The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 26

HENRY: I do not know: But it might break any one's heart to see _80 You and the lady cry so bitterly.

HELEN: It is a gentle child, my friend. Go home, Henry, and play with Lilla till I come.

We only cried with joy to see each other; We are quite merry now: Good-night.

The boy _85 Lifted a sudden look upon his mother, And in the gleam of forced and hollow joy Which lightened o'er her face, laughed with the glee Of light and unsuspecting infancy, And whispered in her ear, 'Bring home with you _90 That sweet strange lady-friend.' Then off he flew, But stopped, and beckoned with a meaning smile, Where the road turned. Pale Rosalind the while, Hiding her face, stood weeping silently.

In silence then they took the way _95 Beneath the forest's solitude.

It was a vast and antique wood, Thro' which they took their way; And the gray shades of evening O'er that green wilderness did fling _100 Still deeper solitude.

Pursuing still the path that wound The vast and knotted trees around Through which slow shades were wandering, To a deep lawny dell they came, _105 To a stone seat beside a spring, O'er which the columned wood did frame A roofless temple, like the fane Where, ere new creeds could faith obtain, Man's early race once knelt beneath _110 The overhanging deity.

O'er this fair fountain hung the sky, Now spangled with rare stars. The snake, The pale snake, that with eager breath Creeps here his noontide thirst to slake, _115 Is beaming with many a mingled hue, Shed from yon dome's eternal blue, When he floats on that dark and lucid flood In the light of his own loveliness; And the birds that in the fountain dip _120 Their plumes, with fearless fellowship Above and round him wheel and hover.

The fitful wind is heard to stir One solitary leaf on high; The chirping of the gra.s.shopper _125 Fills every pause. There is emotion In all that dwells at noontide here; Then, through the intricate wild wood, A maze of life and light and motion Is woven. But there is stillness now: _130 Gloom, and the trance of Nature now: The snake is in his cave asleep; The birds are on the branches dreaming: Only the shadows creep: Only the glow-worm is gleaming: _135 Only the owls and the nightingales Wake in this dell when daylight fails, And gray shades gather in the woods: And the owls have all fled far away In a merrier glen to hoot and play, _140 For the moon is veiled and sleeping now.

The accustomed nightingale still broods On her accustomed bough, But she is mute; for her false mate Has fled and left her desolate. _145

This silent spot tradition old Had peopled with the spectral dead.

For the roots of the speaker's hair felt cold And stiff, as with tremulous lips he told That a h.e.l.lish shape at midnight led _150 The ghost of a youth with h.o.a.ry hair, And sate on the seat beside him there, Till a naked child came wandering by, When the fiend would change to a lady fair!

A fearful tale! The truth was worse: _155 For here a sister and a brother Had solemnized a monstrous curse, Meeting in this fair solitude: For beneath yon very sky, Had they resigned to one another _160 Body and soul. The mult.i.tude: Tracking them to the secret wood, Tore limb from limb their innocent child, And stabbed and trampled on its mother; But the youth, for G.o.d's most holy grace, _165 A priest saved to burn in the market-place.

Duly at evening Helen came To this lone silent spot, From the wrecks of a tale of wilder sorrow So much of sympathy to borrow _170 As soothed her own dark lot.

Duly each evening from her home, With her fair child would Helen come To sit upon that antique seat, While the hues of day were pale; _175 And the bright boy beside her feet Now lay, lifting at intervals His broad blue eyes on her; Now, where some sudden impulse calls Following. He was a gentle boy _180 And in all gentle sorts took joy; Oft in a dry leaf for a boat, With a small feather for a sail, His fancy on that spring would float, If some invisible breeze might stir _185 Its marble calm: and Helen smiled Through tears of awe on the gay child, To think that a boy as fair as he, In years which never more may be, By that same fount, in that same wood, _190 The like sweet fancies had pursued; And that a mother, lost like her, Had mournfully sate watching him.

Then all the scene was wont to swim Through the mist of a burning tear. _195

For many months had Helen known This scene; and now she thither turned Her footsteps, not alone.

The friend whose falsehood she had mourned, Sate with her on that seat of stone. _200 Silent they sate; for evening, And the power its glimpses bring Had, with one awful shadow, quelled The pa.s.sion of their grief. They sate With linked hands, for unrepelled _205 Had Helen taken Rosalind's.

Like the autumn wind, when it unbinds The tangled locks of the nightshade's hair, Which is twined in the sultry summer air Round the walls of an outworn sepulchre, _210 Did the voice of Helen, sad and sweet, And the sound of her heart that ever beat, As with sighs and words she breathed on her, Unbind the knots of her friend's despair, Till her thoughts were free to float and flow; _215 And from her labouring bosom now, Like the bursting of a prisoned flame, The voice of a long pent sorrow came.

ROSALIND: I saw the dark earth fall upon The coffin; and I saw the stone _220 Laid over him whom this cold breast Had pillowed to his nightly rest!

Thou knowest not, thou canst not know My agony. Oh! I could not weep: The sources whence such blessings flow _225 Were not to be approached by me!

But I could smile, and I could sleep, Though with a self-accusing heart.

In morning's light, in evening's gloom, I watched,--and would not thence depart-- _230 My husband's unlamented tomb.

My children knew their sire was gone, But when I told them,--'He is dead,'-- They laughed aloud in frantic glee, They clapped their hands and leaped about, _235 Answering each other's ecstasy With many a prank and merry shout.

But I sate silent and alone, Wrapped in the mock of mourning weed.

They laughed, for he was dead: but I _240 Sate with a hard and tearless eye, And with a heart which would deny The secret joy it could not quell, Low muttering o'er his loathed name; Till from that self-contention came _245 Remorse where sin was none; a h.e.l.l Which in pure spirits should not dwell.

I'll tell thee truth. He was a man Hard, selfish, loving only gold, Yet full of guile; his pale eyes ran _250 With tears, which each some falsehood told, And oft his smooth and bridled tongue Would give the lie to his flushing cheek; He was a coward to the strong: He was a tyrant to the weak, _255 On whom his vengeance he would wreak: For scorn, whose arrows search the heart, From many a stranger's eye would dart, And on his memory cling, and follow His soul to its home so cold and hollow. _260 He was a tyrant to the weak, And we were such, alas the day!

Oft, when my little ones at play, Were in youth's natural lightness gay, Or if they listened to some tale _265 Of travellers, or of fairy land,-- When the light from the wood-fire's dying brand Flashed on their faces,--if they heard Or thought they heard upon the stair His footstep, the suspended word _270 Died on my lips: we all grew pale: The babe at my bosom was hushed with fear If it thought it heard its father near; And my two wild boys would near my knee Cling, cowed and cowering fearfully. _275

I'll tell thee truth: I loved another.

His name in my ear was ever ringing, His form to my brain was ever clinging: Yet if some stranger breathed that name, My lips turned white, and my heart beat fast: _280 My nights were once haunted by dreams of flame, My days were dim in the shadow cast By the memory of the same!

Day and night, day and night, He was my breath and life and light, _285 For three short years, which soon were pa.s.sed.

On the fourth, my gentle mother Led me to the shrine, to be His sworn bride eternally.

And now we stood on the altar stair, _290 When my father came from a distant land, And with a loud and fearful cry Rushed between us suddenly.

I saw the stream of his thin gray hair, I saw his lean and lifted hand, _295 And heard his words,--and live! Oh G.o.d!

Wherefore do I live?--'Hold, hold!'

He cried, 'I tell thee 'tis her brother!

Thy mother, boy, beneath the sod Of yon churchyard rests in her shroud so cold: _300 I am now weak, and pale, and old: We were once dear to one another, I and that corpse! Thou art our child!'

Then with a laugh both long and wild The youth upon the pavement fell: _305 They found him dead! All looked on me, The spasms of my despair to see: But I was calm. I went away: I was clammy-cold like clay!

I did not weep: I did not speak: _310 But day by day, week after week, I walked about like a corpse alive!

Alas! sweet friend, you must believe This heart is stone: it did not break.

My father lived a little while, _315 But all might see that he was dying, He smiled with such a woeful smile!

When he was in the churchyard lying Among the worms, we grew quite poor, So that no one would give us bread: _320 My mother looked at me, and said Faint words of cheer, which only meant That she could die and be content; So I went forth from the same church door To another husband's bed. _325 And this was he who died at last, When weeks and months and years had pa.s.sed, Through which I firmly did fulfil My duties, a devoted wife, With the stern step of vanquished will, _330 Walking beneath the night of life, Whose hours extinguished, like slow rain Falling for ever, pain by pain, The very hope of death's dear rest; Which, since the heart within my breast _335 Of natural life was dispossessed, Its strange sustainer there had been.

When flowers were dead, and gra.s.s was green Upon my mother's grave,--that mother Whom to outlive, and cheer, and make _340 My wan eyes glitter for her sake, Was my vowed task, the single care Which once gave life to my despair,-- When she was a thing that did not stir And the crawling worms were cradling her _345 To a sleep more deep and so more sweet Than a baby's rocked on its nurse's knee, I lived: a living pulse then beat Beneath my heart that awakened me.

What was this pulse so warm and free? _350 Alas! I knew it could not be My own dull blood: 'twas like a thought Of liquid love, that spread and wrought Under my bosom and in my brain, And crept with the blood through every vein; _355 And hour by hour, day after day, The wonder could not charm away, But laid in sleep, my wakeful pain, Until I knew it was a child, And then I wept. For long, long years _360 These frozen eyes had shed no tears: But now--'twas the season fair and mild When April has wept itself to May: I sate through the sweet sunny day By my window bowered round with leaves, _365 And down my cheeks the quick tears fell Like twinkling rain-drops from the eaves, When warm spring showers are pa.s.sing o'er.

O Helen, none can ever tell The joy it was to weep once more! _370

I wept to think how hard it were To kill my babe, and take from it The sense of light, and the warm air, And my own fond and tender care, And love and smiles; ere I knew yet _375 That these for it might, as for me, Be the masks of a grinning mockery.

And haply, I would dream, 'twere sweet To feed it from my faded breast, Or mark my own heart's restless beat _380 Rock it to its untroubled rest, And watch the growing soul beneath Dawn in faint smiles; and hear its breath, Half interrupted by calm sighs, And search the depth of its fair eyes _385 For long departed memories!

And so I lived till that sweet load Was lightened. Darkly forward flowed The stream of years, and on it bore Two shapes of gladness to my sight; _390 Two other babes, delightful more In my lost soul's abandoned night, Than their own country ships may be Sailing towards wrecked mariners, Who cling to the rock of a wintry sea. _395 For each, as it came, brought soothing tears; And a loosening warmth, as each one lay Sucking the sullen milk away About my frozen heart, did play, And weaned it, oh how painfully-- _400 As they themselves were weaned each one From that sweet food,--even from the thirst Of death, and nothingness, and rest, Strange inmate of a living breast!

Which all that I had undergone _405 Of grief and shame, since she, who first The gates of that dark refuge closed, Came to my sight, and almost burst The seal of that Lethean spring; But these fair shadows interposed: _410 For all delights are shadows now!

And from my brain to my dull brow The heavy tears gather and flow: I cannot speak: Oh, let me weep!

The tears which fell from her wan eyes _415 Glimmered among the moonlight dew: Her deep hard sobs and heavy sighs Their echoes in the darkness threw.

When she grew calm, she thus did keep The tenor of her tale: He died: _420 I know not how: he was not old, If age be numbered by its years: But he was bowed and bent with fears, Pale with the quenchless thirst of gold, Which, like fierce fever, left him weak; _425 And his strait lip and bloated cheek Were warped in spasms by hollow sneers; And selfish cares with barren plough, Not age, had lined his narrow brow, And foul and cruel thoughts, which feed _430 Upon the withering life within, Like vipers on some poisonous weed.

Whether his ill were death or sin None knew, until he died indeed, And then men owned they were the same. _435

Seven days within my chamber lay That corse, and my babes made holiday: At last, I told them what is death: The eldest, with a kind of shame, Came to my knees with silent breath, _440 And sate awe-stricken at my feet; And soon the others left their play, And sate there too. It is unmeet To shed on the brief flower of youth The withering knowledge of the grave; _445 From me remorse then wrung that truth.

I could not bear the joy which gave Too just a response to mine own.

In vain. I dared not feign a groan, And in their artless looks I saw, _450 Between the mists of fear and awe, That my own thought was theirs, and they Expressed it not in words, but said, Each in its heart, how every day Will pa.s.s in happy work and play, _455 Now he is dead and gone away.

After the funeral all our kin a.s.sembled, and the will was read.

My friend, I tell thee, even the dead Have strength, their putrid shrouds within, _460 To blast and torture. Those who live Still fear the living, but a corse Is merciless, and power doth give To such pale tyrants half the spoil He rends from those who groan and toil, _465 Because they blush not with remorse Among their crawling worms. Behold, I have no child! my tale grows old With grief, and staggers: let it reach The limits of my feeble speech, _470 And languidly at length recline On the brink of its own grave and mine.

Thou knowest what a thing is Poverty Among the fallen on evil days: 'Tis Crime, and Fear, and Infamy, _475 And houseless Want in frozen ways Wandering ungarmented, and Pain, And, worse than all, that inward stain Foul Self-contempt, which drowns in sneers Youth's starlight smile, and makes its tears _480 First like hot gall, then dry for ever!

And well thou knowest a mother never Could doom her children to this ill, And well he knew the same. The will Imported, that if e'er again _485 I sought my children to behold, Or in my birthplace did remain Beyond three days, whose hours were told, They should inherit nought: and he, To whom next came their patrimony, _490 A sallow lawyer, cruel and cold, Aye watched me, as the will was read, With eyes askance, which sought to see The secrets of my agony; And with close lips and anxious brow _495 Stood canva.s.sing still to and fro The chance of my resolve, and all The dead man's caution just did call; For in that killing lie 'twas said-- 'She is adulterous, and doth hold _500 In secret that the Christian creed Is false, and therefore is much need That I should have a care to save My children from eternal fire.'

Friend, he was sheltered by the grave, _505 And therefore dared to be a liar!

In truth, the Indian on the pyre Of her dead husband, half consumed, As well might there be false, as I To those abhorred embraces doomed, _510 Far worse than fire's brief agony As to the Christian creed, if true Or false, I never questioned it: I took it as the vulgar do: Nor my vexed soul had leisure yet _515 To doubt the things men say, or deem That they are other than they seem.

All present who those crimes did hear, In feigned or actual scorn and fear, Men, women, children, slunk away, _520 Whispering with self-contented pride, Which half suspects its own base lie.

I spoke to none, nor did abide, But silently I went my way, Nor noticed I where joyously _525 Sate my two younger babes at play, In the court-yard through which I pa.s.sed; But went with footsteps firm and fast Till I came to the brink of the ocean green, And there, a woman with gray hairs, _530 Who had my mother's servant been, Kneeling, with many tears and prayers, Made me accept a purse of gold, Half of the earnings she had kept To refuge her when weak and old. _535

With woe, which never sleeps or slept, I wander now. 'Tis a vain thought-- But on yon alp, whose snowy head 'Mid the azure air is islanded, (We see it o'er the flood of cloud, _540 Which sunrise from its eastern caves Drives, wrinkling into golden waves, Hung with its precipices proud, From that gray stone where first we met) There now--who knows the dead feel nought?-- _545 Should be my grave; for he who yet Is my soul's soul, once said: ''Twere sweet 'Mid stars and lightnings to abide, And winds and lulling snows, that beat With their soft flakes the mountain wide, _550 Where weary meteor lamps repose, And languid storms their pinions close: And all things strong and bright and pure, And ever during, aye endure: Who knows, if one were buried there, _555 But these things might our spirits make, Amid the all-surrounding air, Their own eternity partake?'

Then 'twas a wild and playful saying At which I laughed, or seemed to laugh: _560 They were his words: now heed my praying, And let them be my epitaph.

Thy memory for a term may be My monument. Wilt remember me?

I know thou wilt, and canst forgive _565 Whilst in this erring world to live My soul disdained not, that I thought Its lying forms were worthy aught And much less thee.

HELEN: O speak not so, But come to me and pour thy woe _570 Into this heart, full though it be, Ay, overflowing with its own: I thought that grief had severed me From all beside who weep and groan; Its likeness upon earth to be, _575 Its express image; but thou art More wretched. Sweet! we will not part Henceforth, if death be not division; If so, the dead feel no contrition.

But wilt thou hear since last we parted _580 All that has left me broken hearted?

ROSALIND: Yes, speak. The faintest stars are scarcely shorn Of their thin beams by that delusive morn Which sinks again in darkness, like the light Of early love, soon lost in total night. _585

HELEN: Alas! Italian winds are mild, But my bosom is cold--wintry cold-- When the warm air weaves, among the fresh leaves, Soft music, my poor brain is wild, And I am weak like a nursling child, _590 Though my soul with grief is gray and old.

ROSALIND: Weep not at thine own words, though they must make Me weep. What is thy tale?

HELEN: I fear 'twill shake Thy gentle heart with tears. Thou well Rememberest when we met no more, _595 And, though I dwelt with Lionel, That friendless caution pierced me sore With grief; a wound my spirit bore Indignantly, but when he died, With him lay dead both hope and pride. _600 Alas! all hope is buried now.

But then men dreamed the aged earth Was labouring in that mighty birth, Which many a poet and a sage Has aye foreseen--the happy age _605 When truth and love shall dwell below Among the works and ways of men; Which on this world not power but will Even now is wanting to fulfil.