Framed a dark dwelling for their homeless thought,
And, starting at the ghosts which to and fro
Glide o’er its dim and gloomy strand, had brought
The worship thence which they each other taught.
Well might men loathe their life! well might they turn
Even to the ills again from which they sought
Such refuge after death! — well might they learn
To gaze on this fair world with hopeless unconcern!
VIII
For they all pined in bondage; body and soul,
Tyrant and slave, victim and torturer, bent
Before one Power, to which supreme control
Over their will by their own weakness lent
Made all its many names omnipotent;
All symbols of things evil, all divine;
And hymns of blood or mockery, which rent
The air from all its fanes, did intertwine
Imposture’s impious toils round each discordant shrine.
IX
I heard, as all have heard, life’s various story,
And in no careless heart transcribed the tale;
But, from the sneers of men who had grown hoary
In shame and scorn, from groans of crowds made pale
By famine, from a mother’s desolate wail
O’er her polluted child, from innocent blood
Poured on the earth, and brows anxious and pale
With the heart’s warfare, did I gather food
To feed my many thoughts — a tameless multitude!
X
I wandered through the wrecks of days departed
Far by the desolated shore, when even
O’er the still sea and jagged islets darted
The light of moonrise; in the northern Heaven,
Among the clouds near the horizon driven,
The mountains lay beneath one planet pale;
Around me broken tombs and columns riven
Looked vast in twilight, and the sorrowing gale
Waked in those ruins gray its everlasting wail!
XI
I knew not who had framed these wonders then,
Nor had I heard the story of their deeds;
But dwellings of a race of mightier men,
And monuments of less ungentle creeds,
Tell their own tale to him who wisely heeds
The language which they speak; and now, to me,
The moonlight making pale the blooming weeds,
The bright stars shining in the breathless sea,
Interpreted those scrolls of mortal mystery.
XII
Such man has been, and such may yet become!
Ay, wiser, greater, gentler even than they
Who on the fragments of yon shattered dome
Have stamped the sign of power! I felt the sway
Of the vast stream of ages bear away
My floating thoughts — my heart beat loud and fast —
Even as a storm let loose beneath the ray
Of the still moon, my spirit onward passed
Beneath truth’s steady beams upon its tumult cast.
XIII
It shall be thus no more! too long, too long,
Sons of the glorious dead, have ye lain bound
In darkness and in ruin! Hope is strong,
Justice and Truth their wingèd child have found!
Awake! arise! until the mighty sound
Of your career shall scatter in its gust
The thrones of the oppressor, and the ground
Hide the last altar’s unregarded dust,
Whose Idol has so long betrayed your impious trust.
XIV
It must be so — I will arise and waken
The multitude, and like a sulphurous hill,
Which on a sudden from its snows has shaken
The swoon of ages, it shall burst, and fill
The world with cleansing fire; it must, it will —
It may not be restrained! — and who shall stand
Amid the rocking earthquake steadfast still
But Laon? on high Freedom’s desert land
A tower whose marble walls the leaguèd storms withstand!
XV
One summer night, in commune with the hope
Thus deeply fed, amid those ruins gray
I watched beneath the dark sky’s starry cope;
And ever from that hour upon me lay
The burden of this hope, and night or day,
In vision or in dream, clove to my breast;
Among mankind, or when gone far away
To the lone shores and mountains, ‘t was a guest
Which followed where I fled, and watched when I did rest.
XVI
These hopes found words through which my spirit sought
To weave a bondage of such sympathy
As might create some response to the thought
Which ruled me now — and as the vapors lie
Bright in the outspread morning’s radiancy,
So were these thoughts invested with the light
Of language; and all bosoms made reply
On which its lustre streamed, whene’er it might
Through darkness wide and deep those trancèd spirits smite.
XVII
Yes, many an eye with dizzy tears was dim,
And oft I thought to clasp my own heart’s brother,
When I could feel the listener’s senses swim,
And hear his breath its own swift gaspings smother
Even as my words evoked them — and another,
And yet another, I did fondly deem,
Felt that we all were sons of one great mother;
And the cold truth such sad reverse did seem
As to awake in grief from some delightful dream.
XVIII
Yes, oft beside the ruined labyrinth
Which skirts the hoary caves of the green deep
Did Laon and his friend on one gray plinth,
Round whose worn base the wild waves hiss and leap,
Resting at eve, a lofty converse keep;
And that this friend was false may now be said
Calmly — that he like other men could weep
Tears which are lies, and could betray and spread
Snares for that guileless heart which for his own had bled.
XIX
Then, had no great aim recompensed my sorrow,
I must have sought dark respite from its stress
In dreamless rest, in sleep that sees no morrow —
For to tread life’s dismaying wilderness
Without one smile to cheer, one voice to bless,
Amid the snares and scoffs of humankind,
Is hard — but I betrayed it not, nor less
With love that scorned return sought to unbind
The interwoven clouds which make its wisdom blind.
XX
With deathless minds, which leave where they have passed
A path of light, my soul communion knew,
Till from that glorious intercourse, at last,
As from a mine of magic store, I drew
Words which were weapons; round my heart there grew
The adamantine armor of their power;
And from my fancy wings of golden hue
Sprang forth — yet not alone from wisdom’s tower,
A minister of truth, these plumes young Laon bore.
XXI
An orphan with my parents lived, whose eyes
Were lodestars of delight, which drew me home
When I might wander forth; nor did I prize
Aught human thing beneath Heaven’s mighty dome
Beyond this child; so when sad hours were come,
And baffled hope like ice still clung to me,
Since kin were cold, and friends had now become
Heartless and false, I turned from all to be,
Cythna, the only source of tears
and smiles to thee.
XXII
What wert thou then? A child most infantine,
Yet wandering far beyond that innocent age
In all but its sweet looks and mien divine;
Even then, methought, with the world’s tyrant rage
A patient warfare thy young heart did wage,
When those soft eyes of scarcely conscious thought
Some tale or thine own fancies would engage
To overflow with tears, or converse fraught
With passion o’er their depths its fleeting light had wrought.
XXIII
She moved upon this earth a shape of brightness,
A power, that from its objects scarcely drew
One impulse of her being — in her lightness
Most like some radiant cloud of morning dew
Which wanders through the waste air’s pathless blue
To nourish some far desert; she did seem
Beside me, gathering beauty as she grew,
Like the bright shade of some immortal dream
Which walks, when tempest sleeps, the wave of life’s dark stream.
XXIV
As mine own shadow was this child to me,
A second self, far dearer and more fair,
Which clothed in undissolving radiancy
All those steep paths which languor and despair
Of human things had made so dark and bare,
But which I trod alone — nor, till bereft
Of friends, and overcome by lonely care,
Knew I what solace for that loss was left,
Though by a bitter wound my trusting heart was cleft.
Once she was dear, now she was all I had
To love in human life — this playmate sweet,
This child of twelve years old. So she was made
My sole associate, and her willing feet
Wandered with mine where Earth and Ocean meet,
Beyond the aërial mountains whose vast cells
The unreposing billows ever beat,
Through forests wild and old, and lawny dells
Where boughs of incense droop over the emerald wells.
XXVI
And warm and light I felt her clasping hand
When twined in mine; she followed where I went,
Through the lone paths of our immortal land.
It had no waste but some memorial lent
Which strung me to my toil — some monument
Vital with mind; then Cythna by my side,
Until the bright and beaming day were spent,
Would rest, with looks entreating to abide,
Too earnest and too sweet ever to be denied.
XXVII
And soon I could not have refused her. Thus
Forever, day and night, we two were ne’er
Parted but when brief sleep divided us;
And, when the pauses of the lulling air
Of noon beside the sea had made a lair
For her soothed senses, in my arm she slept,
And I kept watch over her slumbers there,
While, as the shifting visions over her swept,
Amid her innocent rest by turns she smiled and wept.
XXVIII
And in the murmur of her dreams was heard
Sometimes the name of Laon. Suddenly
She would arise, and, like the secret bird
Whom sunset wakens, fill the shore and sky
With her sweet accents, a wild melody, —
Hymns which my soul had woven to Freedom, strong
The source of passion whence they rose to be;
Triumphant strains which, like a spirit’s tongue,
To the enchanted waves that child of glory sung —
XXIX
Her white arms lifted through the shadowy stream
Of her loose hair. Oh, excellently great
Seemed to me then my purpose, the vast theme
Of those impassioned songs, when Cythna sate
Amid the calm which rapture doth create
After its tumult, her heart vibrating,
Her spirit o’er the Ocean’s floating state
From her deep eyes far wandering, on the wing
Of visions that were mine, beyond its utmost spring!
XXX
For, before Cythna loved it, had my song
Peopled with thoughts the boundless universe,
A mighty congregation, which were strong,
Where’er they trod the darkness, to disperse
The cloud of that unutterable curse
Which clings upon mankind; all things became
Slaves to my holy and heroic verse,
Earth, sea and sky, the planets, life and fame
And fate, or whate’er else binds the world’s wondrous frame.
XXXI
And this belovèd child thus felt the sway
Of my conceptions, gathering like a cloud
The very wind on which it rolls away;
Hers too were all my thoughts, ere yet endowed
With music and with light their fountains flowed
In poesy; and her still and earnest face,
Pallid with feelings which intensely glowed
Within, was turned on mine with speechless grace,
Watching the hopes which there her heart had learned to trace.
XXXII
In me, communion with this purest being
Kindled intenser zeal, and made me wise
In knowledge, which in hers mine own mind seeing
Left in the human world few mysteries.
How without fear of evil or disguise
Was Cythna! what a spirit strong and mild,
Which death or pain or peril could despise,
Yet melt in tenderness! what genius wild,
Yet mighty, was enclosed within one simple child!
XXXIII
New lore was this. Old age with its gray hair,
And wrinkled legends of unworthy things,
And icy sneers, is nought: it cannot dare
To burst the chains which life forever flings
On the entangled soul’s aspiring wings;
So is it cold and cruel, and is made
The careless slave of that dark Power which brings
Evil, like blight, on man, who, still betrayed,
XXXIV
Nor are the strong and the severe to keep
The empire of the world. Thus Cythna taught
Even in the visions of her eloquent sleep,
Unconscious of the power through which she wrought
The woof of such intelligible thought,
As from the tranquil strength which cradled lay
In her smile-peopled rest my spirit sought
Why the deceiver and the slave has sway
O’er heralds so divine of truth’s arising day.
XXXV
Within that fairest form the female mind,
Untainted by the poison clouds which rest
On the dark world, a sacred home did find;
But else from the wide earth’s maternal breast
Victorious Evil, which had dispossessed
All native power, had those fair children torn,
And made them slaves to soothe his vile unrest,
And minister to lust its joys forlorn,
Till they had learned to breathe the atmosphere of scorn.
XXXVI
This misery was but coldly felt, till she
Became my only friend, who had endued
My purpose with a wider sympathy.
Thus Cythna mourned with me the servitude
In which the half of humankind were mewed,
Victims of lust and hate, the slaves of slaves;
She mourned that grace and power were thrown as food
To the hyena Lust, who, among graves,
Over his loat
hèd meal, laughing in agony, raves.
XXXVII
And I, still gazing on that glorious child,
Even as these thoughts flushed o’er her:—’Cythna sweet,
Well with the world art thou unreconciled;
Never will peace and human nature meet
Till free and equal man and woman greet
Domestic peace; and ere this power can make
In human hearts its calm and holy seat,
This slavery must be broken’ — as I spake,
From Cythna’s eyes a light of exultation brake.
XXXVIII
She replied earnestly:—’It shall be mine,
This task, — mine, Laon! thou hast much to gain;
Nor wilt thou at poor Cythna’s pride repine,
If she should lead a happy female train
To meet thee over the rejoicing plain,
When myriads at thy call shall throng around
The Golden City.’ — Then the child did strain
My arm upon her tremulous heart, and wound
Her own about my neck, till some reply she found.
XXXIX
I smiled, and spake not.—’Wherefore dost thou smile
At what I say? Laon, I am not weak,
And, though my cheek might become pale the while,
With thee, if thou desirest, will I seek
Through their array of banded slaves to wreak
Ruin upon the tyrants. I had thought
It was more hard to turn my unpractised cheek
To scorn and shame, and this belovèd spot
And thee, O dearest friend, to leave and murmur not.
XL
‘Whence came I what I am? Thou, Laon, knowest
How a young child should thus undaunted be;
Methinks it is a power which thou bestowest,
Through which I seek, by most resembling thee,
So to become most good, and great, and free;
Yet, far beyond this Ocean’s utmost roar,
In towers and huts are many like to me,
Who, could they see thine eyes, or feel such lore
As I have learnt from them, like me would fear no more.
XLI
‘Think’st thou that I shall speak unskilfully,
And none will heed me? I remember now
How once a slave in tortures doomed to die
Was saved because in accents sweet and low
He sung a song his judge loved long ago,
As he was led to death. All shall relent
Who hear me; tears as mine have flowed, shall flow,
Hearts beat as mine now beats, with such intent
As renovates the world; a will omnipotent!
XLII
‘Yes, I will tread Pride’s golden palaces,
Through Penury’s roofless huts and squalid cells
Will I descend, where’er in abjectness
Woman with some vile slave her tyrant dwells;
There with the music of thine own sweet spells