Marred his repose, the influxes of sense, With nature's ebb and flow, grew feebler still: An image, silent, cold, and motionless, As their own voiceless earth and vacant air. A fragile lute, on whose harmonious strings 645 650 635 660 665 Of youth, which night and time have quenched for ever, 670 Still, dark, and dry, and unremembered now. O, for Medea's wondrous alchemy, Which wheresoe'er it fell made the earth gleam From vernal blooms fresh fragrance! O, that God, 675 Which but one living man has drained, who now, Vessel of deathless wrath, a slave that feels No proud exemption in the blighting curse He bears, over the world wanders for ever, For life and power, even when his feeble hand Lifts still its solemn voice:-but thou art fled- 680 685 €90 695 700 Be shed-not even in thought. Nor, when those hues 705 Of that which is no more, or painting's woe Their own cold powers. Art and eloquence, 710 And all the shews o' the world are frail and vain To weep a loss that turns their lights to shade. 715 720 POEMS. ΔΑΚΡΥΣΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜΟΝ ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ. [TO COLERIDGE.] O! THERE are spirits of the air, As star-beams among twilight trees: Such lovely ministers to meet Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet. With mountain winds, and babbling springs, Of these inexplicable things Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice When they did answer thee; but they And thou hast sought in starry eyes Beams that were never meant for thine, To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles. Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted; The glory of the moon is dead; Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed; Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery. This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever Dark as it is, all change would aggravate. STANZAS.-APRIL, 1814. AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even: Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven. Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away! Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's ungentle mood: Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude. Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth. 10 The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head: The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet: But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, 15 Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace may meet. The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep: Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows ; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. 21 Thou in the grave shalt rest-yet till the phantoms flee Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile. MUTABILITY. WE are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings We rest. A dream has power to poison sleep; We rise. One wandering thought pollutes the day; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep; Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away: It is the same!-For, be it joy or sorrow, 5 11 15 |