ADONAIS. I. I WEEP for ADONAIS-he is dead! Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be II. Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, When thy son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies In darkness? where was lorn Urania When Adonais died? With veiled eyes, 'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise She sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath, Rekindled all the fading melodies, With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of death III. Oh, weep for Adonais-he is dead! Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair. IV. Most musical of mourners, weep again! Who was the Sire of an immortal strain, Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light. V. Most musical of mourners, weep anew! In which suns perished; others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or God, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode. VI. But now, thy youngest, dearest one, rished, has pe The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; VII. To that high Capital, where kingly Death He came; and bought, with price of purest breath, A grave among the eternal.—Come away ! VIII. He will awake no more, oh, never more! Within the twilight chamber spreads apace The shadow of white Death, and at the door Invisible Corruption waits to trace His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface So fair a prey, till darkness and the law Of change, shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw. IX. Oh, weep for Adonais !—The quick Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music, wander not, Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain, But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, nor find a home again. X. And one with trembling hand clasps his cold head, And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries, "Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead; See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain. XI. One from a lucid urn of starry dew Washed his light limbs, as if embalming them; Another clipt her profuse locks, and threw, The wreath upon him, like an anadem, Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem; Another in her wilful grief would break Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem A greater loss with one which was more weak; And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek. XII. Another Splendour on his mouth alit, That mouth whence it was wont to draw the breath Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit, And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music: the damp death Quenched its caress upon its icy lips; And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips, It flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its eclipse. |