DEDICATION TO "THE REVOLT OF ISLAM." So now my summer task is ended, Mary, And I return to thee, mine own heart's home; As to his queen some victor knight of faery, Earning bright spoils for her enchanted dome; Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame become A star among the stars of mortal night, If it indeed may cleave its natal gloom, Its doubtful promise thus I would unite [light. With thy beloved name, thou child of love and The toil which stole from thee so many an hour Is ended. And the fruit is at thy feet! No longer where the woods to frame a bower With interlaced branches mix and meet, Or where, with sound like many voices sweet, Water-falls leap among wild islands green, Which framed for my lone boat a lone retreat Of moss-grown trees and weeds, shall I be seen: But beside thee, where still my heart has ever been. Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, when first The clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. I do remember well the hour which burst So without shame, I spake :-"I will be wise, And from that hour did I with earnest thought and more Within me, till there came upon my mind Alas, that love should be a blight and snare Thou friend, whose presence on my wintery heart vain From his dim dungeon, and my spirit sprung To meet thee from the woes which had begirt it long. No more alone through the world's wilderness, Although I trod the paths of high intent, I journey'd now: no more companionless, Where solitude is like despair, I went.— There is the wisdom of a stern content, When poverty can blight the just and good, When infamy dares mock the innocent, And cherish'd friends turn with the multitude To trample: this was ours, and we unshaken stood! Now has descended a serener hour, And with inconstant fortune friends return; Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power, Which says:-let scorn be not repaid with scorn. And from thy side two gentle babes are born To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we Most fortunate beneath life's beaming morn; And these delights, and thou, have been to me The parents of the song I consecrate to thee. Is it that now my inexperienced fingers But strike the prelude to a loftier strain? Or must the lyre on which my spirit lingers Soon pause in silence ne'er to sound again, Though it might shake the anarch Custom's reign, And charm the minds of men to Truth's own sway, Holier than was Amphion's? it would fain Reply in hope--but I am worn away, [prey. And death and love are yet contending for their And what art thou? I know, but dare not speak: They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, [wild The shelter from thy sire, of an immortal name. One voice came forth from many a mighty spirit, Which was the echo of three thousand years; And the tumultuous world stood mute to hear it, As some lone man, who in a desert hears Truth's deathless voice pauses among mankind! [light. That burn from year to year with unextinguished FROM "ALASTOR, OR THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE." THERE was a poet, whose untimely tomb By solemn vision, and bright silver dream, To avarice or pride, their starry domes Frequent with crystal column, and clear shrines His wandering step, Obedient to high thoughts, has visited Athens, and Tyre, and Balbec, and the waste Memphis and Thebes, and whatsoeʼer of strange Or jasper tomb, or mutilated sphynx, Of more than man, where marble demons watch Of the world's youth; through the long burning day ALASTOR AND THE SWAN. AT length upon the lone Chorasmian shore His eyes pursued its flight." Thou hast a home, FROM "THE REVOLT OF ISLAM.” Ir was a temple, such as mortal hand "I was likest heaven, ere yet day's purple stream Like what may be conceived of this vast dome, When from the depths which thought can seldom pierce, Genius beholds it rise, his native home, Yet, nor in paintings light, or mightier verse, Winding among the lawny islands fair, A glimmering o'er the forms on every side, Sculptures like life and thought'; immovable, deepeyed. We came to a vast hall, whose glorious roof Was diamond, which had drunk the lightning's sheen In darkness, and now pour'd it through the woof Ten thousand columns in that quivering light A tale of passionate change, divinely taught, Which in their winged dance unconscious genii wrought. Beneath there sate on many a sapphire throne And ardent youths, and children bright and fair; And some had lyres, whose strings were intertwined With pale and clinging flames, which ever there Walk'd, faint yet thrilling sounds, that pierced the crystal air. One seat was vacant in the midst, a throne Rear'd on a pyramid, like sculptured flame Distinct, with circling steps, which rested on Their own deep fire-soon as the woman came Into that hall, she shriek'd the spirit's name And fell; and vanish'd slowly from the sight. Darkness arose from her dissolving frame, Which gathering fill'd that dome of woven light, Blotting its sphered stars with supernatural night. Then first, two glittering lights were seen to glide In circles on the amethystine floor, Small serpent eyes wailing from side to side, Like meteors on a river's grassy shore, They round each other roll'd, dilating more And more, then rose commingling into one, One clear and mighty planet, hanging o'er A cloud of deepest shadow, which was thrown Athwart the glowing steps, and the crystalline throne. The cloud which rested on that cone of flame Was cloven; beneath the planet sate a form, Fairer than tongue can speak, or thought may frame, The radiance of whose limbs rose-like and warm Flow'd forth, and did with softest light inform The shadowy dome, the sculptures and the state Of those assembled shapes-with clinging charm, Sinking upon their hearts and mine. He sate Majestic, yet most mild-calm, yet compassionate. HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. THE awful shadow of some unseen power Floats though unseen among us; visiting This various world with as inconstant wing As summer winds that creep from flower to flower; Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower, It visits with inconstant glance Each human heart and countenance; Like hues and harmonies of evening, Like clouds in starlight widely spread, Like memory of music fled, Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery. Spirit of beauty, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form, where art thou gone? Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate ? Ask why the sunlight not for ever Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain river: Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown; Why fear and dream and death and birth Cast on the daylight of this earth Such gloom, why man has such a scope For love and hate, despondency and hope? No voice from some sublimer world hath ever to sever, From all we hear and all we see, Doubt, chance, and mutability. Thy light alone, like mist o'er mountains driven, Through strings of some still instrument, 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. Thou messenger of sympathies That wax and wane in lover's eyes; Thou, that to human thought art nourishment, Like darkness to a dying flame! Depart not as thy shadow came: While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing I shriek'd, and clasp'd my hands in ecstasy! I vow'd 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 vision'd bowers Of studious zeal or loves delight Outwatch'd with me the envious night: They know that never joy illumed my brow, Unlink'd with hope that thou wouldst free This world from its dark slavery, That thou, Oh awful loveliness, Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express. The day becomes more solemn and serene When noon is past: there is a harmony In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been! Thus let thy power, which like the truth Of nature on my passive youth Descended, to my onward life supply Its calm, to one who worships thee, And every form containing thee, Whom, spirit fair, thy spells did bind To fear himself, and love all human kind. SONG. RARELY, rarely, comest thou, Many a day and night? Thou wilt come for pleasure. Pity, then, will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of delight! The fresh earth in new leaves drest, I love snow, and all the forms Of the radiant frost: I love waves, and winds, and storms, Which is nature's, and may be I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good; What difference? but thou dost possess Thou art love and life! Oh come, DEATH AND SLEEP. How wonderful is Death, Death and his brother Sleep! One, pale as yonder waning moon, With lips of lurid blue; The other, rosy as the morn When throned on ocean's wave, It blushes o'er the world : Yet both so passing wonderful! A PICTURE. How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear, Were discord to the speaking quietude [vault, That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon Studded with stars unutterably bright, [rolls, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur Seems like a canopy which love has spread Above the sleeping world. Yon gentle hills, Robed in a garment of untrodden snow; Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend, So stainless, that their white and glittering spires Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep, Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower So idly, that 'rapt fancy deemeth it A metaphor of peace ;-all form a scene Where musing solitude might love to lift Her soul above this sphere of earthliness; Where silence undisturb'd might watch alone, So cold, so bright, so still! The orb of day, In southern climes, o'er ocean's waveless field Sinks sweetly smiling: not the faintest breath Steals o'er the unruffled deep; the clouds of eve Reflect unmoved the lingering beam of day; And vesper's image on the western main Is beautifully still. To-morrow comes: Cloud upon cloud, in dark and deepening mass, Roll o'er the blackened waters; the deep roar Of distant thunder mutters awfully; Tempest unfolds its pinions o'er the gloom That shrouds the boiling surge; the pitiless fiend, With all his winds and lightnings, tracks his prey; The torn deep yawns-the vessel finds a grave Beneath its jagged gulf. Ah! whence yon glare That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause; The gray morn Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood, Each tree which guards its darkness from the day SPRING. THE blasts of autumn drive the winged seeds Over the earth,-next come the snows, and rain, And frost, and storms, which dreary winter leads Out of his Scythian cave, a savage train; Behold! Spring sweeps over the world again, Shedding soft dews from her ethereal wings; Flowers on the mountains, fruits over the plain, And music on the waves and woods she flings, And love on all that lives, and calm on lifeless things. O spring! of hope, and love, and youth, and glad The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest? Sister of joy! thou art the child who wearest Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet; Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet [sheet. Disturbing not the leaves which are her windingVirtue, and hope, and love, like light and heaven, Surround the world. We are their chosen slaves. Has not the whirlwind of our spirit driven Truth's deathless germs to thought's remotest caves? Lo, winter comes!—the grief of many graves, The frost of death, the tempest of the sword, The flood of tyranny, whose sanguine waves Stagnate like ice at faith, the enchanter's word, And bind all human hearts in its repose abhorr'd. The seeds are sleeping in the soil: meanwhile The tyrant peoples dungeons with his prey; Pale victims on the guarded scaffold smile Because they cannot speak; and, day by day, The moon of wasting science wanes away Among her stars, and in that darkness vast The sons of earth to their foul idols pray, And gray priests triumph, and like blight or blast A shade of selfish care o'er human looks is cast. This is the winter of the world ;-and here We die, even as the winds of autumn fade, Expiring in the frore and foggy air.- [made Behold! Spring comes, though we must pass, who The promise of its birth,-even as the shade Which from our death, as from a mountain, flings The future, a broad sunrise; thus array'd As with the plumes of overshadowing wings, From its dark gulf of chains, earth like an eagle springs, |