast His weary head upon this heart of

Crossed the unconscious hands in sign mine;

of rest. And, might it be, full gladly for his

sake Would I this solitude of bliss resign, Some said, that, when the priest had And be shut out of Heaven to dwell with

sprinkled o'er him

The consecrated drops, they seemed to Forever in that silence drear and dim.

hear

| A sigh, as of some heart from travail XLIII.

sore “I strove to hush my soul, and would

Released, and then two voices singing not speak

clear, At first, for thy dear sake; a woman's

| Misereatur Deus, more and more

Fading far upward, and their ghastly love Is mighty, but a mother's heart is weak,

fear And by its weakness overcomes; I

Fell from them with that sound, as

bodies fall strove To smother bitter thoughts with patience

From souls upspringing to celestial hall. meek, But still in the abyss my soul would

PROMETHEUS. Seeking my child, and drove me here to One after one the stars have risen and

claim T'je rite that gives him peace in Christ's

Sparkling upon the hoarfrost on my dear name.

chain : The Bear, that prowled all night about the

fold "I sit and weep while blessed spirits of the North-star, hath shrunk into his sing;

den, I can but long and pine the while they Scared by the blithesome footsteps of the praise,

Dawn, And, leaning o'er the wall of Heaven, I Whose blushing smile floods all the fling

Orient; My voice to where I deem my infant And now bright Lucifer grows less and strays,

less, Like a robbed bird that cries in vain to Into the heaven's blue quiet deep-withbring

drawn. Her nestlings back beneath her wings' Sunless and starless all, the desert sky embrace;

Arches above me, empty as this heart But still he answers not, and I but know For ages hath been empty of all joy, That Heaven and earth are both alike in Except to brood upon its silent hope, woe.

As o'er its hope of day the sky doth now

cove,

set,

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All night have I heard voices : deeper yet! Thy hated name is tossed once more in The deep low breathing of the silence scorn grew,

From off my lips, for I will tell thy doom. While all about, muffled in awe, there And are these tears ? Nay, do not tri. stood

umph, Jove ! Shadows, or forms, or both, clear-felt at They are wrung from me but by the agoheart,

nies But, when I turned to front them, far of prophecy, like those sparse drops along

which fall Only a shudder through the midnight ran, From clouds in travail of the lightning, And the dense stillness walled me closer when round.

The great wave of the storm high-curled But still I heard them wander up and and black down

Rolls steadily onward to its thunderons That solitude, and flappings of dusk | I break. wings

Why art thou made a god of, thou poor Did mingle with them, whether of those 1 type hags

Of anger, and revenge, and cunning force ? Let slip upon me once from Hades deep, True Power was never born of brutish Or of yet direr torments, if such be,

Strength, I could but guess; and then toward me Nor sweet Truth suckled at the shaggy

came A shape as of a woman : very pale of that old she-wolf. Are thy thunderIt was, and calm ; its cold eyes did not bolts, move,

That quell the darkness for a space, so And mine moved not, but only stared on strong them.

As the prevailing patience of meek Light, Their fixed awe went through my brain Who, with the invincible tenderness of like ice ;

peace, A skeleton hand seemed clutching at my Wins it to be a portion of herself? heart,

Why art thou made a god of, thou, who And a sharp chill, as if a dank night fog hast Suddenly closed me in, was all I felt: The never-sleeping terror at thy heart, And then, methought, I heard a freezing That birthright of all tyrants, worse to sigh,

bear A long, deep, shivering sigh, as from blue Than this thy ravening bird on which I lips

smile Stiffening in death, close to mine ear. I Thou swear'st to free me, if I will unfold thought

What kind of doom it is whose omen flits Some doom was close upon me, and I Across thy heart, as o'er a troop of doves looked

The fearful shadow of the kite. What And saw the red moon through the heavy need mist,

To know that truth whose knowledge Just setting, and it seemed as it were cannot save ? falling,

Evil its errand hath, as well as Good; Or reeling to its fall, so dim and dead When thine is finished, thou art known And palsy-struck it looked. Then all no more : sounds merged

There is a higher purity than thou, Into the rising surges of the pines, And higher purity is greater strength ; Which, leagues below me, clothing the Thy nature is thy doom, at which thy gaunt loins

heart Of ancient Caucasus with hairy strength, Trembles behind the thick wall of thy Sent up a murmur in the morning wind, Sad as the wail that from the populous Let man but hope, and thou art straightearth

way chilled All day and night to high Olympus soars, Wich thought of that drear silence and Fit incense to thy wicked throne, O Jove! deep night

might.

Which, like a dream, shall swallow thee | And crouches, when the thought of some and thine :

great spirit, Let man but will, and thou art god no With world-wide murmur, like a rising more,

gale, More capable of ruin than the gold Over men's hearts, as over standing corn, And ivory that image thee on earth. Rushes, and bends them to its own strong He who hurled down the monstrous

will. Titan-brood

So shall some thought of mine yet circle Blinded with lightnings, with rough earth, thunders stunned,

And puff away thy crumbling altars, Is weaker than a simple human thought. Jove! My slender voice can shake thee, as the breeze,

| And, wouldst thou know of my su. That seems but apt to stir a maiden's hair,

preme revenge, Sways huge Oceanus from pole to pole ; Poor tyrant, even now dethroned in For I am still Prometheus, and foreknow heart, In my wise heart the end and doom of all. Realmless in soul, as tyrants ever are,

Listen ! and tell me if this bitter peak, Yes, I am still Prometheus, wiser grown This never-glutted vulture, and these By years of solitude, – that holds apart

chains The past and future, giving the soul room Shrink not before it; for it shall befit To search into itself, — and long com- A sorrow-taught, unconquered Titan. mune

heart. With this eternal silence;- more a god, Men, when their death is on them, seem In my long-suffering and strength to meet to stand With equal front the direst shafts of fate, On a precipitous crag that overhangs Than thou in thy faint-hearted despot. The abyss of doom, and in that depth ism,

to see, Girt with thy baby-toys of force and As in a glass, the features dim and vast wrath.

Of things to come, the shadows, as it Yes, I am that Prometheus who brought seems, down

Of what have been. Death ever fronts The light to man, which thou, in selfish the wise;

Not fearfully, but with clear promises Hadst to thyself usurped, — his by sole Of larger life, on whose broaal vans upFor Man hath right to all save Tyr. Their outlook widens, and they see beanny,

yond And which shall free him yet from thy The horizon of the Present and the Past, frail throne.

Even to the very source and end of Tyrants are but the spawn of Ignorance, things. Begotten by the slaves they trample on, Such am I now: immortal woe hath Who, could they win a glimmer of the made light,

My heart a seer, and my soul a judge And see that Tyranny is always weak. Between the substance and the shadow ness,

of Truth. Or Fear with its own bosom ill at ease, The sure supremeness of the Beautiful, Would laugh away in scorn the sand. By all the martyrdoms made doubly sure wove chain

of such as I am, this is my revenge, Which their own blindness feigned for Which of my wrongs builds a triumphal adamant.

arch. Wrong ever builds on quicksands, but Through which I see a sceptre and a the Right

throne. To the firm centre lays its moveless base. The pipings of glad shepherds on the The tyrant trembles, if the air but stir

hills, The innocent ringlets of a child's free Tending the flocks no more to bleed for hair,

thee,

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The songs of maidens pressing with white | But universal Nature watches theirs : feet

Such strength is won by love of human The vintage on thine altars poured no kind.

more, The murmurous bliss of lovers, under. Not that I feel that hunger after fame, neath

Which souls of a half-greatness are beset Dim grapevine bowers, whose rosy with; bunches press

But that the memory of noble deeds Not half so closely their warm cheeks, Cries shame upon the idle and the vile, unpaled

And keeps the heart of Man forever up By thoughts of thy brutelust, – the To the heroic level of old time. hive-like hum

To be forgot at first is little pain Of peaceful commonwealths, where sun. To a heart conscious of such high intent burnt Toil

As must be deathless on the lips of men ; Reaps for itself the rich earth made its | But, having been a name, to sink and be

A something which the world can do By its own labor, lightened with glad without, hymns

Which, having been or not, would never To an omnipotence which thy mad bolts change Would cope with as a spark with the The lightest pulse of fate, - this is invast sea,

deed Even the spirit of free love and peace, A cup of bitterness the worst to taste, Duty's sure recompense through life and And this thy heart shall empty to the death,

dregs. These are such harvests as all master Endless despair shall be thy Caucasus, spirits

And memory thy vulture; thou wilt find Reap, haply not on earth, but reap no Oblivion far lonelier than this peak. less

Behold thy destiny! Thou think'st it Because the sheaves are bound by hands much not theirs ;

That I should brave thee, miserable god ! These are the bloodless daggers where. But I have braved a mightier than thou, withal

Even the tempting of this soaring heart, They stab fallen tyrants, this their high | Which might have made me, scarcely revenge:

less than thou, For their best part of life on earth is A god among my brethren weak and when,

blind, Long after death, prisoned and pent no Scarce less than thou, a pitiable thing

To be down-trodden into darkness soon. Their thoughts, their wild dreams even, But now I am above thee, for thou art have become

The bungling workmanship of fear, the Part of the necessary air men breathe :

block When, like the moon, herself behind a That awes the swart Barbarian ; but I cloud,

Am what myself have made,-a nature They shed down light before us on life's wise sea,

With finding in itself the types of all, That cheers us to steer onward still in With watching from the dim verge of hope.

the time Earth with her twining memories ivies What things to be are visible in the o'er

glearns Their holy sepulchres ; the chainless sea, Thrown forward on them from the lumiIn tempest or wide calm, repeats their nous past,

Wise with the history of its own frail The lightning and the thunder, all free heart,

With reverence and with sorrow, and Have legends of them for the ears of with love, men.

Broad as the world, for freedom and for All other glories are as falling stars,

man.

more,

houghts;

things,

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