The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 23

For none than he a purer heart could have, Or that loved good more for itself alone; Of nought in heaven or earth was he the slave.

What sorrow, strange, and shadowy, and unknown, Sent him, a hopeless wanderer, through mankind?-- _20 If with a human sadness he did groan,

He had a gentle yet aspiring mind; Just, innocent, with varied learning fed; And such a glorious consolation find

In others' joy, when all their own is dead: _25 He loved, and laboured for his kind in grief, And yet, unlike all others, it is said

That from such toil he never found relief.

Although a child of fortune and of power, Of an ancestral name the orphan chief, _30

His soul had wedded Wisdom, and her dower Is love and justice, clothed in which he sate Apart from men, as in a lonely tower,

Pitying the tumult of their dark estate.-- Yet even in youth did he not e'er abuse _35 The strength of wealth or thought, to consecrate

Those false opinions which the harsh rich use To blind the world they famish for their pride; Nor did he hold from any man his dues,

But, like a steward in honest dealings tried, _40 With those who toiled and wept, the poor and wise, His riches and his cares he did divide.

Fearless he was, and scorning all disguise, What he dared do or think, though men might start, He spoke with mild yet unaverted eyes; _45

Liberal he was of soul, and frank of heart, And to his many friends--all loved him well-- Whate'er he knew or felt he would impart,

If words he found those inmost thoughts to tell; If not, he smiled or wept; and his weak foes _50 He neither spurned nor hated--though with fell

And mortal hate their thousand voices rose, They pa.s.sed like aimless arrows from his ear-- Nor did his heart or mind its portal close

To those, or them, or any, whom life's sphere _55 May comprehend within its wide array.

What sadness made that vernal spirit sere?--

He knew not. Though his life, day after day, Was failing like an unreplenished stream, Though in his eyes a cloud and burthen lay, _60

Through which his soul, like Vesper's serene beam Piercing the chasms of ever rising clouds, Shone, softly burning; though his lips did seem

Like reeds which quiver in impetuous floods; And through his sleep, and o'er each waking hour, _65 Thoughts after thoughts, unresting mult.i.tudes,

Were driven within him by some secret power, Which bade them blaze, and live, and roll afar, Like lights and sounds, from haunted tower to tower

O'er castled mountains borne, when tempest's war _70 Is levied by the night-contending winds, And the pale dalesmen watch with eager ear;--

Though such were in his spirit, as the fiends Which wake and feed an everliving woe,-- What was this grief, which ne'er in other minds _75

A mirror found,--he knew not--none could know; But on whoe'er might question him he turned The light of his frank eyes, as if to show

He knew not of the grief within that burned, But asked forbearance with a mournful look; _80 Or spoke in words from which none ever learned

The cause of his disquietude; or shook With spasms of silent pa.s.sion; or turned pale: So that his friends soon rarely undertook

To stir his secret pain without avail;-- _85 For all who knew and loved him then perceived That there was drawn an adamantine veil

Between his heart and mind,--both unrelieved Wrought in his brain and bosom separate strife.

Some said that he was mad, others believed _90

That memories of an antenatal life Made this, where now he dwelt, a penal h.e.l.l; And others said that such mysterious grief

From G.o.d's displeasure, like a darkness, fell On souls like his, which owned no higher law _95 Than love; love calm, steadfast, invincible

By mortal fear or supernatural awe; And others,--''Tis the shadow of a dream Which the veiled eye of Memory never saw,

'But through the soul's abyss, like some dark stream _100 Through shattered mines and caverns underground, Rolls, shaking its foundations; and no beam

'Of joy may rise, but it is quenched and drowned In the dim whirlpools of this dream obscure; Soon its exhausted waters will have found _105

'A lair of rest beneath thy spirit pure, O Athanase!--in one so good and great, Evil or tumult cannot long endure.

So spake they: idly of another's state Babbling vain words and fond philosophy; _110 This was their consolation; such debate

Men held with one another; nor did he, Like one who labours with a human woe, Decline this talk: as if its theme might be

Another, not himself, he to and fro _115 Questioned and canva.s.sed it with subtlest wit; And none but those who loved him best could know

That which he knew not, how it galled and bit His weary mind, this converse vain and cold; For like an eyeless nightmare grief did sit _120

Upon his being; a snake which fold by fold Pressed out the life of life, a clinging fiend Which clenched him if he stirred with deadlier hold;-- And so his grief remained--let it remain--untold. [1]

PART 2.

FRAGMENT 1.

Prince Athanase had one beloved friend, _125 An old, old man, with hair of silver white, And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend

With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds.

He was the last whom superst.i.tion's blight _130

Had spared in Greece--the blight that cramps and blinds,-- And in his olive bower at Oenoe Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds

A fertile island in the barren sea, One mariner who has survived his mates _135 Many a drear month in a great ship--so he

With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates Of ancient lore, there fed his lonely being:-- 'The mind becomes that which it contemplates,'--

And thus Zonoras, by for ever seeing _140 Their bright creations, grew like wisest men; And when he heard the crash of nations fleeing

A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then, O sacred h.e.l.las! many weary years He wandered, till the path of Laian's glen _145

Was gra.s.s-grown--and the unremembered tears Were dry in Laian for their honoured chief, Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears:--

And as the lady looked with faithful grief From her high lattice o'er the rugged path, _150 Where she once saw that horseman toil, with brief