« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Oh, that the free would stamp the impious name
Were as a serpent's path, which the light air
Lift the victory-flashing sword,
And cut the snaky knots of this foul gordian word,
Which, weak itself as stubble, yet can bind
The axes and the rods which awe mankind ; The sound has poison in it, 'tis the sperm Of what makes life foul, cankerous, and abhorred; Disdain not thou, at thine appointed term, To set thine armèd heel on this reluctant worm.
Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle
Such lamps within the dome of this dim world, That the pale name of Priest might shrink and dwindle
Into the hell from which it first was hurled, A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure; Till human thoughts might kneel alone, Each before the judgment-throne
Of its own aweless soul, or of the power unknown! Oh, that the words which make the thoughts
xv. 2 King, Boscombe MS. || .
From which they spring, as clouds of glimmering dew
From a white lake blot heaven's blue portraiture, Were stripped of their thin masks and various hue
And frowns and smiles and splendors not their
Till in the nakedness of false and true
They stand before their Lord, each to receive its due.
He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever
He has enthroned the oppression and the oppressor.
And power in thought be as the tree within the seed?
Oh, what if Art, an ardent intercessor,
Driving on fiery wings to Nature's throne, Checks the great mother stooping to caress her And cries: "Give me, thy child, dominion Over all height and depth?" if Life can breed New wants, and wealth from those who toil and groan
Rend of thy gifts and hers a thousandfold for
Come thou, but lead out of the inmost cave
xvii. 9 Oh, Shelley, 1820 || Or, Mrs. Shelley, 18391.
Beckons the sun from the Eoan wave,
To judge with solemn truth life's ill-apportioned lot?
Of what has been, the Hope of what will be? O Liberty! if such could be thy name
Wert thou disjoined from these, or they from thee
If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought
Paused, and the Spirit of that mighty singing
Its path athwart the thunder-smoke of dawn, Sinks headlong through the aërial golden light On the heavy sounding plain,
When the bolt has pierced its brain; As summer clouds dissolve unburdened of their
As a far taper fades with fading night,
As a brief insect dies with dying day, My song, its pinions disarrayed of might,
Drooped; o'er it closed the echoes far away Of the great voice which did its flight sustain,
As waves which lately paved his watery way Hiss round a drowner's head in their tempes
I FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden,
I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion,
From her couch of snows
Her steps paved with green
Which slopes to the western gleams;
And gliding and springing,
To. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
Arethusa. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824, and dated by her, Pisa, 1820.
In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep.
Then Alpheus bold,
With his trident the mountains strook ;
And opened a chasm
In the rocks with the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
The bars of the springs below.
"Oh, save me! Oh, guide me,