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Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ;
He is a presence to be felt and known
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move
Which has withdrawn his being to its own;

Which wields the world with never wearied love,
Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

XLIII.

2

He is a portion of the loveliness
Which once he made more lovely : he doth

bear
His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress
Sweeps through the dull dense world, compell-

ing there All new successions to the forms they wear, Torturing th’unwilling dross that checks its

flight
To its own likeness, as each mass may bear;

And bursting in its beauty and its might
From trees and beasts and men into the Heavens'

light.

XLIV.

The splendours of the firmament of time
May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not ;
Like stars to their appointed height they climb,
And death is a low mist which cannot blot
The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought
Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair,
And love and life contend in it, for what

Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there, And move like winds of light on dark and stormy

air.

XLV.

The inheritors of unfulfilled renown
Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal

thought,
Far in the unapparent. Chatterton
Rose pale, his solemn agony had not
Yet faded from him ; Sidney, as he fought
And as he fell and as he lived and loved,
Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot,

Arose ; and Lucan, by his death approved ; Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved.

XLVI. And many more, whose names on earth are dark, But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, robed in dazzling immortality. “ Thou art become as one of us,” they cry; “ It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty,

Silent alone amid a Heaven of song. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our

throng !”

XLVII.

Who mourns for Adonais ? oh come forth, Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright. Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth; As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light

Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might
Satiate the void circumference: then shrink
Even to a point within our day and night;

And keep thy heart light, lest it make thee sink When hope has kindled hope, and lured thee to

the brink.

XLVIII.

Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre,
Oh, not of him, but of our joy : 'tis nought
That ages, empires, and religions, there
Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought;
For such as he can lend,—they borrow not
Glory from those who made the world their

prey ;
And he is gathered to the kings of thought

Who waged contention with their times' decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away.

XLIX.

Go thou to Rome,-at once the Paradise,
The grave, the city, and the wilderness;
And where its wrecks like shattered mountains

rise,
And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress
The bones of Desolation's nakedness
Pass, till the Spirit of the spot shall lead
Thy footsteps to a slope of green access,

Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is

spread,

L.

And gray walls moulder round, on which dull

Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand ; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of

death Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished

breath.

LI.

Here pause : these graves are all too young as

yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consigned Its charge to each ; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, Break it not thou ! too surely shalt thou find Thine own well full, if thou returnest home, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind

Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is, why fear we to become ?.

LII.

The One remains, the many change and pass ; Heaven's light for ever shines, Earth's shadows

fly;

Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,

Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost

seek! Follow where all is filed !-Rome's azure sky,

Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

LIII.

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my

Heart? Thy hopes are gone before : from all things here They have departed; thou shouldst now depart! A light is past from the revolving year,

and woman; and what still is dear Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. The soft sky smiles,—the low wind whispers

And man,

near :

'Tis Adonais calls ! oh, hasten thither, No more let Life divide what Death can join to

gether.

LIV.

That light whose smile kindles the Universe, That Beauty in which all things work and move, That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of

The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

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