 | Verses On the Death of Percy Byssche Shelley |  |
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VERSES On the Death OF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
I
I gave thee praise, while life was thine,If weak, at least sincere—
As e'er was offer'd at the shrine
To tuneful vot'ries dear;—
I own'd thou hadst no common dower
Of genius, harmony, and power
To waken hope and fear;
My spirit felt their potent sway,
And mourn'd to see them cast away.
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II
To see them cast away on themesWhich ill could recompense
The proud aspirings, lofty dreams,
Of such intelligence;
I mourn'd to think that gifts so rare,
And rich, should threaten to ensnare
The Soul's diviner sense;
Should bring a cloud o'er minds unknown,
And fatally mislead thy own.
III
I felt all this;—and yet at times,As through the dark obscure
Of thy wild, visionary rhymes,
A glimpse of light more pure
Would break in transient lustre forth;
And hopes of more enduring worth,
For thee would then allure;
These too I felt;—was glad to feel;
And hazarded one brief appeal.
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IV
It prov'd in vain;—for thou hadst rear'dA fabric of thine own;
And all remonstrance but endear'd
A structure, which had grown
From airy hopes that dreams invent:
Delusive, from its battlement
To its foundation-stone;
A Babel-Tower, by fancy built,
And by her gorgeous sunshine gilt.
V
I can but grieve, that, in thine eye,Such pile—Truth's temple seem'd;
I can but sorrow thou shouldst die,
Nor know thou hadst but dream'd;—
I more lament that there should be
Those, who, beguil'd by that, and thee,
Of both unwisely deem'd:—
Fancied the edifice divine,
And thou the guardian of its shrine.
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VI
And yet my verse—nor shrine, nor priest,Again had sought to greet;
If with thy mortal life had ceas'd
The dang'rous counterfeit:—
Had other candidates for fame
But been content to let thy name
Repose in silence meet;
By me, though thought of with regret,
That name had been unmention'd yet.
VII
There is a spell by Nature thrownAround the voiceless dead,
Which seems to soften censure's tone,
And guard the dreamless bed
Of those, who, whatso'er they were,
Wait Heaven's conclusive audit there,
In silence—dark, and dread!
And with instinctive awe our hearts
Feel all which such a spot imparts.
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VIII
We feel that we ourselves are frailIn word, in act, in thought,—
And rather wish a kindly veil
In pity thrown athwart
Errors, and faults, alike gone by;
Than have them to each gazer's eye
In open day-light brought:
To those who rightly think, and feel,
The dead with eloquence appeal.
IX
But should their very errors beIn numbers eulogiz'd;
Their phantasms urged—to set us free
From laws by Virtue priz'd;
If their admirers, not content
Their works should be their monument,
Would have them canoniz'd;—
It seems a duty to uphold
The faith our sires maintain'd of old.
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X
For thee, departed bard! I feelBut pity and regret;
And gladly would their anguish heal
Who mourn thy sun has set:—
More gladly would I hope,—through One
Who died for all, that vanish'd sun
Might rise in glory yet;—
'Tis not for me to judge how far
Thy unbelief such hopes must mar.
XI
With those who think they view in theeThe champion of their creed,
If their's, in truth, a creed can be,
Who from belief are freed,—
Who view with scorn all modes of faith,
Though seal'd by many a martyr's death,
With such I fain would plead;
And, in that love which knows no bound,
Once more one brief alarm would sound.
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XII
If Christians err, yourselves admitSuch error harms them not;—
If you are wrong, and Holy Writ
No juggling, priestly plot,
But Truth's own Oracle reveal'd;—
Then is your condemnation seal'd,
And hopeless is your lot!
You doubt the Gospel:—keep in view,
What can be doubted—may be true!
XIII
But O! to you,—who halt betweenThe Christian's—sceptic's part:
Who now to Revelation lean,
And now to sophists' art;
As one who many doubts has known,—
Aware what conflicts like your own
Awaken in the heart;—
This simple watch-word let me give,
“Believe!—Obey!—and ye shall live!”
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XIV
What though the sceptic's lips declareThe Christian's hope—a lie;
And pride, that fills the Scorner's chair,
The Christian's faith deny;
Be your's that holy hope and faith,
And your's shall be, o'er sin and death,
The glorious victory;
A victory—not by you obtain'd,
But through your Saviour's triumph gain'd.
XV
For you The Lamb was crucified,Enduring every pain;
For you he bled, for you he died,
For you he rose again;
And liveth evermore to make
Prompt intercession for your sake,
That you with Him may reign;
And, through his sacrifice, might prove
The wonders of redeeming Love.
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XVI
Through faith in Him your sires of oldMaintain'd the holy fight
With death and darkness;—and laid hold
On Life, and Gospel Light;—
Through faith in Him the prophets saw
Beyond the earlier, outward law,
To a more glorious rite;—
Beholding with a stedfast eye,
A brighter era drawing nigh.
XVII
Your pious fathers,—where are they?Ye trust in joy supreme:—
The prophets—live not these for aye
Near Life's immortal stream?—
Hope answers “Yes!”—be their's your choice,
Believe The Spirit's teaching voice
To be no fabled dream;
That so you may, when life be o'er,
Your Saviour and your God adore!
| Verses On the Death of Percy Byssche Shelley | |