The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 79

If day should part us night will mend division _175 And if sleep parts us--we will meet in vision And if life parts us--we will mix in death Yielding our mite [?] of unreluctant breath Death cannot part us--we must meet again In all in nothing in delight in pain: _180 How, why or when or where--it matters not So that we share an undivided lot...

And we will move possessing and possessed Wherever beauty on the earth's bare [?] breast Lies like the shadow of thy soul--till we _185 Become one being with the world we see...

NOTES: _52-_53 afraid The cj. A.C. Bradley.

_54 And as cj. Rossetti, A.C. Bradley.

_61 stone... cj. A.C. Bradley.

_155 them]trip or troop cj. A.C. Bradley.

_157 in]as cj. A.C. Bradley.

ADONAIS.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS, AUTHOR OF ENDYMION, HYPERION, ETC.

Aster prin men elampes eni zooisin Eoos nun de thanon lampeis Esperos en phthimenois.--PLATO.

["Adonais" was composed at Pisa during the early days of June, 1821, and printed, with the author's name, at Pisa, 'with the types of Didot,' by July 13, 1821. Part of the impression was sent to the brothers Ollier for sale in London. An exact reprint of this Pisa edition (a few typographical errors only being corrected) was issued in 1829 by Gee & Bridges, Cambridge, at the instance of Arthur Hallam and Richard Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton). The poem was included in Galignani's edition of "Coleridge, Sh.e.l.ley and Keats", Paris, 1829, and by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley in the "Poetical Works" of 1839. Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley's text presents three important variations from that of the editio princeps. In 1876 an edition of the "Adonais", with Introduction and Notes, was printed for private circulation by Mr. H. Buxton Forman, C.B. Ten years later a reprint 'in exact facsimile' of the Pisa edition was edited with a Bibliographical Introduction by Mr. T.J.

Wise ("Sh.e.l.ley Society Publications", 2nd Series, No. 1, Reeves & Turner, London, 1886). Our text is that of the editio princeps, Pisa, 1821, modified by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley's text of 1839. The readings of the editio princeps, wherever superseded, are recorded in the footnotes.

The Editor's Notes at the end of the Volume 3 should be consulted.]

PREFACE.

Pharmakon elthe, Bion, poti son stoma, pharmakon eides.

pos ten tois cheilessi potesrame, kouk eglukanthe; tis de Brotos tossouton anameros, e kerasai toi, e dounai laleonti to pharmakon; ekphugen odan.

--MOSCHUS, EPITAPH. BION.

It is my intention to subjoin to the London edition of this poem a criticism upon the claims of its lamented object to be cla.s.sed among the writers of the highest genius who have adorned our age. My known repugnance to the narrow principles of taste on which several of his earlier compositions were modelled prove at least that I am an impartial judge. I consider the fragment of "Hyperion" as second to nothing that was ever produced by a writer of the same years.

John Keats died at Rome of a consumption, in his twenty-fourth year, on the -- of -- 1821; and was buried in the romantic and lonely cemetery of the Protestants in that city, under the pyramid which is the tomb of Cestius, and the ma.s.sy walls and towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed the circuit of ancient Rome. The cemetery is an open s.p.a.ce among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

The genius of the lamented person to whose memory I have dedicated these unworthy verses was not less delicate and fragile than it was beautiful; and where cankerworms abound, what wonder if its young flower was blighted in the bud? The savage criticism on his "Endymion", which appeared in the "Quarterly Review", produced the most violent effect on his susceptible mind; the agitation thus originated ended in the rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs; a rapid consumption ensued, and the succeeding acknowledgements from more candid critics of the true greatness of his powers were ineffectual to heal the wound thus wantonly inflicted.

It may be well said that these wretched men know not what they do.

They scatter their insults and their slanders without heed as to whether the poisoned shaft lights on a heart made callous by many blows or one like Keats's composed of more penetrable stuff. One of their a.s.sociates is, to my knowledge, a most base and unprincipled calumniator. As to "Endymion", was it a poem, whatever might be its defects, to be treated contemptuously by those who had celebrated, with various degrees of complacency and panegyric, "Paris", and "Woman", and a "Syrian Tale", and Mrs. Lefanu, and Mr. Barrett, and Mr. Howard Payne, and a long list of the ill.u.s.trious obscure? Are these the men who in their venal good nature presumed to draw a parallel between the Reverend Mr. Milman and Lord Byron? What gnat did they strain at here, after having swallowed all those camels? Against what woman taken in adultery dares the foremost of these literary prost.i.tutes to cast his opprobrious stone? Miserable man! you, one of the meanest, have wantonly defaced one of the n.o.blest specimens of the workmans.h.i.+p of G.o.d. Nor shall it be your excuse, that, murderer as you are, you have spoken daggers, but used none.

The circ.u.mstances of the closing scene of poor Keats's life were not made known to me until the "Elegy" was ready for the press. I am given to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received from the criticism of "Endymion" was exasperated by the bitter sense of unrequited benefits; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from the stage of life, no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise of his genius, than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his care. He was accompanied to Rome, and attended in his last illness by Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been informed, 'almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend.' Had I known these circ.u.mstances before the completion of my poem, I should have been tempted to add my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own motives. Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from 'such stuff as dreams are made of.' His conduct is a golden augury of the success of his future career--may the unextinguished Spirit of his ill.u.s.trious friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead against Oblivion for his name!

ADONAIS.

I weep for Adonais--he is dead!

O, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, _5 And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me Died Adonais; till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!"

2.

Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, _10 When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies In darkness? where was lorn Urania When Adonais died? With veiled eyes, 'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise She sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath, _15 Rekindled all the fading melodies, With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of Death.

3.

Oh, weep for Adonais--he is dead!

Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep! _20 Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep; For he is gone, where all things wise and fair Descend;--oh, dream not that the amorous Deep _25 Will yet restore him to the vital air; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

4.

Most musical of mourners, weep again!

Lament anew, Urania!--He died, Who was the Sire of an immortal strain, _30 Blind, old and lonely, when his country's pride, The priest, the slave, and the liberticide, Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite Of l.u.s.t and blood; he went, unterrified, Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite _35 Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light.

5.

Most musical of mourners, weep anew!

Not all to that bright station dared to climb; And happier they their happiness who knew, Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time _40 In which suns perished; others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or G.o.d, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; And some yet live, treading the th.o.r.n.y road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode. _45

6.

But now, thy youngest, dearest one, has perished-- The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished, And fed with true-love tears, instead of dew; Most musical of mourners, weep anew! _50 Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last, The bloom, whose petals nipped before they blew Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; The broken lily lies--the storm is overpast.

7.

To that high Capital, where kingly Death _55 Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came; and bought, with price of purest breath, A grave among the eternal.--Come away!

Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still _60 He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay; Awake him not! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

8.

He will awake no more, oh, never more!-- Within the twilight chamber spreads apace _65 The shadow of white Death, and at the door Invisible Corruption waits to trace His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface _70 So fair a prey, till darkness and the law Of change, shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

9.

Oh, weep for Adonais!--The quick Dreams, The pa.s.sion-winged Ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams _75 Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music, wander not,-- Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain, But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, _80 They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.

10.

And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head, And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries; 'Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead; See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, _85 Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies A tear some Dream has loosened from his brain.'

Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise!

She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain. _90

11.

One from a lucid urn of starry dew Washed his light limbs as if embalming them; Another clipped her profuse locks, and threw The wreath upon him, like an anadem, Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem; _95 Another in her wilful grief would break Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem A greater loss with one which was more weak; And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek.

12.

Another Splendour on his mouth alit, _100 That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit, And pa.s.s into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music: the damp death Quenched its caress upon his icy lips; _105 And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips, It flushed through his pale limbs, and pa.s.sed to its eclipse.

13.

And others came...Desires and Adorations, Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies, _110 Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies; And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs, And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, _115 Came in slow pomp;--the moving pomp might seem Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.

14.

All he had loved, and moulded into thought, From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound, Lamented Adonais. Morning sought _120 Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound, Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, Dimmed the aereal eyes that kindle day; Afar the melancholy thunder moaned, Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, _125 And the wild Winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.

15.

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief with his remembered lay, And will no more reply to winds or fountains, Or amorous birds perched on the young green spray, _130 Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear Than those for whose disdain she pined away Into a shadow of all sounds:--a drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear. _135