LIII.

Her voice was as a mountain stream which sweeps
The withered leaves of Autumn to the lake, -
And in some deep and narrow bay then sleeps
In the shadow of the shores; as dead leaves wake
Under the wave, in flowers and herbs which make
Those green depths beautiful when skies are blue,
The multitude so moveless did partake

Such living change, and kindling murmurs flew
As o'er that speechless calm delight and wonder grew.

LIV.

Over the plain the throngs were scattered then
In groups around the fires, which from the sea
Even to the gorge of the first mountain glen
Blazed wide and far: the banquet of the free
Was spread beneath many a dark cypress tree,
Beneath whose spires, which swayed in the red light,1
Reclining as they ate, of Liberty,

And Hope, and Justice, and Laone's name,

Earth's children did a woof of happy converse frame.

LV.

Their feast was such as Earth, the general mother, Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smiles In the embrace of Autumn;-to each other As when some parent fondly reconciles Her warring children, she their wrath beguiles With her own sustenance; they relenting weep: Such was this Festival, which from their isles. And continents, and winds, and oceans deep, All shapes might throng to share, that fly, or walk, or creep.

1 I leave the word light notwithstanding the "conclusive" reasons

Mr. Rossetti sees in the words name

and frame for altering light to flume.

LVI.

Might share in peace and innocence, for gore
Or poison none this festal did pollute,
But piled on high, an overflowing store
Of pomegranates, and citrons, fairest fruit,
Melons, and dates, and figs, and many a root
Sweet and sustaining, and bright grapes ere yet
Accursed fire their mild juice could transmute
Into a mortal bane, and brown corn set

In baskets; with pure streams their thirsting lips they wet.

LVII.

Laone had descended from the shrine,

And every deepest look and holiest mind

Fed on her form, though now those tones divine

Were silent as she past; she did unwind

Her veil, as with the crowds of her own kind

She mixed; some impulse made my heart refrain
From seeking her that night, so I reclined
Amidst a group, where on the utmost plain
A festal watchfire burned beside the dusky main.

LVIII.

And joyous was our feast; pathetic talk,
And wit, and harmony of choral strains,
While far Orion o'er the waves did walk
That flow among the isles, held us in chains
Of sweet captivity, which none disdains

Who feels but when his zone grew dim in mist
Which clothes the Ocean's bosom, o'er the plains
The multitudes went homeward, to their rest,
Which that delightful day with its own shadow blest.

Canto Sixth.

I.

BESIDE the dimness of the glimmering sea,
Weaving swift language from impassioned themes,
With that dear friend1 I lingered, who to me
So late had been restored, beneath the gleams
Of the silver stars; and ever in soft dreams
Of future love and peace sweet converse lapt
Our willing fancies, till the pallid beams

Of the last watchfire fell, and darkness wrapt

The waves, and each bright chain of floating fire was snapt,3

II.

And till we came even to the City's wall

And the great gate, then, none knew whence or why,
Disquiet on the multitudes did fall:

And first, one pale and breathless past us by,
And stared and spoke not; then with piercing cry
A troop of wild-eyed women, by the shrieks

Of their own terror driven,

1 The male friend,-not Cythna.

2 In the original edition, 'till.

3 There is a full stop here in Shelley's

tumultuously

edition; but I think there can be little if any doubt that he would have put

a comma.

Hither and thither hurrying with pale cheeks,
Each one from fear unknown a sudden refuge seeks-

III.

Then, rallying cries of treason and of danger
Resounded: and-" they come! to arms! to arms!
The Tyrant is amongst us, and the stranger
Comes to enslave us in his name! to arms!"1
In vain for Panic, the pale fiend who charms
Strength to forswear her right, those millions swept
Like waves before the tempest-these alarms

Came to me, as to know their cause I leapt

On the gate's turret, and in rage and grief and scorn I wept !2

IV.

For to the North I saw the town on fire,
And its red light made morning pallid now,
Which burst over wide Asia ;-louder, higher,
The yells of victory and the screams of woe
I heard approach, and saw the throng below
Stream through the gates like foam-wrought waterfalls
Fed from a thousand storms-the fearful glow
Of bombs flares overhead-at intervals

The red artillery's bolt mangling among them falls.

V.

And now the horsemen come-and all was done
Swifter than I have spoken-I beheld

Their red swords flash in the unrisen sun.

serve

as

1 One of several instances in which identical words have to rhymes. In this case, at all events, I cannot imagine Shelley would have made any change; and I doubt whether he would in the case of the very next stanza. It is quite likely that he had in his mind the memorable instances of the same licence

2

taken by Dante in the Paradiso. Probably Shelley would have wished to reduce this line to the standard six feet, had he observed that it consisted of seven ; but as we cannot tell whether rage, grief or scorn would have been sacrificed, we can but leave it as it is.

I rushed among the rout to have repelled
That miserable flight-one moment quelled
By voice, and looks, and eloquent despair,

As if reproach from their own hearts withheld

Their steps, they stood; but soon came pouring there New multitudes, and did those rallied bands o'erbear.

VI.

I strove, as drifted on some cataract

By irresistible streams, some wretch might strive
Who hears its fatal roar:-the files compact
Whelmed me, and from the gate availed to drive
With quickening impulse, as each bolt did rive
Their ranks with bloodier chasm :-into the plain
Disgorged at length the dead and the alive

In one dread mass, were parted, and the stain Of blood, from mortal steel fell o'er the fields like rain.

VII.

For now the despot's blood-hounds with their prey,
Unarmed and unaware, were gorging deep

Their gluttony of death; the loose array

Of horsemen o'er the wide fields murdering sweep,
And with loud laughter for their tyrant reap

A harvest sown with other hopes, the while,
Far overhead, ships from Propontis keep

A killing rain of fire1:—when the waves smile,
As sudden earthquakes light many a volcano isle,2

1 There is some difficulty in realizing this picture. It should seem that the hireling cavalry of Othman were sabring the patriots at close quarters, and that, at the same time, the warships from Propontis were firing bombs into the conflict, regardless whether hirelings or patriots were the victims. I presume Shelley did not notice this indiscriminate consequence, in the ardour of his narration.

2 The final line and a half, as printed in Shelley's and Mrs. Shelley's editions, are to me quite inscrutable, although Mr. Rossetti, without remark, follows those editions. The passage has hitherto stood thus:

When the waves smile As sudden earthquakes light many a volcano isle.

The full stop at the end closes it in as belonging to the sense of this stanza;