Dost thou faint, mighty Titan? laugh thee to scorn. We Dost thou boast the clear knowledge thou waken'dst for man? Then was kindled within him a thirst which outran Those perishing waters; a thirst of fierce fever, Hope, love, doubt, desire, which consume him for ever. One came forth of gentle worth Withering up truth, peace, and pity. To a glow-worm's lamp have dwindled: Of the good Titan, as storms tear the deep, And beasts hear the sea moan in inland caves. Darest thou observe how the fiends torture him? Panthea. Alas! I looked forth twice, but will no more. Ione. What didst thou see? Panthea. A woful sight: a youth With patient looks nailed to a crucifix. Ione. What next? Panthea. The heaven around, the earth below Was peopled with thick shapes of human death, All horrible, and wrought by human hands, And some appeared the work of human hearts, For men were slowly killed by frowns and smiles: And other sights too live Were wandering by. worse fear foul to speak and Let us not tempt Travelled o'er by dying gleams; Be it bright as all between As the fish within the wave, Ione. More yet come, one by one: the air around them Looks radiant as the air around a star. First Spirit On a battle-trumpet's blast Second Spirit A rainbow's arch stood on the sea, His plank, then plunged aside to die. Third Spirit I sate beside a sage's bed, Which had kindled long ago On a poet's lips I slept In the sound his breathing kept; Of shapes that haunt thought's wilder nesses. He will watch from dawn to gloom Ione Behold'st thou not two shapes from the east and west Come, as two doves to one beloved nest, Twin nurslings of the all-sustaining air On swift still wings glide down the atmosphere? And, hark! their sweet, sad voices! 'tis despair Mingled with love and then dissolved in sound. Panthea. Canst thou speak, sister? all my words are drowned. Ione. Their beauty gives me voice. See how they float On their sustaining wings of skiey grain, Orange and azure deepening into gold: Their soft smiles light the air like a star's fire. Chorus of Spirits Hast thou beheld the form of love? Fifth Spirit As over wide dominions I sped, like some swift cloud that wings the wide air's wildernesses, That planet-crested shape swept by on lightning-braided pinions, Scattering the liquid joy of life from his ambrosial tresses: His footsteps paved the world with light; but as I past'twas fading, And hollow Ruin yawned behind: great sages bound in madness, And headless patriots, and pale youths who perished, unupbraiding, Gleamed in the night. I wandered o'er, till thou, O King of sadness, Turned by thy smile the worst I saw to recollected gladness. Sixth Spirit Ah, sister! Desolation is a delicate thing: It walks not on the earth, it floats not on the air, But treads with killing footstep, and fans with silent wing The tender hopes which in their hearts the best and gentlest bear; Who, soothed to false repose by the fanning plumes above And the music-stirring motion of its soft and busy feet, Dream visions of aërial joy, and call the monster, Love, And wake, and find the shadow Pain, as he whom now we greet. Chorus Tho' Ruin now Love's shadow be, On Death's white and winged steed Trampling down both flower and weed, Man and beast, and foul and fair, Like a tempest thro' the air; Thou shalt quell this horseman grim, Woundless though in heart or limb. Promethens. Spirits! how know ye this shall be ? Chorus In the atmosphere we breathe, As buds grow red when the snow-storms flee, From spring gathering up beneath, Whose mild winds shake the elder brake, And the wandering herdsmen know That the white-thorn soon will blow: Wisdom, Justice, Love, and Peace, When they struggle to increase, Are to us as soft winds be To shepherd boys, the prophecy Which begins and ends in thee. Ione. Where are the Spirits fled? Panthea. Only a sense Remains of them, like the omnipotence Of music, when the inspired voice and lute The roseate sunlight quivers: hear I not The Eolian music of her sea-green plumes Winnowing the crimson dawn? [PANTHEA enters. I feel, I see Those eyes which burn thro' smiles that fade in tears, Like stars half quenched in mists of silver dew. Beloved and most beautiful, who wearest The shadow of that soul by which I live, How late thou art! the sphered sun had climbed The sea my heart was sick with hope, before The printless air felt thy belated plumes. Panthea. Pardon, great Sister! but my wings were faint With the delight of a remembered dream, As are the noontide plumes of summer winds |