Along the dark and ruffled waters fled
The straining boat.-A whirlwind swept it on, With fierce gusts and precipitating force, Through the white ridges of the chafèd sea.
The waves arose. Higher and higher still
Their fierce necks writhed beneath the tempest's scourge Like serpents struggling in a vulture's grasp.
Calm and rejoicing in the fearful war
Of wave ruining on wave, and blast on blast Descending, and black flood on whirlpool driven With dark obliterating course, he sate: As if their genii were the ministers Appointed to conduct him to the light Of those beloved eyes, the Poet sate Holding the steady helm. Evening came on, The beams of sunset hung their rainbow hues High 'mid the shifting domes of sheeted spray That canopied his path o'er the waste deep; Twilight, ascending slowly from the east, Entwined in duskier wreaths her braided locks O'er the fair front and radiant eyes of day; Night followed, clad with stars. On every side More horribly the multitudinous streams
Of ocean's mountainous waste to mutual war Rushed in dark tumult thundering, as to mock The calm and spangled sky. The little boat Still fled before the storm; still fled, like foam Down the steep cataract of a wintry river; Now pausing on the edge of the riven wave; Now leaving far behind the bursting mass That fell, convulsing ocean.3 Safely fled-
1 Ruining is the word in Shelley's edition, and in Mrs. Shelley's of 1824; but in her other editions it is altered to running.
2 Entwin'd in Shelley's edition; but see note at p. 22.
3 This punctuation strikes me as being Shelley's deliberate choice, though incorrect: probably no other stop would yield him a long enough pause before Safely. Mr. Rossetti alters it.
As if that frail and wasted human form, Had been an elemental god.
The moon arose and lo! the etherial1 cliffs Of Caucasus, whose icy summits shone Among the stars like sunlight, and around
Whose caverned2 base the whirlpools and the waves 355 Bursting and eddying irresistibly
Rage and resound for ever.-Who shall save ?—
The boat fled on,-the boiling torrent drove,—
The crags closed round with black and jaggèd arms, The shattered mountain overhung the sea, And faster still, beyond all human speed, Suspended on the sweep of the smooth wave, The little boat was driven. A cavern there Yawned, and amid its slant and winding depths Ingulphed the rushing sea. The boat fled on With unrelaxing speed.-' Vision and Love!' The Poet cried aloud, 'I have beheld
The path of thy departure. Shall not divide us long!
The windings of the cavern.
At length upon that gloomy river's flow;
Now, where the fiercest war among the waves
Is calm, on the unfathomable stream
The boat moved slowly. Where the mountain, riven,
Exposed those black depths to the azure sky,
Ere yet the flood's enormous volume fell Even to the base of Caucasus, with sound
That shook the everlasting rocks, the mass
Filled with one whirlpool all that ample chasm;
1 So spelt in Shelley's edition of Alastor, invariably.
In Shelley's edition, cavern'd.
Stair above stair the eddying waters rose, Circling immeasurably fast, and laved With alternating dash the knarlèd1 roots-
Of mighty trees, that stretched their giant arms In darkness over it. I' the midst was left, Reflecting, yet distorting every cloud,
A pool of treacherous and tremendous calm. Seized by the sway of the ascending stream, With dizzy swiftness, round, and round, and round, Ridge after ridge the straining boat arose, Till on the verge of the extremest curve, Where, through an opening of the rocky bank, The waters overflow, and a smooth spot
Of glassy quiet mid those battling tides
Is left, the boat paused shuddering.-Shall it sink Down the abyss? Shall the reverting stress Of that resistless gulph embosom it?
Now shall it fall?-A wandering stream of wind, Breathed from the west, has caught the expanded sail, And, lo! with gentle motion, between banks
Of mossy slope, and on a placid stream,
Beneath a woven grove it sails, and, hark!
The ghastly torrent mingles its far roar,
With the breeze murmuring in the musical woods. Where the embowering trees recede, and leave
A little space of green expanse, the cove
Is closed by meeting banks, whose yellow flowers For ever gaze on their own drooping eyes, Reflected in the crystal calm. The wave Of the boat's motion marred their pensive task, Which nought but vagrant bird, or wanton wind, Or falling spear-grass, or their own decay
I suspect this obsolete spelling was adopted advisedly, and that the k
was meant to be pronounced; but see Appendix, "On Certain Words."
Had e'er disturbed before. The Poet longed
To deck with their bright hues his withered hair, But on his heart its solitude returned,
And he forbore. Not the strong impulse hid
In those flushed cheeks, bent eyes, and shadowy frame Had yet performed its ministry: it hung
Upon his life, as lightning in a cloud
Gleams, hovering ere it vanish, ere the floods Of night close over it.
Now shone upon the forest, one vast mass Of mingling shade, whose brown magnificence A narrow vale embosoms. There, huge caves, Scooped in the dark base of their1 aëry rocks Mocking its moans, respond and roar for ever. The meeting boughs and implicated leaves Wove twilight o'er the Poet's path, as led By love, or dream, or god, or mightier Death, He sought in Nature's dearest haunt, some bank, Her cradle, and his sepulchre. More dark And dark the shades accumulate. The oak, Expanding its immense and knotty2 arms, Embraces the light beech. The pyramids Of the tall cedar overarching, frame
Most solemn domes within, and far below, Like clouds suspended in an emerald sky, The ash and the acacia floating hang Tremulous and pale. Like restless serpents, clothed In rainbow and in fire, the parasites,
Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around
1 Mrs. Shelley substituted those for their in 1824, and has been followed in all editions of any authority. I cannot see sufficient advantage in disturbing Shelley's text.
2 Immeasurable is substituted for immense and knotty in the Posthumous Poems; but Mrs. Shelley restored the right reading in 1839.
The gray trunks, and, as gamesome infants' eyes, With gentle meanings, and most innocent wiles, Fold their beams round the hearts of those that love, These twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs Uniting their close union; the woven leaves Make net-work of the dark blue light of day,
And the night's noontide clearness, mutable
As shapes in the weird clouds. Soft mossy lawns Beneath these canopies extend their swells,
Fragrant with perfumed herbs, and eyed with blooms 450 Minute yet beautiful. One darkest glen
Sends from its woods of musk-rose, twined with jasmine, A soul-dissolving odour, to invite
To some more lovely mystery. Through the dell, Silence and Twilight here, twin-sisters, keep Their noonday watch, and sail among the shades, Like vaporous shapes half seen; beyond, a well, Dark, gleaming, and of most translucent wave, Images all the woven boughs above, And each depending leaf, and every speck Of azure sky, darting between their chasms; Nor aught else in the liquid mirror laves Its portraiture, but some inconstant star Between one1 foliaged lattice twinkling fair, Or, painted bird, sleeping beneath the moon, Or gorgeous insect floating motionless, Unconscious of the day, ere yet his wings Have spread their glories to the gaze of noon.
Hither the Poet came. His eyes beheld Their own wan light through the reflected lines Of his thin hair, distinct in the dark depth Of that still fountain; as the human heart,
1 It is worth considering whether one is not a misprint for the.
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