Tortured by storms to shapes as rude And soothed, by every azure breath To harmonies and hues beneath, Now all the tree-tops lay asleep Like green waves on the sea, As still as in the silent deep The ocean woods may be. IV. How calm it was!-The silence there That even the busy woodpecker Made stiller with her sound The inviolable quietness; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grew. There seemed, from the remotest seat To the soft flower beneath our feet, A spirit interfused around, To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature's strife. And still, I felt, the centre of The magic circle there Was one fair form that filled with love The lifeless atmosphere. V. We paused beside the pools that lie Each seemed as 'twere a little sky A firmament of purple light Which in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of night, And purer than the day— In which the lovely forests grew 2 February 1822. As in the upper air, More perfect both in shape and hue There lay the glade, the neighbouring lawn, Sweet views which in our world above Were imaged in the water's love And all was interfused beneath An atmosphere without a breath, Like one beloved, the scene had lent Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth expressed; Until an envious wind crept by,— Which from the mind's too faithful eye Though thou art ever fair and kind, Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE. Ariel to Miranda.-Take This slave of Music, for the sake And teach it all the harmony In which thou canst, and only thou, And, too intense, is turned to pain. Poor Ariel sends this silent token When you die, the silent Moon Is not sadder in her cell When you live again on earth,— Your course of love, and Ariel still Has tracked your steps and served your will. Now, in humbler happier lot, This is all remembered not; And now, alas! the poor Sprite is From you he only dares to crave, The artist who this idol wrought, And some of songs in July bowers, Oh that such our death may be !- To live in happier form again: From which, beneath heaven's fairest star, The melodies of birds and bees, The murmuring of summer seas, A DIRGE. ROUGH wind that moanest loud Wild wind when sullen cloud Deep caves and dreary main, Wail for the world's wrong! TO JANE. THE keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among them, Dear Jane: The guitar was tinkling, But the notes were not sweet till you sung them As the moon's soft splendour O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven Is thrown, So your voice most tender To the strings without soul had then given Its own. The stars will awaken, Though the moon sleep a full hour later, No leaf will be shaken Whilst the dews of your melody scatter Though the sound overpowers. Sing again, with your dear voice revealing A tone Of some world far from ours Where music and moonlight and feeling Are one. VOL. II. T |