« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
We will have books, Spanish, Italian, Greek;
Feasting on which we will philosophize!
And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's wood, To thaw the six weeks' winter in our blood.
And then we'll talk; what shall we talk about?
Oh! there are themes enough for many a bout Of thought-entangled descant; as to nervesWith cones and parallelograms and curves
I've sworn to strangle them if once they dare
Sweet meeting by sad parting to renew ;-
301 Mrs. Shelley, transcript || omit, Mrs. Shelley, 1824, 18391,2. 317 well, come, Mrs. Shelley, 18392 || we'll come, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824, 18391.
318 despite of God, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || despite of ... Mrs. Shelley, 1824, spite of . Mrs. Shelley, 18391.
319 We'll, Mrs. Shelley, transcript | Will, Mrs. Shelley, 1824, 18391,2.
ODE TO NAPLES
EPODE I a
I STOOD within the city disinterred;
And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls Of spirits passing through the streets; and heard The Mountain's slumberous voice at intervals Thrill through those roofless halls; The oracular thunder penetrating shook
The listening soul in my suspended blood; I felt that Earth out of her deep heart spokeI felt, but heard not. Through white columns glowed
The isle-sustaining Ocean-flood,
A plane of light between two Heavens of azure: Around me gleamed many a bright sepulchre Of whose pure beauty, Time, as if his pleasure Were to spare Death, had never made erasure; But every living lineament was clear
As in the sculptor's thought; and there The wreaths of stony myrtle, ivy and pine, Like winter leaves o'ergrown by moulded snow, Seemed only not to move and grow
Because the crystal silence of the air
Weighed on their life; even as the Power divine, Which then lulled all things, brooded upon mine.
Then gentle winds arose,
With many a mingled close
Ode to Naples. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Composed at the Baths of San Giuliano, near Pisa, August 17-25.
Of wild Æolian sound and mountain odor keen;
And where the Baian ocean
Welters with air-like motion,
Within, above, around its bowers of starry green,
It bore me, like an angel, o'er the waves
I sailed where ever flows
A spirit of deep emotion
Shadowy Aornus darkened o'er the helm
There streamed a sunlit vapor, like the standard
Whilst from all the coast,
Louder and louder, gathering round, there wan
Over the oracular woods and divine sea
Naples, thou Heart of men, which ever pantest
Naked, beneath the lidless eye of heaven!
Elysian City, which to calm enchantest
The mutinous air and sea! they round thee, even As sleep round Love, are driven! Metropolis of a ruined Paradise
Long lost, late won, and yet but half regained! Bright Altar of the bloodless sacrifice,
Which armed Victory offers up unstained
Thou which wert once, and then didst cease to be,
Thou youngest giant birth,
Which from the groaning earth
Leap'st, clothed in armor of impenetrable scale! Last of the intercessors
Who 'gainst the Crowned Transgressors Pleadest before God's love! Arrayed in Wisdom's mail,
Wave thy lightning lance in mirth,
Nor let thy high heart fail,
Though from their hundred gates the leagued
With hurried legions move!
ANTISTROPHE a 1
What though Cimmerian anarchs dare blaspheme
Shall theirs have been devoured by their own
Be thou like the imperial Basilisk, Killing thy foe with unapparent wounds! Gaze on oppression, till, at that dread risk Aghast, she pass from the Earth's disk; Fear not, but gaze - for freemen mightier grow, And slaves more feeble, gazing on their foe. If Hope, and Truth, and Justice may avail, Thou shalt be great. All hail!
ANTISTROPHE 8 2
From Freedom's form divine,
From Nature's inmost shrine,
Strip every impious gaud, rend Error veil by veil; O'er Ruin desolate,
O'er Falsehood's fallen state,
Sit thou sublime, unawed; be the Destroyer pale! And equal laws be thine,
And winged words let sail,
Freighted with truth even from the throne of God; That wealth, surviving fate,
Be thine. - All hail!
ANTISTROPHE a y
Didst thou not start to hear Spain's thrilling pæan
Starts to hear thine! The Sea
Which paves the desert streets of Venice laughs In light and music; widowed Genoa wan
By moonlight spells ancestral epitaphs,