Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both Thou Adonais: wan they stand and sere Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears; odor, to sighing ruth. Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale, Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain; Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain, Soaring and screaming round her empty nest, As Albion wails for thee; the curse of Cain Light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest! Ah woe is me! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving Diffuse themselves; and spend in love's delight, The beauty and the joy of their renewed might. The leprous corpse touched by this spirit tender Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath; Like incarnations of the stars, when splendor Is changed to fragrance, they illumine death And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath; Nought we know, dies. Shall that alone which knows Be as a sword consumed before the sheath By sightless lightning?-th' intense atom glows A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose. Alas! that all we loved of him should be But for our grief, as if it had not been, And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me! Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene The actors or spectators? Great and All that I am to be as thou now art! But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart! O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart Dare the unpastured dragon in his den? Defenceless as thou wert, oh where was then Wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear? Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when Thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere, The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer. "The herded wolves, bold only to pursue; The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead; The vultures to the conqueror's banner true Who feed where Desolation first has fed, And whose wings rain contagion ;—how they fled, When like Apollo, from his golden bow, The Pythian of the age one arrow sped And smiled!-The spoilers tempt no second blow, They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low. "The sun comes forth, and many rep tiles spawn; He sets, and each ephemeral insect then It sinks, the swarms that dimmed or shared its light Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night." Thus ceased she: and the mountain shepherds came, Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent; The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame song The Stranger's mien, and murmured: "Who art thou?" He answered not, but with a sudden hand Made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, Which was like Cain's or Christ's-oh, that it should be so! What softer voice is hushed over the dead? Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown? What form leans sadly o'er the white deathbed, In mockery of monumental stone, The heavy heart heaving without a moan? If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise, Taught, soothed, loved, honored the departed one; Let me not vex, with inharmonious But what was howling in one breast alone, Silent with expectation of the song, Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung. Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame! Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me, Thou noteless blot on a remembered name! But be thyself, and know thyself to be! Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee; Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt-as now.1 1 See the note on page 254. Nor let us weep that our delight is fled Far from these carrion kites that scream below; He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead; Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal, which must glow Through time and change, unquenchably the same, Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame. Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep He hath awakened from the dream of life "Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings.-We decay He has outsoared the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall de light, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain ; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. He lives, he wakes-'tis Death is dead, not he; Mourn not for Adonais,-Thou young Dawn [thee Turn all thy dew to splendor, for from The spirit thou lamentest is not gone; Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan! Cease ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown Rose pale, his solemn agony had not Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought And as he fell and as he lived and loved Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot, Arose; and Lucan, by his death approved: Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved. And many more, whose names on Earth are dark But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. "Thou art become as one of us," they cry, 66 'It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty, Silent alone amid an Heaven of Song. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!" Who mourns for Adonais? Oh come forth Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright. Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth; As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might Satiate the void circumference: then shrink Even to a point within our day and night; And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink When hope has kindled hope and lured thee to the brink. Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath, A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of death Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath. Here pause these graves are all too young as yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned Its charge to each; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find [home, Thine own well full, if thou returnest Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is, why fear we to become? The One remains, the many change and |