on the surface of a streami into which a stone had been cast, but, alas! without the after restoration of the latter
Is broken-all that phantom-world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile,
Poor youth who scarcely darest lift up thine eyes- The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon The visions will return! And lo, he stays, And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Come trembling back, unite, and now once more The pool becomes a mirror.
Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the Author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had been originally as it were, given to him. σáμepov ädiov gow1: but the to-morrow is yet
KUBLA KHAN
IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree : Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war!
1 Altered in 1834 to aŭpiov adiov ḍow.
The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves,
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.
COMPOSED ON THE NIGHT AFTER HIS RECITATION OF Á POEM ON THE GROWTH OF AN INDIVIDUAL MIND
FRIEND of the wise! and teacher of the good! Into my heart have I received that lay More than historic, that prophetic lay Wherein (high theme by thee first sung aright) Of the foundations and the building up Of a Human Spirit thou hast dared to tell What may be told, to the understanding mind Revealable; and what within the mind By vital breathings secret as the soul Of vernal growth, oft quickens in the heart Thoughts all too deep for words !—
Theme hard as high! Of smiles spontaneous, and mysterious fears (The firstborn they of Reason and twin-birth), Of tides obedient to external force, And currents self-determined, as might seem, Or by some inner Power; of moments awful,
Now in thy inner life, and now abroad,
The light reflected, as a light bestowed
When Power streamed from thee, and thy soul received
Of Fancies fair, and milder hours of youth, Hyblaean murmurs of poetic thought Industrious in its joy, in vales and glens Native or outland, lakes and famous hills! Or on the lonely high-road, when the stars Were rising; or by secret mountain-streams, The guides and the companions of thy way!
Of more than Fancy, of the Social Sense Distending wide, and Man beloved as Man, Where France in all her towns lay vibrating Like some becalmed bark beneath the burst Of Heaven's immediate thunder, when no cloud Is visible, or shadow on the main.
For thou wert there, thine own brows garlanded, Amid the tremor of a realm aglow,
Amid a mighty nation jubilant,
When from the general Heart of Human kind Hope sprang forth like a full-born Deity!
-Of that dear Hope afflicted and struck down,
So summoned homeward, thenceforth calm and sure
From the dread watch-tower of man's absolute Self, With light unwaning on her eyes, to look Far on herself a glory to behold,
The Angel of the vision! Then (last strain) Of Duty, chosen laws controlling choice, Action and joy !-An Orphic song indeed, A song divine of high and passionate thoughts, To their own music chanted!
O great Bard! Ere yet that last strain dying awed the air, With steadfast eye I viewed thee in the choir Of ever-enduring men. The truly Great Have all one age, and from one visible space Shed influence! They, both in power and act, Are permanent, and Time is not with them, Save as it worketh for them, they in it, Nor less a sacred roll, than those of old, And to be placed, as they, with gradual fame Among the Archives of Mankind, thy work Makes audible a linked lay of Truth,
Of Truth profound a sweet continuous lay,
Not learnt, but native, her own natural notes! Ah as I listen'd with a heart forlorn, The pulses of my being beat anew: And even as life returns upon the drowned,
Life's joy rekindling roused a throng of pains- Keen pangs of Love, awakening as a babe
Turbulent, with an outcry in the heart; And fears self-willed, that shunned the eye of Hope; And Hope that scarce would know itself from Fear; Sense of past Youth, and Manhood come in vain; And Genius given, and knowledge won in vain; And all which I had culled in wood-walks wild, And all which patient toil had reared, and all, Commune with thee had opened out-but flowers Strewed on my corse, and borne upon my bier, In the same coffin, for the selfsame grave!
That way no more! and ill beseems it me, Who came a welcomer in herald's guise, Singing of Glory, and Futurity,
To wander back on such unhealthful road, Plucking the poisons of self-harm! And ill Such intertwine beseems triumphal wreaths Strew'd before thy advancing!
Sage Bard! impair the memory of that hour Of thy communion with my nobler mind By pity or grief, already felt too long!
Nor let my words import more blame than needs. The tumult rose and ceased: for peace is nigh Where wisdom's voice has found a listening heart. Amid the howl of more than wintry storms, The Halcyon hears the voice of vernal hours Already on the wing.
Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of Home Is sweetest! moments for their own sake hailed And more desired, more precious for thy song, In silence listening, like a devout child, My soul lay passive, by thy various strain Driven as in surges now beneath the stars, With momentary stars of my own birth, Fair constellated foam, still darting off Into the darkness; now a tranquil sea, Outspread and bright, yet swelling to the moon.
And when-O Friend! my comforter and guide! Strong in thyself, and powerful to give strength !- Thy long sustained Song finally closed, And thy deep voice had ceased-yet thou thyself Wert still before my eyes, and round us both That happy vision of beloved faces- Scarce conscious, and yet conscious of its close I sate, my being blended in one thought (Thought was it? or aspiration? or resolve ?) Absorbed, yet hanging still upon the sound- And when I rose, I found myself in prayer.
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
'Afin que cette application vous forçât de penser à autre chose; il n'y a en vérité de remède que celui-là et le temps.'
Lettre du Roi de Prusse à D'Alembert, Sept. 7, 1776.
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! ADA! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted,-not as now we part, But with a hope.-
Awaking with a start,
The waters heave around me; and on high
The winds lift up their voices: I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour 's gone by,
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
Once more upon the waters! yet once more! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar ! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
In my youth's summer I did sing of One, The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; Again I seize the theme, then but begun, And bear it with me, as the rushing wind Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind, O'er which all heavily the journeying years
Plod the last sands of life,-where not a flower appears.
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