XLVIII.

And, one by one, that night, young maidens came,
Beauteous and calm, like shapes of living stone
Clothed in the light of dreams, and by the flame
Which shrank as overgorged, they laid them down,
And sung a low sweet song, of which alone
One word was heard, and that was Liberty;
And that some kist their marble feet, with moan
Like love, and died, and then that they did die
With happy smiles, which sunk in white tranquillity.

The multiplication of the peculiar kind of maniac who professes to be a

certain criminal weakens the force of

the incident immeasurably.

Canto Eleventh.

I.

SHE saw me not-she heard me not-alone

Upon the mountain's dizzy brink she stood;

She spake not, breathed not, moved not-there was thrown Over her look, the shadow of a mood

Which only clothes the heart in solitude,

A thought of voiceless depth; she stood alone, Above, the Heavens were spread;-below, the flood Was murmuring in its caves; the wind had blown Her hair apart, thro' which her eyes and forehead shone.

II.

A cloud was hanging o'er the western mountains; Before its blue and moveless depth were flying Grey mists poured forth from the unresting fountains Of darkness in the North:-the day was dying :Sudden, the sun shone forth, its beams were lying Like boiling gold on Ocean, strange to see, And on the shattered vapours, which defying The power of light in vain, tosssd restlessly In the red Heaven, like wrecks in a tempestuous sea.

III.

It was a stream of living beams, whose bank
On either side by the cloud's cleft was made;
And where its chasms that flood of glory drank,
Its waves gushed forth like fire, and as if swayed
By some mute tempest, rolled on her; the shade
Of her bright image floated on the river

Of liquid light, which then did end and fade-
Her radiant shape upon its verge did shiver;
Aloft, her flowing hair like strings of flame did quiver.

IV.

I stood beside her, but she saw me not-
She looked upon the sea, and skies, and earth;
Rapture, and love, and admiration wrought
A passion deeper far than tears, or mirth,
Or speech, or gesture, or whate'er has birth

From common joy; which, with the speechless feeling
That led her there united, and shot forth

From her far eyes, a light of deep revealing,
All but her dearest self from my regard concealing.

V.

Her lips were parted, and the measured breath
Was now heard there;-her dark and intricate eyes
Orb within orb, deeper than sleep or death,
Absorbed the glories of the burning skies,
Which, mingling with her heart's deep ecstasies,1
Burst from her looks and gestures;-and a light
Of liquid tenderness like love, did rise

From her whole frame, an atmosphere which quite Arrayed her in its beams, tremulous and soft and bright.

1 Spelt ecstacies in the original edition

VI.

She would have clasped me to her glowing frame;
Those warm and odorous lips might soon have shed
On mine the fragrance and the invisible flame
Which now the cold winds stole; she would have laid
Upon my languid heart her dearest head;

I might have heard her voice, tender and sweet;
Her eyes mingling with mine, might soon have fed
My soul with their own joy.-One moment yet
I gazed-we parted then, never again to meet !

VII.

Never but once to meet on Earth again!
She heard me as I fled-her eager tone
Sunk1 on my heart, and almost wove a chain
Around my will to link it with her own,
So that my stern resolve was almost gone.

"I cannot reach thee! whither dost thou fly?

"My steps are faint-Come back, thou dearest one"Return, ah me! return "-the wind past by

On which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly.

VIII.

Woe! woe! that moonless midnight-Want and Pest
Were horrible, but one more fell doth rear,
As in a hydra's swarming lair, its crest
Eminent among those victims-even the Fear
Of Hell each girt by the hot atmosphere
Of his blind agony, like a scorpion stung

By his own rage upon his burning bier

Of circling coals of fire; but still there clung

One hope, like a keen sword on starting threads uphung:

1 Sank in Mrs. Shelley's and Mr. Rossetti's editions.

IX.

Not death-death was no more refuge or rest;

Not life-it was despair to be!—not sleep,
For fiends and chasms of fire had dispossest
All natural dreams: to wake was not to weep,
But to gaze mad and pallid, at the leap

To which the Future, like a snaky scourge,

Or like some tyrant's eye, which aye doth keep Its withering beam upon his slaves, did urge Their steps; they heard the roar of Hell's sulphureous surge.

X.

Each of that multitude alone, and lost

To sense of outward things, one hope yet knew ;

As on a foam-girt crag some seaman tost,

Stares at the rising tide, or like the crew
Whilst now the ship is splitting thro' and thro';
Each, if the tramp of a far steed was heard,
Started from sick despair, or if there flew

One murmur on the wind, or if some word
Which none can gather yet, the distant crowd has stirred.

XI.

Why became cheeks wan with the kiss of death,
Paler from hope? they had sustained despair.
Why watched those myriads with suspended breath
Sleepless a second night? they are not here
The victims, and hour by hour, a vision drear,

Warm corpses fall upon the clay-cold1 dead;

And even in death their lips are wreathed with fear.— The crowd is mute and moveless-overlead

Silent Arcturus shines-ha! hear'st thou not the tread

1 Clay cold, without a hyphen, in Shelley's edition.