« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
Whilst its mother's is lustreless: "Smile not, my child,
But sleep deeply and sweetly, and so be beguiled
Will it rock thee not, infant? 'Tis beating with dread!
Alas! what is life, what is death, what are we, That when the ship sinks we no longer may be? What! to see thee no more, and to feel thee no more?
To be after life what we have been before?
Not to touch those sweet hands, not to look on those eyes,
Those lips, and that hair, all that smiling disguise Thou yet wearest, sweet spirit, which I, day by day,
Have so long called my child, but which now fades
Like a rainbow, and I the fallen shower?" Lo! the ship
Is settling, it topples, the leeward ports dip;
Stand rigid with horror; a loud, long, hoarse cry
Rebounding, like thunder, from crag to cave, 87 all the, Harvard MS.
Mixed with the clash of the lashing rain,
Of an elephant, bursts through the brakes of the waste.
Black as a cormorant the screaming blast,
Which, based on the sea and to heaven upcurled, Like columns and walls did surround and sustain The dome of the tempest; it rent them in twain, As a flood rends its barriers of mountainous crag; And the dense clouds in many a ruin and rag, Like the stones of a temple ere earthquake has passed,
Like the dust of its fall, on the whirlwind are cast;
They are scattered like foam on the torrent; and where
The wind has burst out through the chasm, from the air
Of clear morning the beams of the sunrise flow in,
And that breach in the tempest is widening away,
122 cloud, Harvard MS., Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || clouds, Shelley,
And the fierce winds are sinking with weary
Lulled by the motion and murmurings
And the long glassy heave of the rocking sea,
The deep calm of blue heaven dilating above,
Beneath the clear surface reflecting it slide
Round sea-birds and wrecks, paved with heaven's azure smile,
The wide world of waters is vibrating. Where Is the ship? On the verge of the wave where it lay
One tiger is mingled in ghastly affray
With a sea-snake. The foam and the smoke of the battle
Stain the clear air with sunbows. The jar, and the rattle
Of solid bones crushed by the infinite stress
Where the gripe of the tiger has wounded the veins,
Swollen with rage, strength, and effort; the whirl and the splash
As of some hideous engine whose brazen teeth smash
The thin winds and soft waves into thunder; the
And hissings, crawl fast o'er the smooth oceanstreams,
Each sound like a centipede. Near this commo
A blue shark is hanging within the blue ocean,
Urge on the keen keel, — the brine foams. At the
Three marksmen stand levelling. Hot bullets burn
In the breast of the tiger, which yet bears him on
Love, Beauty, are mixed in the atmosphere,
Like a meteor of light o'er the waters! her child Is yet smiling, and playing, and murmuring; so smiled
160 impetuously, Shelley, 1820 || convulsively, Harvard MS.
The false deep ere the storm. Like a sister and
The child and the ocean still smile on each other, Whilst
I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
Over earth and ocean with gentle motion,
The Cloud. Published with Prometheus Unbound.