Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PRINCE ATHANESE, by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel Last Line: Double the western planet's serene flame. | ||||||||
PART I THERE was a youth, who, as with toil and travel, Had grown quite weak and gray before his time; Nor any could the restless griefs unravel Which burned within him, withering up his prime And goading him, like fiends, from land to land. Not his the load of any secret crime, For nought of ill his heart could understand, But pity and wild sorrow for the same; Not his the thirst for glory or command, Baffled with blast of hope-consuming shame; Nor evil joys, which fire the vulgar breast And quench in speedy smoke its feeble flame, Had left within his soul their dark unrest; Nor what religion fables of the grave Feared he, -- Philosophy's accepted guest. For none than he a purer heart could have, Or that loved good more for itself alone; Of nought in heaven or earth was he the slave. What sorrow strange, and shadowy, and unknown, Sent him, a hopeless wanderer, through mankind? -- If with a human sadness he did groan, He had a gentle yet aspiring mind; Just, innocent, with varied learning fed; And such a glorious consolation find In others' joy, when all their own is dead. He loved, and labored for his kind in grief, And yet, unlike all others, it is said, That from such toil he never found relief. Although a child of fortune and of power, Of an ancestral name the orphan chief, His soul had wedded wisdom, and her dower Is love and justice, clothed in which he sate Apart from men, as in a lonely tower, Pitying the tumult of their dark estate. Yet even in youth did he not e'er abuse The strength of wealth or thought to consecrate Those false opinions which the harsh rich use To blind the world they famish for their pride; Nor did he hold from any man his dues, But, like a steward in honest dealings tried With those who toiled and wept, the poor and wise, His riches and his cares he did divide. Fearless he was, and scorning all disguise; What he dared do or think, though men might start, He spoke with mild yet unaverted eyes; Liberal he was of soul, and frank of heart, And to his many friends -- all loved him well -- Whate'er he knew or felt he would impart, If words he found those inmost thoughts to tell; If not, he smiled or wept; and his weak foes He neither spurned nor hated, though with fell And mortal hate their thousand voices rose, -- They passed like aimless arrows from his ear; Nor did his heart or mind its portal close To those, or them, or any whom life's sphere May comprehend within its wide array. What sadness made that vernal spirit sere? -- He knew not. Though his life, day after day, Was failing like an unreplenished stream, Though in his eyes a cloud and burden lay, Through which his soul, like Vesper's serene beam Piercing the chasms of ever rising clouds, Shone, softly burning; though his lips did seem Like reeds which quiver in impetuous floods; And through his sleep, and o'er each waking hour, Thoughts after thoughts, unresting multitudes, Were driven within him by some secret power, Which bade them blaze, and live, and roll afar, Like lights and sounds from haunted tower to tower O'er castled mountains borne, when tempest's war Is levied by the night-contending winds And the pale dalesmen watch with eager ear; -- Though such were in his spirit, as the fiends Which wake and feed on ever living woe, -- What was this grief, which ne'er in other minds A mirror found, he knew not -- none could know; But on whoe'er might question him he turned The light of his frank eyes, as if to show He knew not of the grief within that burned, But asked forbearance with a mournful look; Or spoke in words from which none ever learned The cause of his disquietude; or shook With spasms of silent passion; or turned pale: So that his friends soon rarely undertook To stir his secret pain without avail; For all who knew and loved him then perceived That there was drawn an adamantine veil Between his heart and mind, -- both unrelieved Wrought in his brain and bosom separate strife. Some said that he was mad; others believed That memories of an antenatal life Made this, where now he dwelt, a penal hell; And others said that such mysterious grief From God's displeasure, like a darkness, fell On souls like his which owned no higher law Than love; love calm, steadfast, invincible By mortal fear or supernatural awe; And others, -- ''This the shadow of a dream Which the veiled eye of memory never saw, 'But through the soul's abyss, like some dark stream Through shattered mines and caverns underground, Rolls, shaking its foundations; and no beam 'Of joy may rise but it is quenched and drowned In the dim whirlpools of this dream obscure; Soon its exhausted waters will have found 'A lair of rest beneath thy spirit pure, O Athanase! -- in one so good and great, Evil or tumult cannot long endure.' So spake they -- idly of another's state Babbling vain words and fond philosophy; This was their consolation; such debate Men held with one another; nor did he, Like one who labors with a human woe, Decline this talk; as if its theme might be Another, not himself, he to and fro Questioned and canvassed it with subtlest wit, And none but those who loved him best could know That which he knew not, how it galled and bit His weary mind, this converse vain and cold; For like an eyeless nightmare grief did sit Upon his being; a snake which fold by fold Pressed out the life of life, a clinging fiend Which clenched him if he stirred with deadlier hold; -- And so his grief remained -- let it remain -- untold. PART II Prince Athanase had one beloved friend, An old, old man, with hair of silver white, And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend With his wise words, and eyes whose arrowy light Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds. He was the last whom superstition's blight Had spared in Greece -- the blight that cramps and blinds -- And in his olive bower at OEnoe Had sate from earliest youth. Like one who finds A fertile island in the barren sea, One mariner who has survived his mates Many a drear month in a great ship -- so he With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates Of ancient lore there fed his lonely being. 'The mind becomes that which it contemplates,' -- And thus Zonoras, by forever seeing Their bright creations, grew like wisest men; And when he heard the crash of nations fleeing A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then, O sacred Hellas! many weary years He wandered, till the path of Laian's glen Was grass-grown, and the unremembered tears Were dry in Laian for their honored chief, Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears; And as the lady looked with faithful grief From her high lattice o'er the rugged path, Where she once saw that horseman toil, with brief, And blighting hope, who with the news of death Struck body and soul as with a mortal blight, She saw beneath the chestnuts, far beneath, An old man toiling up, a weary wight; And soon within her hospitable hall She saw his white hairs glittering in the light Of the wood-fire, and round his shoulders fall; And his wan visage and his withered mien Yet calm and gentle and majestical. And Athanase, her child, who must have been Then three years old, sate opposite and gazed In patient silence. Such was Zonoras; and as daylight finds One amaranth glittering on the path of frost, When autumn nights have nipped all weaker kinds, Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tossed, Shone truth upon Zonoras; and he filled From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost, The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child, With soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild. And sweet and subtle talk they evermore, The pupil and the master, shared; until, Sharing that undiminishable store, The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran His teacher, and did teach with native skill Strange truths and new to that experienced man; Still they were friends, as few have ever been Who mark the extremes of life's discordant span. So in the caverns of the forest green, Or by the rocks of echoing ocean hoar, Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen By summer woodmen; and when winter's roar Sounded o'er earth and sea its blast of war, The Balearic fisher, driven from shore, Hanging upon the peaked wave afar, Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam, Piercing the stormy darkness like a star Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam, Whilst all the constellations of the sky Seemed reeling through the storm. They did but seem -- For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing, And far o'er southern waves, immovably Belted Orion hangs -- warm light is flowing From the young moon into the sunset's chasm. 'O summer eve with power divine, bestowing 'On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm 'Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness, Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale! And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness, 'And the far sighings of yon piny dale Made vocal by some wind we feel not here, -- I bear alone what nothing may avail 'To lighten -- a strange load!' -- No human ear Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan Of Athanase a ruffling atmosphere Of dark emotion, a swift shadow, ran, Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake, Glassy and dark. And that divine old man Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake, Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest; And with a calm and measured voice he spake, And with a soft and equal pressure, pressed That cold, lean hand: -- 'Dost thou remember yet, When the curved moon, then lingering in the west, 'Paused in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea? 'Tis just one year -- sure thou dost not forget -- 'Then Plato's words of light in thee and me Lingered like moonlight in the moonless east; For we had just then read -- thy memory 'Is faithful now -- the story of the feast; And Agathon and Diotima seemed From death and dark forgetfulness released.' 'T was at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber, as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings, Stands up before its mother bright and mild, Of whose soft voice the air expectant seems -- So stood before the sun, which shone and smiled To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams, The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove Waxed green, and flowers burst forth like starry beams; The grass in the warm sun did start and move, And sea-buds burst beneath the waves serene. How many a one, though none be near to love, Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen In any mirror, or the spring's young minions, The winged leaves amid the copses green! How many a spirit then puts on the pinions Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast, And his own steps, and over wide dominions Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, More fleet than storms -- the wide world shrinks below, When winter and despondency are passed! 'T was at this season that Prince Athanase Passed the white Alps; those eagle-baffling mountains Slept in their shrouds of snow; beside the ways The waterfalls were voiceless, for their fountains Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now; Or, by the curdling winds, like brazen wings Which clanged along the mountain's marble brow, Warped into adamantine fretwork, hung, And filled with frozen light the chasm below. Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all We can desire, O Love! and happy souls, Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall, Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew! Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls Investest it; and when the heavens are blue Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair The shadow of thy moving wings imbue Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear Beauty like some bright robe; thou ever soarest Among the towers of men, and as soft air In spring, which moves the unawakened forest, Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak, Thou floatest among men, and aye implorest That which from thee they should implore; the weak Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts The strong have broken; yet where shall any seek A garment whom thou clothest not? Her hair was brown, her sphered eyes were brown, And in their dark and liquid moisture swam, Like the dim orb of the eclipsed moon; Yet when the spirit flashed beneath, there came The light from them, as when tears of delight Double the western planet's serene flame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADONAIS; AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ALASTOR; OR, THE SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY AUTUMN: A DIRGE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ENGLAND IN 1819 by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY EPIPSYCHIDION by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY HYMN OF PAN by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY MONT BLANC; LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |
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