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Chasing thy foes from nation unto nation
Like shadows: as if day had cloven the skies At dreaming midnight o'er the western wave,
Men started, staggering with a glad surprise, Under the lightnings of thine unfamiliar eyes.
Thou heaven of earth! what spells could pall thee
then, In ominous eclipse ? a thousand years, Bred from the slime of deep oppression's den,
Dyed all thy liquid light with blood and tears, Till thy sweet stars could weep
the stain away; How like Bacchanals of blood
Round France, the ghastly vintage, stood Destruction's sceptred slaves, and Folly's mitred
brood ! When one, like them, but mightier far than
they, The Anarch of thine own bewildered powers, Rose; armies mingled in obscure array, Like clouds with clouds, darkening the sacred
bowers Of serene heaven. He, by the past pursued,
Rests with those dead but unforgotten hours, Whose ghosts scare victor kings in their ances
England yet sleeps : was she not called of old ?
Spain calls her now, as with its thrilling thunder Vesuvius wakens Ætna, and the cold
Snow-crags by its reply are cloven in sunder ; O'er the lit waves every
From Pithecusa to Pelorus
Howls, and leaps, and glares in chorus ; They cry, Be dim, ye lamps of heaven suspended
o'er us! Her chains are threads of gold, she need but
smile And they dissolve; but Spain's were links of
steel, Till bit to dust by virtue's keenest file.
Twins of a single destiny! appeal
In the dim West; impress us from a seal,
Tomb of Arminius! render up thy dead
Till, like a standard from a watch-tower's staff, His soul may stream over the tyrant's head;
Thy victory shall be his epitaph,
His dead spirit lives in thee. Why do we fear or hope ? thou art already free! And thou, lost Paradise of this divine
And glorious world! thou flowery wilderness ! Thou island of eternity! thou shrine
Where desolation clothed with loveliness
Gather thy blood into thy heart; repress
xüi. 14 us || as, Forman conj.
Oh, that the free would stamp the impious name
Of King into the dust! or write it there, So that this blot upon the page of fame
Were as a serpent's path, which the light air Erases, and the flat sands close behind !
Ye the oracle have heard.
Lift the victory-flashing sword, And cut the snaky knots of this foul gordian
Into a mass, irrefragably firm,
The sound has poison in it, 'tis the sperm
Disdain not thou, at thine appointed term,
XVI Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would
kindle Such lamps within the dome of this dim world, That the pale name of Priest might shrink and
dwindle Into the hell from which it first was hurled, A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure;
Till human thoughts might kneel alone,
Each before the judgment-throne
From which they spring, as clouds of glim
mering dew From a white lake blot heaven's blue portraiture, Were stripped of their thin masks and various
hue And frowns and smiles and splendors not their
Till in the nakedness of false and true
Can be between the cradle and the grave Crowned him the King of Life. Oh, vain endeavor !
If on his own high will, a willing slave, He has enthroned the oppression and the oppressor.
What if earth can clothe and feed
Amplest millions at their need, And power in thought be as the tree within the
seed? Oh, what if Art, an ardent intercessor,
Driving on fiery wings to Nature's throne, Checks the great mother stooping to caress her
And cries: “Give me, thy child, dominion Over all height and depth ?” if Life can breed New wants, and wealth from those who toil and
groan Rend of thy gifts and hers a thousandfold for
Come thou, but lead out of the inmost cave
xvii. 9 Oh, Shelley, 1820 || Or, Mrs. Shelley, 18391.
Beckons the sun from the Eoan wave,
Wisdom. I hear the pennons of her car Self-moving, like cloud charioted by flame;
Comes she not, and come ye not;
Rulers of eternal thought, To judge with solemn truth life’s ill-apportioned lot? Blind Love, and equal Justice, and the Fame
Of what has been, the Hope of what will be ? O Liberty ! if such could be thy name Wert thou disjoined from these, or they from
thee If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought
By blood or tears, have not the wise and free Wept tears, and blood like tears ? The solemn
Paused, and the Spirit of that mighty singing
To its abyss was suddenly withdrawn;
Its path athwart the thunder-smoke of dawn,
On the heavy sounding plain,
When the bolt has pierced its brain; As summer clouds dissolve unburdened of their
As a far taper fades with fading night,
As a brief insect.dies with dying day, My song, its pinions disarrayed of might,
Drooped ; o'er it closed the echoes far away Of the great voice which did its flight sustain,
As waves which lately paved his watery way Hiss round a drowner's head in their tempes