POEMS WRITTEN IN MDCCCXVII. PRINCE ATHANASE. A FRAGMENT. PART I. THERE was a youth, who, as with toil and travel, Had grown quite weak and grey before his time; Nor any could the restless griefs unravel Which burned within him, withering up his prime And goading him, like fiends, from land to land. For nought of ill his heart could understand, Had left within his soul the dark unrest : For none than he a purer heart could have, What sorrow, strange, and shadowy,'and unknown, He had a gentle yet aspiring mind; In others' joy, when all their own is dead: That from such toil he never found relief. His soul had wedded wisdom, and her dower Pitying the tumult of their dark estate.- 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, Fearless he was, and scorning all disguise, Liberal he was of soul, and frank of heart, If words he found those inmost thoughts to tell; To those, or them, or any, whom life's sphere He knew not. Though his life day after day, Was failing, like an unreplenished stream, Though in his eyes a cloud and burthen lay, Through which his soul, like Vesper's serene beam Like reeds which quiver in impetuous floods; Were driven within him by some secret power, O'er castled mountains borne, when tempest's war Though such were in his spirit, as the fiends Which wake and feed on everliving woe,What was this grief, which ne'er in other minds 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, The cause of his disquietude; or shook To stir his secret pain without avail ;- Between his heart and mind,-both unrelieved Wrought in his brain and bosom separate strife. Some said that he was mad, others believed That memories of an antenatal life From God's displeasure, like a darkness, fell On souls like his, which owned no higher law Than love; love calm, steadfast, invincible By mortal fear or supernatural awe; "But through the soul's abyss, like some dark stream 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 "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: 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 Questioned and canvassed it with subtlest wit; And none but those who loved him best could know That which he knew not, how it galled and bit Upon his being; a snake which fold by fold hold;And so his grief remained-let it remain-untold*. * The Author was pursuing a fuller development of the ideal character of Athanase, when it struck him that in an attempt at extreme refinement and analysis, his conceptions might be betrayed into the assuming a morbid character. The reader will judge whether he is a loser or gainer by this difference-Author's Note. FRAGMENTS OF PRINCE ATHANASE. PART II. FRAGMENT I, PRINCE Athanase had one beloved friend, Had spared in Greece – the blight that cramps and A fertile island in the barren sea, With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates And thus Zonoras, by for ever seeing A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then, Was grass-grown-and the unremembered tears And as the lady looked with faithful grief And blighting hope, who with the news of death Struck body and soul as with a mortal blight, She saw beneath the chesnuts, far beneath, An old man toiling up, a weary wight; *The idea Shelley had formed of Prince Athanase was a good deal modelled on Alastor. In the first sketch of the Poem he named it Pandemos and Urania. Athanase seeks through the world the One whom he may love. He meets, in the ship in which he is embarked, a lady, who appears to him to embody his ideal of love and beauty. But she proves to be Pandemos, or the earthly and unworthy Venus, who, after disappointing his cherished dreams and hopes, deserts him. Athanase, crushed by sorrow, pines and dies. "On his death-bed the lady, who can really reply to his soul, comes and kisses his lips."-The Death-bed of Athanase. The poet describes her Her hair was brown, her sphered eyes were brown, Yet when the spirit flashed beneath, there came This slender note is all we have to aid our imagination in shaping out the form of the poem, such as its author imaged. -M. S. And their lips moved; one seemed to speak, The dizzy flight of that phantom pale Waked the fair Lady from her sleep, And she arose, while from the veil Of her dark eyes the dream did creep; And she walked about as one who knew That sleep has sights as clear and true As any waking eyes can view. MARLOW, 1817. TO CONSTANTIA SINGING. THUS to be lost and thus to sink and die, Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour it And from thy touch like fire doth leap. [is yet, Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet, Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget! A breathless awe, like the swift change Unseen but felt in youthful slumbers, Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange, Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven By the enchantment of thy strain, And on my shoulders wings are woven, To follow its sublime career, Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere, Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear. Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it lingers O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings, The blood and life within those snowy fingers Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. |