Over banks of bright seaweed But cruel is she! She left lonely for ever The kings of the sea.' M. ARNOLD. 364 THE SONG OF CALLICLES ON ETNA Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts, All Etna heaves fiercely Her forest-clothed frame. 133 Not here, O Apollo ! 135 140 5 Are haunts meet for thee. But, where Helicon breaks down 365 SHAKESPEARE Others abide our question-Thou art free! Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, 5 Making the heaven of heavens his dwellingplace, Spares but the border, often, of his base To the foil'd searching of mortality ; And thou, whose head did stars and sunbeams know, Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self secure, 10 Didst walk on earth unguess'd at.-Better so ! 366 A SUMMER NIGHT In the deserted moon-blanch'd street Down at the far horizon's rim, 5 Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose, 10 And to my mind the thought Is on a sudden brought Of a past night, and a far different scene. Headlands stood out into the moon-lit deep As clearly as at noon; The spring-tide's brimming flow Heaved dazzlingly between ; 15 Houses with long white sweep The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away. But the same restless pacings to and fro, And the same vainly throbbing heart was there, And the same bright calm moon. And the calm moonlight seems to say: Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast, Nor ever feels the fiery glow That whirls the spirit from itself away, But fluctuates to and fro, Never by passion quite possess'd, And never quite benumb'd by the world's sway? And I, I know not if to pray Still to be what I am, or yield, and be For most men in a brazen prison live, Where in the sun's hot eye, With heads bent o'er their toil, they languidly Fresh products of their barren labour fall Gloom settles slowly down over their breast; And while they try to stem 20 25 30 35 40 45 The waves of mournful thought by which they are prest, Death in their prison reaches them, Unfreed, having seen nothing, still unblest. And the rest, a few, Escape their prison, and depart There the freed prisoner, where'er his heart 50 55 Nor doth he know how there prevail, Trade-winds which cross it from eternity. The freshening wind and blackening waves. And then the tempest strikes him; and between The lightning-bursts is seen Only a driving wreck, 60 And the pale master on his spar-strewn deck 65 With anguish'd face and flying hair Grasping the rudder hard, Still bent to make some port he knows not where, Still standing for some false impossible shore. And sterner comes the roar 70 Of sea and wind, and through the deepening gloom Fainter and fainter wreck and helmsman loom, And he too disappears, and comes no more. Is there no life, but these alone? 75 Plainness and clearness without shadow of stain! Clearness divine! Ye heavens, whose pure dark regions have no sign Of languor, though so calm, and though so great Are yet untroubled and unpassionate ! 80 Who, though so noble, share in the world's toil, Who have long❜d deeply once, and long'd in vain ; Is left to each man still! M. ARNOLD. 86 91 |