Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves! PARNASSUS (CANTO I, lx-lxii.) Он, thou Parnassus! whom I now survey, But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by 80 Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string, Though from thy heights no more ore Muse will wave her wing. Oft have I dream'd of Thee! whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore: And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame That I in feeblest accents must adore. When I recount thy worshippers of yore I tremble, and can only bend the knee; Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy In silent joy to think at last I look on Thee! Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene, Which others rave of, though they know it not? Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot, And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave, Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave, And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. 9 20 TO INEZ NAY, smile not at my sullen brow; 2 And dost thou ask what secret woe 3 It is not love, it is not hate, Nor low Ambition's honours lost, That bids me loathe my present state, And fly from all I prized the most: 4 It is that weariness which springs 5 It is that settled, ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore; That will not look beyond the tomb, But cannot hope for rest before. 6 What Exile from himself can flee? To zones though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where'er I be, The blight of life-the demon Thought. ΙΟ 20 7 Yet others rapt in pleasure seem, 8 Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, And all my solace is to know, Whate'er betides, I've known the worst. 9 What is that worst? Nay, do not ask- Smile on-nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. 30 IMMORTALITY (CANTO II, iii-viii) Son of the morning, rise! approach you here! Come-but molest not yon defenceless urn: Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre ! Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. Even gods must yield-religions take their turn: 'Twas Jove's 'tis Mahomet's-and other creeds Will rise with other years, till man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds; Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds. Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven- ΙΟ Thou know'st not, reck'st not, to what region, so On earth no more, but mingled with the skies? Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe? Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies: That little urn saith more than thousand homilies. Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound; He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around; 20 Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shatter'd cell! Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, And Passion's host, that never brook'd control: 30 40 Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son! "All that we know is, nothing can be known.” Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun? Each hath his pang, but feeble sufferers groan With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best ; Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest. Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be How sweet it were in concert to adore With those who made our mortal labours light! 50 The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right! SAPPHO (CANTO II, xxxix-xli) Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot, That only Heaven to which Earth's children may aspire. 'Twas on a Grecian autumn's gentle eve Mark them unmoved, for he would not delight ΙΟ But loathed the bravo's trade, and laughed at martial wight. But when he saw the evening star above 20 More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid front. |