The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 134

Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill Which severs those it should unite; Let us remain together still, Then it will be GOOD night.

2.

How can I call the lone night good, _5 Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?

Be it not said, thought, understood-- Then it will be--GOOD night.

3.

To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light, _10 The night is good; because, my love, They never SAY good-night.

NOTES: _1 Good-night? no, love! the night is ill Stacey ma.n.u.script.

_5 How were the night without thee good Stacey ma.n.u.script.

_9 The hearts that on each other beat Stacey ma.n.u.script.

_11 Have nights as good as they are sweet Stacey ma.n.u.script.

_12 But never SAY good night Stacey ma.n.u.script.

BUONA NOTTE.

[Published by Medwin, "The Angler in Wales, or Days and Nights of Sportsmen", 1834. The text is revised by Rossetti from the Bos...o...b.. ma.n.u.script.]

1.

'Buona notte, buona notte!'--Come mai La notte sara buona senza te?

Non dirmi buona notte,--che tu sai, La notte sa star buona da per se.

2.

Solinga, scura, cupa, senza speme, _5 La notte quando Lilla m'abbandona; Pei cuori chi si batton insieme Ogni notte, senza dirla, sara buona.

3.

Come male buona notte ci suona Con sospiri e parole interrotte!-- _10 Il modo di aver la notte buona E mai non di dir la buona notte.

NOTES: _2 sara]sia 1834.

_4 buona]bene 1834.

_9 Come]Quanto 1834.

ORPHEUS.

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Sh.e.l.ley", 1862; revised and enlarged by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.", 1870.]

A: Not far from hence. From yonder pointed hill, Crowned with a ring of oaks, you may behold A dark and barren field, through which there flows, Sluggish and black, a deep but narrow stream, Which the wind ripples not, and the fair moon _5 Gazes in vain, and finds no mirror there.

Follow the herbless banks of that strange brook Until you pause beside a darksome pond, The fountain of this rivulet, whose gush Cannot be seen, hid by a rayless night _10 That lives beneath the overhanging rock That shades the pool--an endless spring of gloom, Upon whose edge hovers the tender light, Trembling to mingle with its paramour,-- But, as Syrinx fled Pan, so night flies day, _15 Or, with most sullen and regardless hate, Refuses stern her heaven-born embrace.

On one side of this jagged and shapeless hill There is a cave, from which there eddies up A pale mist, like aereal gossamer, _20 Whose breath destroys all life--awhile it veils The rock--then, scattered by the wind, it flies Along the stream, or lingers on the clefts, Killing the sleepy worms, if aught bide there.

Upon the beetling edge of that dark rock _25 There stands a group of cypresses; not such As, with a graceful spire and stirring life, Pierce the pure heaven of your native vale, Whose branches the air plays among, but not Disturbs, fearing to spoil their solemn grace; _30 But blasted and all wearily they stand, One to another clinging; their weak boughs Sigh as the wind buffets them, and they shake Beneath its blasts--a weatherbeaten crew!

CHORUS: What wondrous sound is that, mournful and faint, _35 But more melodious than the murmuring wind Which through the columns of a temple glides?

A: It is the wandering voice of Orpheus' lyre, Borne by the winds, who sigh that their rude king Hurries them fast from these air-feeding notes; _40 But in their speed they bear along with them The waning sound, scattering it like dew Upon the startled sense.

CHORUS: Does he still sing?

Methought he rashly cast away his harp When he had lost Eurydice.

A: Ah, no! _45 Awhile he paused. As a poor hunted stag A moment shudders on the fearful brink Of a swift stream--the cruel hounds press on With deafening yell, the arrows glance and wound,-- He plunges in: so Orpheus, seized and torn _50 By the sharp fangs of an insatiate grief, Maenad-like waved his lyre in the bright air, And wildly shrieked 'Where she is, it is dark!'

And then he struck from forth the strings a sound Of deep and fearful melody. Alas! _55 In times long past, when fair Eurydice With her bright eyes sat listening by his side, He gently sang of high and heavenly themes.

As in a brook, fretted with little waves By the light airs of spring--each riplet makes _60 A many-sided mirror for the sun, While it flows musically through green banks, Ceaseless and pauseless, ever clear and fresh, So flowed his song, reflecting the deep joy And tender love that fed those sweetest notes, _65 The heavenly offspring of ambrosial food.

But that is past. Returning from drear h.e.l.l, He chose a lonely seat of unhewn stone, Blackened with lichens, on a herbless plain.

Then from the deep and overflowing spring _70 Of his eternal ever-moving grief There rose to Heaven a sound of angry song.

'Tis as a mighty cataract that parts Two sister rocks with waters swift and strong, _75 And casts itself with horrid roar and din Adown a steep; from a perennial source It ever flows and falls, and breaks the air With loud and fierce, but most harmonious roar, And as it falls casts up a vaporous spray Which the sun clothes in hues of Iris light. _80 Thus the tempestuous torrent of his grief Is clothed in sweetest sounds and varying words Of poesy. Unlike all human works, It never slackens, and through every change Wisdom and beauty and the power divine _85 Of mighty poesy together dwell, Mingling in sweet accord. As I have seen A fierce south blast tear through the darkened sky, Driving along a rack of winged clouds, Which may not pause, but ever hurry on, _90 As their wild shepherd wills them, while the stars, Twinkling and dim, peep from between the plumes.

Anon the sky is cleared, and the high dome Of serene Heaven, starred with fiery flowers, Shuts in the shaken earth; or the still moon _95 Swiftly, yet gracefully, begins her walk, Rising all bright behind the eastern hills.

I talk of moon, and wind, and stars, and not Of song; but, would I echo his high song, Nature must lend me words ne'er used before, _100 Or I must borrow from her perfect works, To picture forth his perfect attributes.

He does no longer sit upon his throne Of rock upon a desert herbless plain, For the evergreen and knotted ilexes, _105 And cypresses that seldom wave their boughs, And sea-green olives with their grateful fruit, And elms dragging along the twisted vines, Which drop their berries as they follow fast, And blackthorn bushes with their infant race _110 Of blushing rose-blooms; beeches, to lovers dear, And weeping willow trees; all swift or slow, As their huge boughs or lighter dress permit, Have circled in his throne, and Earth herself Has sent from her maternal breast a growth _115 Of starlike flowers and herbs of odour sweet, To pave the temple that his poesy Has framed, while near his feet grim lions couch, And kids, fearless from love, creep near his lair.

Even the blind worms seem to feel the sound. _120 The birds are silent, hanging down their heads, Perched on the lowest branches of the trees; Not even the nightingale intrudes a note In rivalry, but all entranced she listens.

NOTES: _16, _17, _24 1870 only.

_45-_55 Ah, no!... melody 1870 only.

_66 1870 only.

_112 trees 1870; too 1862.

_113 huge 1870; long 1862.

_116 starlike 1870; starry 1862. odour 1862; odours 1870.

FIORDISPINA.

[Published in part (lines 11-30) by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824; in full (from the Bos...o...b.. ma.n.u.script) by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Sh.e.l.ley", 1862.]

The season was the childhood of sweet June, Whose sunny hours from morning until noon Went creeping through the day with silent feet, Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet; Like the long years of blest Eternity _5 Never to be developed. Joy to thee, Fiordispina and thy Cosimo, For thou the wonders of the depth canst know Of this unfathomable flood of hours, Sparkling beneath the heaven which embowers-- _10

They were two cousins, almost like to twins, Except that from the catalogue of sins Nature had rased their love--which could not be But by dissevering their nativity.

And so they grew together like two flowers _15 Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers Lull or awaken in their purple prime, Which the same hand will gather--the same clime Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see All those who love--and who e'er loved like thee, _20 Fiordispina? Scarcely Cosimo, Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow The ardours of a vision which obscure The very idol of its portraiture.

He faints, dissolved into a sea of love; _25 But thou art as a planet sphered above; But thou art Love itself--ruling the motion Of his subjected spirit: such emotion Must end in sin and sorrow, if sweet May Had not brought forth this morn--your wedding-day. _30

'Lie there; sleep awhile in your own dew, Ye faint-eyed children of the ... Hours,'

Fiordispina said, and threw the flowers Which she had from the breathing--

A table near of polished porphyry. _35 They seemed to wear a beauty from the eye That looked on them--a fragrance from the touch Whose warmth ... checked their life; a light such As sleepers wear, lulled by the voice they love, which did reprove _40 The childish pity that she felt for them, And a ... remorse that from their stem She had divided such fair shapes ... made A feeling in the ... which was a shade Of gentle beauty on the flowers: there lay _45 All gems that make the earth's dark bosom gay.

... rods of myrtle-buds and lemon-blooms, And that leaf tinted lightly which a.s.sumes The livery of unremembered snow-- Violets whose eyes have drunk-- _50