XLIV. The splendours of the firmament of time And love and life contend in it for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there, And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. XLV. The inheritors of unfulfilled renown Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought Far in the unapparent. Chatterton Rose pale, his solemn agony had not Yet faded from him: Sidney, as he fought, And as he fell, and as he lived and loved, Sublimely mild, a spirit without spot, Arose; and Lucan, by his death approved ;— Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved. XLVI. And many more, whose names on earth are dark, So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. 'Thou art become as one of us,' they cry; 'It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty, Silent alone amid an heaven of song. Assume thy wingèd throne, thou Vesper of our throng!' XLVII. Who mourns for Adonais? Oh come forth, Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might Satiate the void circumference: then shrink Even to a point within our day and night; And keep thy heart light, lest it make thee sink, When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to the brink. XLVIII. Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre, Oh not of him, but of our joy. 'Tis nought Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; XLIX. Go thou to Rome,―at once the paradise, And where its wrecks like shattered mountains rise, Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access, Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead L. And grey walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in heaven's smile their camp of death, Welcoming him we lose with scare-extinguished breath. LI. Here pause. These graves are all too young as yet Here on one fountain of a mourning mind, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is why fear we to become? LII. The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! Follow where all is fled!-Rome's azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. LIII. Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my heart? And man and woman; and what still is dear The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near: 'Tis Adonais calls! Oh hasten thither! No more let life divide what death can join together. LIV. That light whose smile kindles the universe, That beauty in which all things work and move, That benediction which the eclipsing curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which, through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. LV. The breath whose might I have invoked in song Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. TO NIGHT. (1821.) I. Swiftly walk over the western wave, Out of the misty eastern cave Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear II. Wrap thy form in a mantle grey, Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; III. When I arose and saw the dawn, When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. IV. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 'Shall I nestle near thy side? V. Death will come when thou art dead, Sleep will come when thou art fled. (1821.) ΤΟ Music, when soft voices die, Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead, And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, (1821.) |