I say ‘twas Nobody
Who blinded me.
CHORUS:
Why then you are not blind. 680
CYCLOPS:
I wish you were as blind as I am.
CHORUS:
Nay,
It cannot be that no one made you blind.
CYCLOPS:
You jeer me; where, I ask, is Nobody?
CHORUS:
Nowhere, O Cyclops.
CYCLOPS:
It was that stranger ruined me: — the wretch 685
First gave me wine and then burned out my eye,
For wine is strong and hard to struggle with.
Have they escaped, or are they yet within?
CHORUS:
They stand under the darkness of the rock
And cling to it.
CYCLOPS:
At my right hand or left? 690
CHORUS:
Close on your right.
CYCLOPS:
Where?
CHORUS:
Near the rock itself.
You have them.
CYCLOPS:
Oh, misfortune on misfortune!
I’ve cracked my skull.
CHORUS:
Now they escape you — there.
CYCLOPS:
Not there, although you say so.
CHORUS:
Not on that side.
CYCLOPS:
Where then?
CHORUS:
They creep about you on your left. 695
CYCLOPS:
Ah! I am mocked! They jeer me in my ills.
CHORUS:
Not there! he is a little there beyond you.
CYCLOPS:
Detested wretch! where are you?
ULYSSES:
Far from you
I keep with care this body of Ulysses.
CYCLOPS:
What do you say? You proffer a new name. 700
ULYSSES:
My father named me so; and I have taken
A full revenge for your unnatural feast;
I should have done ill to have burned down Troy
And not revenged the murder of my comrades.
CYCLOPS:
Ai! ai! the ancient oracle is accomplished; 705
It said that I should have my eyesight blinded
By your coming from Troy, yet it foretold
That you should pay the penalty for this
By wandering long over the homeless sea.
ULYSSES:
I bid thee weep — consider what I say; 710
I go towards the shore to drive my ship
To mine own land, o’er the Sicilian wave.
CYCLOPS:
Not so, if, whelming you with this huge stone,
I can crush you and all your men together;
I will descend upon the shore, though blind, 715
Groping my way adown the steep ravine.
CHORUS:
And we, the shipmates of Ulysses now,
Will serve our Bacchus all our happy lives.
EPIGRAMS.
(These four Epigrams were published — numbers 2 and 4 without title — by
Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.)
1. — TO STELLA.
FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.
Thou wert the morning star among the living,
Ere thy fair light had fled; —
Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving
New splendour to the dead.
2. — KISSING HELENA.
FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.
Kissing Helena, together
With my kiss, my soul beside it
Came to my lips, and there I kept it, —
For the poor thing had wandered thither,
To follow where the kiss should guide it, 5
Oh, cruel I, to intercept it!
FROM THE GREEK.
Eagle! why soarest thou above that tomb?
To what sublime and star-ypaven home
Floatest thou? —
I am the image of swift Plato’s spirit,
Ascending heaven; Athens doth inherit 5
His corpse below.
4. — CIRCUMSTANCE.
FROM THE GREEK.
A man who was about to hang himself,
Finding a purse, then threw away his rope;
The owner, coming to reclaim his pelf,
The halter found; and used it. So is Hope
Changed for Despair — one laid upon the shelf, 5
We take the other. Under Heaven’s high cope
Fortune is God — all you endure and do
Depends on circumstance as much as you.
FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ADONIS.
FROM THE GREEK OF BION.
(Published by Forman, “Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1876.)
I mourn Adonis dead — loveliest Adonis —
Dead, dead Adonis — and the Loves lament.
Sleep no more, Venus, wrapped in purple woof —
Wake violet-stoled queen, and weave the crown
Of Death,—’tis Misery calls, — for he is dead. 5
The lovely one lies wounded in the mountains,
His white thigh struck with the white tooth; he scarce
Yet breathes; and Venus hangs in agony there.
The dark blood wanders o’er his snowy limbs,
His eyes beneath their lids are lustreless, 10
The rose has fled from his wan lips, and there
That kiss is dead, which Venus gathers yet.
A deep, deep wound Adonis…
A deeper Venus bears upon her heart.
See, his beloved dogs are gathering round — 15
The Oread nymphs are weeping — Aphrodite
With hair unbound is wandering through the woods,
‘Wildered, ungirt, unsandalled — the thorns pierce
Her hastening feet and drink her sacred blood.
Bitterly screaming out, she is driven on 20
Through the long vales; and her Assyrian boy,
Her love, her husband, calls — the purple blood
From his struck thigh stains her white navel now,
Her bosom, and her neck before like snow.
Alas for Cytherea — the Loves mourn — 25
The lovely, the beloved is gone! — and now
Her sacred beauty vanishes away.
For Venus whilst Adonis lived was fair —
Alas! her loveliness is dead with him.
The oaks and mountains cry, Ai! ai! Adonis! 30
The springs their waters change to tears and weep —
The flowers are withered up with grief…
Ai! ai! … Adonis is dead
Echo resounds … Adonis dead.
Who will weep not thy dreadful woe. O Venus? 35
Soon as she saw and knew the mortal wound
Of her Adonis — saw the life-blood flow
From his fair thigh, now wasting, — wailing loud
She clasped him, and cried … ‘Stay, Adonis!
Stay, dearest one,… 40
and mix my lips with thine —
Wake yet a while, Adonis — oh, but once,
That I may kiss thee now for the last time —
But for as long as one short kiss may live —
Oh, let thy breath flow from thy dying soul 45
Even to my mouth and heart, that I may suck
That…’
FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF BION.
FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.
(Published from the Hunt manuscripts by Forman, “Poetical Works of P. B.
S.”, 1876.)
Ye Dorian woods and waves, lament aloud, —
Augment your tide, O streams, with fruitless tears,
For the beloved Bion is no more.
Let every tender herb and plant and flower,
From each dejected bud and drooping bloom, 5
Shed dews of liqui
d sorrow, and with breath
Of melancholy sweetness on the wind
Diffuse its languid love; let roses blush,
Anemones grow paler for the loss
Their dells have known; and thou, O hyacinth, 10
Utter thy legend now — yet more, dumb flower,
Than ‘Ah! alas!’ — thine is no common grief —
Bion the (sweetest singer) is no more.
FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.
(Published with “Alastor”, 1816.)
Tan ala tan glaukan otan onemos atrema Balle — k.t.l.
When winds that move not its calm surface sweep
The azure sea, I love the land no more;
The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep
Tempt my unquiet mind. — But when the roar
Of Ocean’s gray abyss resounds, and foam 5
I turn from the drear aspect to the home
Of Earth and its deep woods, where, interspersed,
When winds blow loud, pines make sweet melody.
Whose house is some lone bark, whose toil the sea, 10
Whose prey the wandering fish, an evil lot
Has chosen. — But I my languid limbs will fling
Beneath the plane, where the brook’s murmuring
Moves the calm spirit, but disturbs it not.
PAN, ECHO, AND THE SATYR.
FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.
(Published (without title) by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.
There is a draft amongst the Hunt manuscripts.)
Pan loved his neighbour Echo — but that child
Of Earth and Air pined for the Satyr leaping;
The Satyr loved with wasting madness wild
The bright nymph Lyda, — and so three went weeping.
As Pan loved Echo, Echo loved the Satyr, 5
The Satyr, Lyda; and so love consumed them. —
And thus to each — which was a woful matter —
To bear what they inflicted Justice doomed them;
For, inasmuch as each might hate the lover,
Each, loving, so was hated. — Ye that love not 10
Be warned — in thought turn this example over,
That when ye love, the like return ye prove not.
FROM VERGIL’S TENTH ECLOGUE.
(VERSES 1-26.)
(Published by Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1870, from the Boscombe manuscripts now in the Bodleian. Mr. Locock (“Examination”, etc., 1903, pages 47-50), as the result of his collation of the same manuscripts, gives a revised and expanded version which we print below.)
Melodious Arethusa, o’er my verse
Shed thou once more the spirit of thy stream:
Who denies verse to Gallus? So, when thou
Glidest beneath the green and purple gleam
Of Syracusan waters, mayst thou flow 5
Unmingled with the bitter Doric dew!
Begin, and, whilst the goats are browsing now
The soft leaves, in our way let us pursue
The melancholy loves of Gallus. List!
We sing not to the dead: the wild woods knew 10
His sufferings, and their echoes…
Young Naiads,…in what far woodlands wild
Wandered ye when unworthy love possessed
Your Gallus? Not where Pindus is up-piled,
Nor where Parnassus’ sacred mount, nor where 15
Aonian Aganippe expands…
The laurels and the myrtle-copses dim.
The pine-encircled mountain, Maenalus,
The cold crags of Lycaeus, weep for him;
And Sylvan, crowned with rustic coronals, 20
Came shaking in his speed the budding wands
And heavy lilies which he bore: we knew
Pan the Arcadian.
…
‘What madness is this, Gallus? Thy heart’s care
With willing steps pursues another there.’ 25
THE SAME.
(As revised by Mr. C.D. Locock.)
Melodious Arethusa, o’er my verse
Shed thou once more the spirit of thy stream:
(Two lines missing.)
Who denies verse to Gallus? So, when thou
Glidest beneath the green and purple gleam
Of Syracusan waters, mayest thou flow 5
Unmingled with the bitter Dorian dew!
Begin, and whilst the goats are browsing now
The soft leaves, in our song let us pursue
The melancholy loves of Gallus. List!
We sing not to the deaf: the wild woods knew 10
His sufferings, and their echoes answer…
Young Naiades, in what far woodlands wild
Wandered ye, when unworthy love possessed
Our Gallus? Nor where Pindus is up-piled,
Nor where Parnassus’ sacred mount, nor where 15
Aonian Aganippe spreads its…
(Three lines missing.)
The laurels and the myrtle-copses dim,
The pine-encircled mountain, Maenalus,
The cold crags of Lycaeus weep for him.
(Several lines missing.)
‘What madness is this, Gallus? thy heart’s care, 20
Lycoris, mid rude camps and Alpine snow,
With willing step pursues another there.’
(Some lines missing.)
And Sylvan, crowned with rustic coronals,
Came shaking in his speed the budding wands
And heavy lilies which he bore: we knew 25
Pan the Arcadian with….
…and said,
‘Wilt thou not ever cease? Love cares not.
The meadows with fresh streams, the bees with thyme,
The goats with the green leaves of budding spring 30
Are saturated not — nor Love with tears.’
FROM VERGIL’S FOURTH GEORGIC.
(VERSES 360 ET SEQ.)
(Published by Locock, “Examination”, etc., 1903.)
And the cloven waters like a chasm of mountains
Stood, and received him in its mighty portal
And led him through the deep’s untrampled fountains
He went in wonder through the path immortal
Of his great Mother and her humid reign 5
And groves profaned not by the step of mortal
Which sounded as he passed, and lakes which rain
Replenished not girt round by marble caves
‘Wildered by the watery motion of the main
Half ‘wildered he beheld the bursting waves 10
Of every stream beneath the mighty earth
Phasis and Lycus which the … sand paves,
(And) The chasm where old Enipeus has its birth
And father Tyber and Anienas(?) glow
And whence Caicus, Mysian stream, comes forth 15
And rock-resounding Hypanis, and thou
Eridanus who bearest like empire’s sign
Two golden horns upon thy taurine brow
Thou than whom none of the streams divine
Through garden-fields and meads with fiercer power, 20
Burst in their tumult on the purple brine
SONNET. DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI
FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.
(Published with “Alastor”, 1816; reprinted, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.)
DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI:
Guido, I would that Lapo, thou, and I,
Led by some strong enchantment, might ascend
A magic ship, whose charmed sails should fly
With winds at will where’er our thoughts might wend,
So that no change, nor any evil chance 5
Should mar our joyous voyage; but it might be,
That even satiety should still enhance
Between our hearts their strict community:
And that the bounteous wizard then would place
Vanna and Bice and my gentle love, 10
Companions of our wandering, and would grace
With passionate talk, wherever we might rove,
Our time, and each were as content and free
As I believe that thou and I should be.
5 So 1824; And 1816.
THE FIRST CANZONE OF THE CONVITO.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.
(Published by Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862; dated 1820.)
1.
Ye who intelligent the Third Heaven move,
Hear the discourse which is within my heart,
Which cannot be declared, it seems so new.
The Heaven whose course follows your power and art,
Oh, gentle creatures that ye are! me drew, 5
And therefore may I dare to speak to you,
Even of the life which now I live — and yet
I pray that ye will hear me when I cry,
And tell of mine own heart this novelty;
How the lamenting Spirit moans in it, 10
And how a voice there murmurs against her
Who came on the refulgence of your sphere.
2.
A sweet Thought, which was once the life within
This heavy heart, man a time and oft
Went up before our Father’s feet, and there 15
It saw a glorious Lady throned aloft;
And its sweet talk of her my soul did win,
So that I said, ‘Thither I too will fare.’
That Thought is fled, and one doth now appear
Which tyrannizes me with such fierce stress, 20
That my heart trembles — ye may see it leap —
And on another Lady bids me keep
Mine eyes, and says — Who would have blessedness
Let him but look upon that Lady’s eyes,
Let him not fear the agony of sighs. 25
3.
This lowly Thought, which once would talk with me
Of a bright seraph sitting crowned on high,
Found such a cruel foe it died, and so
My Spirit wept, the grief is hot even now —
And said, Alas for me! how swift could flee 30
That piteous Thought which did my life console!
And the afflicted one … questioning
Mine eyes, if such a Lady saw they never,
And why they would…
I said: ‘Beneath those eyes might stand for ever 35
He whom … regards must kill with…
To have known their power stood me in little stead,
Those eyes have looked on me, and I am dead.’
4.
‘Thou art not dead, but thou hast wandered,
Thou Soul of ours, who thyself dost fret,’ 40
A Spirit of gentle Love beside me said;
For that fair Lady, whom thou dost regret,
Hath so transformed the life which thou hast led,
Thou scornest it, so worthless art thou made.