The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 187

When torn is dear affection's tie, _25 Sinks the soft heart full low; It leaves without a parting sigh, All that these realms bestow.

JUNE, 1810.

6. SONG.

SORROW.

To me this world's a dreary blank, All hopes in life are gone and fled, My high strung energies are sank, And all my blissful hopes lie dead.--

The world once smiling to my view, _5 Showed scenes of endless bliss and joy; The world I then but little knew, Ah! little knew how pleasures cloy;

All then was jocund, all was gay, No thought beyond the present hour, _10 I danced in pleasure's fading ray, Fading alas! as drooping flower.

Nor do the heedless in the throng, One thought beyond the morrow give[,]

They court the feast, the dance, the song, _15 Nor think how short their time to live.

The heart that bears deep sorrow's trace, What earthly comfort can console, It drags a dull and lengthened pace, 'Till friendly death its woes enroll.-- _20

The sunken cheek, the humid eyes, E'en better than the tongue can tell; In whose sad breast deep sorrow lies, Where memory's rankling traces dwell.--

The rising tear, the stifled sigh, _25 A mind but ill at ease display, Like blackening clouds in stormy sky, Where fiercely vivid lightnings play.

Thus when souls' energy is dead, When sorrow dims each earthly view, _30 When every fairy hope is fled, We bid ungrateful world adieu.

AUGUST, 1810.

7. SONG.

HOPE.

And said I that all hope was fled, That sorrow and despair were mine, That each enthusiast wish was dead, Had sank beneath pale Misery's shrine.--

Seest thou the sunbeam's yellow glow, _5 That robes with liquid streams of light; Yon distant Mountain's craggy brow.

And shows the rocks so fair,--so bright--

Tis thus sweet expectation's ray, In softer view shows distant hours, _10 And portrays each succeeding day, As dressed in fairer, brighter flowers,--

The vermeil tinted flowers that blossom; Are frozen but to bud anew, Then sweet deceiver calm my bosom, _15 Although thy visions be not true,--

Yet true they are,--and I'll believe, Thy whisperings soft of love and peace, G.o.d never made thee to deceive, 'Tis sin that bade thy empire cease. _20

Yet though despair my life should gloom, Though horror should around me close, With those I love, beyond the tomb, Hope shows a balm for all my woes.

AUGUST, 1810.

8. SONG.

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN.

Oh! what is the gain of restless care, And what is ambitious treasure?

And what are the joys that the modish share, In their sickly haunts of pleasure?

My husband's repast with delight I spread, _5 What though 'tis but rustic fare, May each guardian angel protect his shed, May contentment and quiet be there.

And may I support my husband's years, May I soothe his dying pain, _10 And then may I dry my fast falling tears, And meet him in Heaven again.

JULY, 1810.

9. SONG.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couch the fell spear, If vengeance and death to thy bosom be dear, The dastard shall perish, death's torment shall prove, For fate and revenge are decreed from above.

Ah! where is the hero, whose nerves strung by youth, _5 Will defend the firm cause of justice and truth; With insatiate desire whose bosom shall swell, To give up the oppressor to judgement and h.e.l.l--

For him shall the fair one twine chaplets of bays, To him shall each warrior give merited praise, _10 And triumphant returned from the clangour of arms, He shall find his reward in his loved maiden's charms.

In ecstatic confusion the warrior shall sip, The kisses that glow on his love's dewy lip, And mutual, eternal, embraces shall prove, _15 The rewards of the brave are the transports of love.

OCTOBER, 1809.

10. THE IRISHMAN'S SONG.

The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light May sink into ne'er ending chaos and night, Our mansions must fall, and earth vanish away, But thy courage O Erin! may never decay.

See! the wide wasting ruin extends all around, _5 Our ancestors' dwellings lie sunk on the ground, Our foes ride in triumph throughout our domains, And our mightiest heroes lie stretched on the plains.

Ah! dead is the harp which was wont to give pleasure, Ah! sunk is our sweet country's rapturous measure, _10 But the war note is waked, and the clangour of spears, The dread yell of Sloghan yet sounds in our ears.

Ah! where are the heroes! triumphant in death, Convulsed they recline on the blood sprinkled heath, Or the yelling ghosts ride on the blast that sweeps by, _15 And 'my countrymen! vengeance!' incessantly cry.

OCTOBER, 1809.

11. SONG.

Fierce roars the midnight storm O'er the wild mountain, Dark clouds the night deform, Swift rolls the fountain--

See! o'er yon rocky height, _5 Dim mists are flying-- See by the moon's pale light, Poor Laura's dying!

Shame and remorse shall howl, By her false pillow-- _10 Fiercer than storms that roll, O'er the white billow;