Dare the unpastured dragon in his den? Defenceless as thou wert, oh! where was then Wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear? Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when Thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere, The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer. XXVIII. "The herded wolves, bold only to pursue; When, like Apollo, from his golden bow "The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn So it is in the world of living men: A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when It sinks, the swarms that dimmed or shared its light Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night." XXX. Thus ceased she: and the mountain shepherds came, Their garlands sear, their magic mantles rent; Over his living head like Heaven is bent, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, And love taught grief to fall like music from his tongue. XXXI. 'Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men, companionless With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey: XXXII. A pard-like Spirit beautiful and swift A love in desolation masked ; -a Power Girt round with weakness;—it can scarce uplift The weight of the superincumbent hour; It is a dying lamp, a falling shower, A breaking billow;-even whilst we speak Is it not broken? On the withering flower The killing sun smiles brightly; on a cheek The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break. XXXIII. His head was bound with pansies over-blown, And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue; And a light spear topped with a cypress cone, Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew Yet dripping with the forest's noon-day dew, Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasped it; of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart; A herd-abandoned deer, struck by the hunter's dart. XXXIV. All stood aloof, and at his partial moan gentle band Who in another's fate now wept his own; As in the accents of an unknown land He answered not, but with a sudden hand Made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, Which was like Cain's or Christ's. Oh! that it should be so ! XXXV. What softer voice is hushed over the dead? Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown? What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed, In mockery of monumental stone, [one; The heavy heart heaving without a moan? If it be he, who, gentlest of the wise, Taught, soothed, loved, honoured the departed Let me not vex, with inharmonious sighs, The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice. XXXVI. Our Adonais has drunk poison-oh! What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung. XXXVII. Live thou, whose infamy is no. fame! To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow: Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee; Hot shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt—as now. XXXVIII. Nor let us weep that our delight is fled same, Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame. XXXIX. Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep- And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife |