Why fear and dream and death and birth Such gloom,-why man has such a scope III. No voice from some sublimer world hath ever To sage or poet these responses given Therefore the names of Demon, Ghost, and Heaven, Remain the records of their vain endeavour, Frail spells-whose uttered charm might not avail to sever, Thy light alone-like mist o'er mountains driven, Thro' strings of some still instrument, Or moonlight on a midnight stream, Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream. IV. Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds depart Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart. That wax and wane in lovers' eyes- Like darkness to a dying flame! Depart not as thy shadow came, Depart not-lest the grave should be, Like life and fear, a dark reality. While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed, When musing deeply on the lot Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing I shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy! VI. I vowed that I would dedicate my powers To thee and thine-have I not kept the vow? With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now I call the phantoms of a thousand hours Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers Of studious zeal or love's delight Outwatched with me the envious night- That thou-O awful LOVELINESS, VII. The day becomes more solemn and serene Which thro' the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been! 1816.] STANZAS. WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES. I. The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Like many a voice of one delight, II. I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple seaweeds strown; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion,, How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. III. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, And walked with inward glory crowned- Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;— To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. IV. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; Which I have borne and yet must bear, V. Some might lament that I were cold, They might lament-for I am one Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. ENGLAND IN 1819. An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,— But leech-like to their fainting country cling, Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield ODE TO THE WEST WIND.2 I. O, wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 1 That this fierce scourging does not represent a passing mood or merely personal feeling, is evidenced by such poems as "The Mask of Anarchy," "Swellfoot the Tyrant," Byron's "Irish Avatar," and many passages in Byron's longer poems. 2 Composed in the wood near Florence, after a tempestuous day in the autumn. |