The Revolt of Islam/Canto I

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I.

  When the last hope of trampled France had failed
  Like a brief dream of unremaining glory,
  From visions of despair I rose, and scaled
  The peak of an aerial promontory,
  Whose caverned base with the vexed surge was hoary;
  And saw the golden dawn break forth, and waken
  Each cloud, and every wave:—but transitory
  The calm; for sudden, the firm earth was shaken,
As if by the last wreck its frame were overtaken.

II.

  So as I stood, one blast of muttering thunder
  Burst in far peals along the waveless deep,
  When, gathering fast, around, above and under,
  Long trains of tremulous mist began to creep,
  Until their complicating lines did steep
  The orient sun in shadow:—not a sound
  Was heard; one horrible repose did keep
  The forests and the floods, and all around
Darkness more dread than night was pour’d upon the ground.

III.

  Hark! ’tis the rushing of a wind that sweeps
  Earth and the ocean. See! the lightnings yawn
  Deluging Heaven with fire, and the lash’d deeps
  Glitter and boil beneath: it rages on,
  One mighty stream, whirlwind and waves upthrown,
  Lightning, and hail, and darkness eddying by.
  There is a pause—the sea-birds, that were gone
  Into their caves to shriek, come forth, to spy
What calm has fall’n on earth, what light is in the sky.

IV.

  For, where the irresistible storm had cloven
  That fearful darkness, the blue sky was seen
  Fretted with many a fair cloud interwoven
  Most delicately, and the ocean green,
  Beneath that opening spot of blue serene,
  Quiver’d like burning emerald: calm was spread
  On all below; but far on high, between
  Earth and the upper air, the vast clouds fled,
Countless and swift as leaves on autumn’s tempest shed

V.

  For ever, as the war became more fierce
  Between the whirlwinds and the rack on high,
  That spot grew more serene; blue light did pierce
  The woof of those white clouds, which seem’d to lie
  Far, deep, and motionless; while through the sky
  The pallid semicircle of the moon
  Past on, in slow and moving majesty;
  Its upper horn array’d in mists, which soon
But slowly fled, like dew beneath the beams of noon.

VI.

  I could not choose but gaze; a fascination
  Dwelt in that moon, and sky, and clouds, which drew
  My fancy thither, and in expectation
  Of what I knew not, I remain’d:—the hue
  Of the white moon, amid that heaven so blue,
  Suddenly stain’d with shadow did appear;
  A speck, a cloud, a shape, approaching grew,
  Like a great ship in the sun’s sinking sphere
Beheld afar at sea, and swift it came anear.

VII.

  Even like a bark, which from a chasm of mountains,
  Dark, vast, and overhanging, on a river
  Which there collects the strength of all its fountains,
  Comes forth, whilst with the speed its frame doth quiver,
  Sails, oars, and stream, tending to one endeavor;
  So, from that chasm of light a winged Form
  On all the winds of heaven approaching ever
  Floated, dilating as it came; the storm
Pursued it with fierce blasts, and lightnings swift and warm.

VIII.

  A course precipitous, of dizzy speed,
  Suspending thought and breath; a monstrous sight!
  For in the air do I behold indeed
  An Eagle and a Serpent wreathed in fight:—
  And now, relaxing its impetuous flight,
  Before the aerial rock on which I stood,
  The Eagle, hovering, wheel’d to left and right,
  And hung with lingering wings over the flood,
And startled with its yells the wide air’s solitude.

IX.

  A shaft of light upon its wings descended,
  And every golden feather gleam’d therein—
  Feather and scale inextricably blended.
  The Serpent’s mail’d and many-color’d skin
  Shone through the plumes its coils were twined within
  By many a swollen and knotted fold, and high
  And far, the neck, receding lithe and thin,
  Sustain’d a crested head, which warily
Shifted and glanced before the Eagle’s steadfast eye.

X.

  Around, around, in ceaseless circles wheeling
  With clang of wings and scream, the Eagle sail’d
  Incessantly—sometimes on high concealing
  Its lessening orbs, sometimes as if it fail’d,
  Droop’d through the air; and still it shrieked and wailed,
  And casting back its eager head, with beak
  And talon unremittingly assail’d
  The wreathed Serpent, who did ever seek
Upon his enemy’s heart a mortal wound to wreak.

XI.

  What life, what power, was kindled and arose
  Within the sphere of that appalling fray!
  For, from the encounter of those wondrous foes,
  A vapor like the sea’s suspended spray
  Hung gather’d: in the void air, far away,
  Floated the shattered plumes; bright scales did leap,
  Where’er the Eagle’s talons made their way,
  Like sparks into the darkness;—as they sweep,
Blood stains the snowy foam of the tumultuous deep.

XII.

  Swift chances in that combat—many a check,
  And many a change, a dark and wild turmoil;
  Sometimes the Snake around his enemy’s neck
  Locked in stiff rings his adamantine coil,
  Until the Eagle, faint with pain and toil,
  Remitted his strong flight, and near the sea
  Languidly flutter’d, hopeless so to foil
  His adversary, who then rear’d on high
His red and burning crest, radiant with victory.

XIII.

  Then on the white edge of the bursting surge,
  Where they had sunk together, would the Snake
  Relax his suffocating grasp, and scourge
  The wind with his wild writhings; for to break
  That chain of torment, the vast bird would shake
  The strength of his unconquerable wings
  As in despair, and with his sinewy neck,
  Dissolve in sudden shock those linked rings—
Then soar, as swift as smoke from a volcano springs.

XIV.

  Wile baffled wile, and strength encounter’d strength,
  Thus long, but unprevailing:—the event
  Of that portentous fight appeared at length:
  Until the lamp of day was almost spent
  It had endured, when lifeless, stark, and rent,
  Hung high that mighty Serpent, and at last
  Fell to the sea, while o’er the continent
  With clang of wings and scream the Eagle past,
Heavily borne away on the exhausted blast.

XV.

  And with it fled the tempest, so that ocean
  And earth and sky shone through the atmosphere—
  Only, ’twas strange to see the red commotion
  Of waves like mountains o’er the sinking sphere
  Of sunset sweep, and their fierce roar to hear
  Amid the calm: down the steep path I wound
  To the sea-shore—the evening was most clear
  And beautiful, and there the sea I found
Calm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound.

XVI.

  There was a Woman, beautiful as morning,
  Sitting beneath the rocks, upon the sand
  Of the waste sea—fair as one flower adorning
  An icy wilderness—each delicate hand
  Lay cross’d upon her bosom, and the band
  Of her dark hair had fall’n, and so she sate
  Looking upon the waves; on the bare strand
  Upon the sea-mark a small boat did wait,
Fair as herself, like Love by Hope left desolate.

XVII.

  It seem’d that this fair Shape had look’d upon
  That unimaginable fight, and now
  That her sweet eyes were weary of the sun,
  As brightly it illustrated her woe;
  For in the tears which silently to flow
  Paused not, its lustre hung: she watching aye
  The foam-wreaths which the faint tide wove below
  Upon the spangled sands, groan’d heavily,
And after every groan look’d up over the sea.

XVIII.

  And when she saw the wounded Serpent make
  His path between the waves, her lips grew pale,
  Parted, and quiver’d; the tears ceased to break
  From her immovable eyes; no voice of wail
  Escaped her; but she rose, and on the gale
  Loosening her star-bright robe and shadowy hair
  Poured forth her voice; the caverns of the vale
  That opened to the ocean, caught it there,
And filled with silver sounds the overflowing air.

XIX.

  She spake in language whose strange melody
  Might not belong to earth. I heard alone,
  What made its music more melodious be,
  The pity and the love of every tone;
  But to the Snake those accents sweet were known
  His native tongue and hers; nor did he beat
  The hoar spray idly then, but winding on
  Through the green shadows of the waves that meet
Near to the shore, did pause beside her snowy feet.

XX.

  Then on the sands the Woman sate again,
  And wept and clasp’d her hands, and all between,
  Renew’d the unintelligible strain
  Of her melodious voice and eloquent mien;
  And she unveil’d her bosom, and the green
  And glancing shadows of the sea did play
  O’er its marmoreal depth:—one moment seen,
  For ere the next, the Serpent did obey
Her voice, and, coil’d in rest, in her embrace it lay.

XXI.

  Then she arose, and smiled on me with eyes
  Serene yet sorrowing, like that planet fair,
  While yet the daylight lingereth in the skies
  Which cleaves with arrowy beams the dark-red air,
  And said: To grieve is wise, but the despair
  Was weak and vain which led thee here from sleep:
  This shalt thou know, and more, if thou dost dare
  With me and with this Serpent, o’er the deep,
A voyage divine and strange, companionship to keep.

XXII.

  Her voice was like the wildest, saddest tone,
  Yet sweet, of some loved voice heard long ago.
  I wept. Shall this fair woman all alone,
  Over the sea with that fierce Serpent go?
  His head is on her heart, and who can know
  How soon he may devour his feeble prey?—
  Such were my thoughts, when the tide ’gan to flow;
  And that strange boat like the moon’s shade did sway
Amid reflected stars that in the waters lay.

XXIII.

  A boat of rare device, which had no sail
  But its own curved prow of thin moonstone,
  Wrought like a web of texture fine and frail,
  To catch those gentlest winds which are not known
  To breathe, but by the steady speed alone
  With which it cleaves the sparkling sea; and now
  We are embark’d—the mountains hang and frown
  Over the starry deep that gleams below
A vast and dim expanse, as o’er the waves we go.

XXIV.

  And as we sailed, a strange and awful tale
  That Woman told, like such mysterious dream
  As makes the slumberer’s cheek with wonder pale!
  ’Twas midnight, and around, a shoreless stream,
  Wide ocean rolled, when that majestic theme
  Shrined in her heart found utterance, and she bent
  Her looks on mine; those eyes a kindling beam
  Of love divine into my spirit sent,
And ere her lips could move, made the air eloquent.

XXV.

  Speak not to me, but hear! Much shalt thou learn,
  Much must remain unthought, and more untold,
  In the dark Future’s ever-flowing urn:
  Know then, that from the depth of ages old
  Two Powers o’er mortal things dominion hold,
  Ruling the world with a divided lot,
  Immortal, all-pervading, manifold,
  Twin Genii, equal Gods—when life and thought
Sprang forth, they burst the womb of inessential Naught.

XXVI.

  The earliest dweller of the world alone,
  Stood on the verge of chaos: Lo! afar
  O’er the wide wild abyss two meteors shone,
  Sprung from the depth of its tempestuous jar:
  A blood-red Comet and the Morning Star
  Mingling their beams in combat—as he stood,
  All thoughts within his mind waged mutual war,
  In dreadful sympathy—when to the flood
That fair Star fell, he turn’d and shed his brother’s blood.

XXVII.

  Thus evil triumph’d, and the Spirit of evil,
  One Power of many shapes which none may know,
  One Shape of many names; the Fiend did revel
  In victory, reigning o’er a world of woe,
  For the new race of man went to and fro,
  Famish’d and homeless, loathed and loathing, wild,
  And hating good—for his immortal foe,
  He changed from starry shape, beauteous and mild,
To a dire Snake, with man and beast unreconciled.

XXVIII.

  The darkness lingering o’er the dawn of things,
  Was Evil’s breath and life: this made him strong
  To soar aloft with overshadowing wings;
  And the great Spirit of Good did creep among
  The nations of mankind, and every tongue
  Cursed and blasphemed him as he passed; for none
  Knew good from evil, though their names were hung
  In mockery o’er the fane where many a groan,
As King, and Lord, and God, the conquering Fiend did own.

XXIX.

  The Fiend, whose name was Legion: Death, Decay,
  Earthquake and Blight, and Want, and Madness pale,
  Winged and wan diseases, an array
  Numerous as leaves that strew the autumnal gale;
  Poison, a snake in flowers, beneath the veil
  Of food and mirth, hiding his mortal head;
  And, without whom all these might naught avail,
  Fear, Hatred, Faith, and Tyranny, who spread
Those subtle nets which snare the living and the dead.

XXX.

  His spirit is their power, and they his slaves
  In air, and light, and thought, and language, dwell;
  And keep their state from palaces to graves,
  In all resorts of men—invisible,
  But when, in ebon mirror, Nightmare fell
  To tyrant or impostor bids them rise,
  Black winged demon forms—whom, from the hell,
  His reign and dwelling beneath nether skies,
He loosens to their dark and blasting ministries.

XXXI.

  In the world’s youth his empire was as firm
  As its foundations—Soon the Spirit of Good,
  Though in the likeness of a loathsome worm,
  Sprang from the billows of the formless flood,
  Which shrank and fled; and with that fiend of blood
  Renewed the doubtful war—thrones then first shook,
  And earth’s immense and trampled multitude
  In hope on their own powers began to look,
And Fear, the demon pale, his sanguine shrine forsook.

XXXII.

  Then Greece arose, and to its bards and sages,
  In dream, the golden-pinion’d Genii came,
  Even where they slept amid the night of ages,
  Steeping their hearts in the divinest flame,
  Which thy breath kindled, Power of holiest name!
  And oft in cycles since, when darkness gave
  New weapons to thy foe, their sunlike fame
  Upon the combat shone—a light to save,
Like Paradise spread forth beyond the shadowy grave.

XXXIII.

  Such is this conflict—when mankind doth strive
  With its oppressors in a strife of blood,
  Or when free thoughts, like lightnings, are alive;
  And in each bosom of the multitude
  Justice and truth with custom’s hydra brood
  Wage silent war;—when priests and kings dissemble
  In smiles or frowns their fierce disquietude,
  When round pure hearts a host of hopes assemble,
The Snake and Eagle meet—the world’s foundations tremble!

XXXIV.

  Thou hast beheld that fight—when to thy home
  Thou dost return, steep not its hearth in tears;
  Though thou mayst hear that earth is now become
  The tyrant’s garbage, which to his compeers,
  The vile reward of their dishonor’d years,
  He will dividing give.—The victor Fiend,
  Omnipotent of yore, now quails, and fears
  His triumph dearly won, which soon will lend
An impulse swift and sure to his approaching end.

XXXV.

  List, stranger, list! mine is a human form,
  Like that thou wearest—touch me—shrink not now!
  My hand thou feel’st is not a ghost’s, but warm
  With human blood.—’Twas many years ago,
  Since first my thirsting soul aspired to know
  The secrets of this wondrous world, when deep
  My heart was pierced with sympathy, for woe
  Which could not be mine own—and thought did keep
In dream, unnatural watch beside an infant’s sleep.

XXXVI.

  Woe could not be mine own, since far from men
  I dwelt, a free and happy orphan child,
  By the sea-shore, in a deep mountain glen;
  And near the waves, and through the forests wild,
  I roam’d, to storm and darkness reconciled:
  For I was calm while tempest shook the sky:
  But when the breathless heavens in beauty smiled,
  I wept, sweet tears, yet too tumultuously
For peace, and clasp’d my hands aloft in ecstasy.

XXXVII.

  These were forebodings of my fate—before
  A woman’s heart beat in my virgin breast
  It had been nurtured in divinest lore:
  A dying poet gave me books, and blest
  With wild but holy talk the sweet unrest
  In which I watch’d him as he died away—
  A youth with hoary hair—a fleeting guest
  Of our lone mountains—and this lore did sway
My spirit like a storm, contending there alway.

XXXVIII.

  Thus the dark tale which history doth unfold,
  I knew, but not, methinks, as others know,
  For they weep not; and Wisdom had unroll’d
  The clouds which hide the gulf of mortal woe:
  To few can she that warning vision show—
  For I loved all things with intense devotion;
  So that when Hope’s deep source in fullest flow,
  Like earthquake did uplift the stagnant ocean
Of human thoughts—mine shook beneath the wide emotion.

XXXIX.

  When first the living blood through all these veins
  Kindled a thought in sense, great France sprang forth,
  And seized, as if to break, the ponderous chains
  Which bind in woe the nations of the earth.
  I saw, and started from my cottage hearth;
  And to the clouds and waves in tameless gladness
  Shriek’d, till they caught immeasurable mirth—
  And laugh’d in light and music: soon, sweet madness
Was pour’d upon my heart, a soft and thrilling sadness.

XL.

  Deep slumber fell on me:—my dreams were fire—
  Soft and delightful thoughts did rest and hover
  Like shadows o’er my brain; and strange desire,
  The tempest of a passion, raging over
  My tranquil soul, its depths with light did cover,
  Which past; and calm, and darkness, sweeter far,
  Came—then I loved; but not a human lover!
  For when I rose from sleep, the Morning Star
Shone through the woodbine wreaths which round my casement were.

XLI.

  ’Twas like an eye which seemed to smile on me.
  I watched, till by the sun made pale, it sank
  Under the billows of the heaving sea;
  But from its beams deep love my spirit drank,
  And to my brain the boundless world now shrank
  Into one thought—one image—yes, for ever!
  Even like the day-spring, pour’d on vapors dank,
  The beams of that one Star did shoot and quiver
Through my benighted mind—and were extinguished never.

XLII.

  The day passed thus: at night, methought, in dream
  A shape of speechless beauty did appear:
  It stood like light on a careering stream
  Of golden clouds which shook the atmosphere;
  A winged youth, his radiant brow did wear
  The Morning Star: a wild dissolving bliss
  Over my frame he breathed, approaching near,
  And bent his eyes of kindling tenderness
Near mine, and on my lips impressed a lingering kiss.

XLIII.

  And said: a Spirit loves thee, mortal maiden,
  How wilt thou prove thy worth? Then joy and sleep
  Together fled, my soul was deeply laden,
  And to the shore I went to muse and weep;
  But as I moved, over my heart did creep
  A joy less soft, but more profound and strong
  Than my sweet dream; and it forbade to keep
  The path of the sea-shore: that Spirit’s tongue
Seem’d whispering in my heart, and bore my steps along.

XLIV.

  How, to that vast and peopled city led,
  Which was a field of holy warfare then,
  I walked among the dying and the dead,
  And shared in fearless deeds with evil men.
  Calm as an angel in the dragon’s den—
  How I braved death for liberty and truth,
  And spurn’d at peace, and power, and fame; and when
  Those hopes had lost the glory of their youth,
How sadly I returned—might move the hearer’s ruth:

XLV.

  Warm tears throng fast! the tale may not be said—
  Know then, that when this grief had been subdued,
  I was not left, like others, cold and dead;
  The Spirit whom I loved in solitude
  Sustained his child: the tempest-shaken wood,
  The waves, the fountains, and the hush of night—
  These were his voice, and well I understood
  His smile divine, when the calm sea was bright
With silent stars, and Heaven was breathless with delight.

XLVI.

  In lonely glens amid the roar of rivers,
  When the dim nights were moonless, have I known
  Joys which no tongue can tell; my pale lip quivers
  When thought revisits them:—know thou alone,
  That after many wondrous years were flown,
  I was awaken’d by a shriek of woe;
  And over me a mystic robe was thrown,
  By viewless hands, and a bright Star did glow
Before my steps—the Snake then met his mortal foe.

XLVII.

  Thou fearest not then the Serpent on thy heart?
  Fear it! she said, with brief and passionate cry,
  And spake no more: that silence made me start—
  I look’d, and we were sailing pleasantly,
  Swift as a cloud between the sea and sky;
  Beneath the rising moon seen far away;
  Mountains of ice, like sapphire, piled on high,
  Hemming the horizon round, in silence lay
On the still waters—these we did approach alway.

XLVIII.

  And swift and swifter grew the vessel’s motion,
  So that a dizzy trance fell on my brain—
  Wild music woke me; we had past the ocean
  Which girds the pole, Nature’s remotest reign—
  And we glode fast o’er a pellucid plain
  Of waters, azure with the noon-tide day.
  Ethereal mountains shone around—a Fane
  Stood in the midst, girt by green isles which lay
On the blue sunny deep, resplendent far away.

XLIX.

  It was a Temple, such as mortal hand
  Has never built, nor ecstasy, nor dream
  Rear’d in the cities of enchanted land:
  ’Twas likest Heaven, ere yet day’s purple stream
  Ebbs o’er the western forest, while the gleam
  Of the unrisen moon among the clouds
  Is gathering—when with many a golden beam
  The thronging constellations rush in crowds,
Paving with fire the sky and the marmoreal floods.

L.

  Like what may be conceived of this vast dome,
  When from the depths which thought can seldom pierce,
  Genius beholds it rise, his native home,
  Girt by the deserts of the Universe,
  Yet, nor in painting’s light, or mightier verse,
  Or sculpture’s marble language, can invest
  That shape to mortal sense—such glooms immerse
  That incommunicable sight, and rest
Upon the laboring brain and overburthen’d breast.

LI.

  Winding among the lawny islands fair,
  Whose bloomy forests starr’d the shadowy deep,
  The wingless boat paused where an ivory stair
  Its fretwork in the crystal sea did steep,
  Encircling that vast Fane’s aerial heap:
  We disembark’d, and through a portal wide
  We pass’d—whose roof of moonstone carved, did keep
  A glimmering o’er the forms on every side,
Sculptures like life and thought, immovable, deep-eyed.

LII.

  We came to a vast hall, whose glorious roof
  Was diamond, which had drunk the lightning’s sheen
  In darkness, and now poured it through the woof
  Of spell-inwoven clouds hung there to screen
  Its blinding splendor—through such veil was seen
  That work of subtlest power, divine and rare;
  Orb above orb, with starry shapes between,
  And horned moons, and meteors strange and fair,
On night-black columns poised—one hollow hemisphere!

LIII.

  Ten thousand columns in that quivering light
  Distinct—between whose shafts wound far away
  The long and labyrinthine aisles—more bright
  With their own radiance than the Heaven of Day;
  And on the jasper walls around, there lay
  Paintings, the poesy of mightiest thought,
  Which did the Spirit’s history display;
  A tale of passionate change, divinely taught,
Which, in their winged dance, unconscious Genii wrought.

LIV.

  Beneath, there sate on many a sapphire throne,
  The Great, who had departed from mankind,
  A mighty Senate;—some, whose white hair shone
  Like mountain snow, mild, beautiful, and blind;
  Some, female forms, whose gestures beam’d with mind;
  And ardent youths, and children bright and fair;
  And some had lyres whose strings were intertwined
  With pale and clinging flames, which ever there
Waked faint yet thrilling sounds that pierced the crystal air.

LV.

  One seat was vacant in the midst, a throne,
  Rear’d on a pyramid like sculptured flame,
  Distinct with circling steps which rested on
  Their own deep fire—soon as the Woman came
  Into that hall, she shriek’d the Spirit’s name
  And fell; and vanish’d slowly from the sight.
  Darkness arose from her dissolving frame,
  Which gathering, fill’d that dome of woven light,
Blotting its sphered stars with supernatural night.

LVI.

  Then first, two glittering lights were seen to glide
  In circles on the amethystine floor,
  Small serpent eyes trailing from side to side,
  Like meteors on a river’s grassy shore,
  They round each other roll’d, dilating more
  And more—then rose, commingling into one,
  One clear and mighty planet hanging o’er
  A cloud of deepest shadow, which was thrown
Athwart the glowing steps and the crystálline throne.

LVII.

  The cloud which rested on that cone of flame
  Was cloven; beneath the planet sate a Form,
  Fairer than tongue can speak or thought may frame,
  The radiance of whose limbs rose-like and warm
  Flowed forth, and did with softest light inform
  The shadowy dome, the sculptures, and the state
  Of those assembled shapes—with clinging charm
  Sinking upon their hearts and mine—He sate
Majestic, yet most mild—calm, yet compassionate.

LVIII.

  Wonder and joy a passing faintness threw
  Over my brow—a hand supported me,
  Whose touch was magic strength: an eye of blue
  Look’d into mine, like moonlight, soothingly;
  And a voice said—Thou must a listener be
  This day—two mighty Spirits now return,
  Like birds of calm, from the world’s raging sea,
  They pour fresh light from Hope’s immortal urn;
A tale of human power—despair not—list and learn!

LIX.

  I look’d, and lo! one stood forth eloquently,
  His eyes were dark and deep, and the clear brow
  Which shadowed them was like the morning sky,
  The cloudless Heaven of Spring, when in their flow
  Through the bright air, the soft winds as they blow
  Wake the green world—his gestures did obey
  The oracular mind that made his features glow,
  And where his curved lips half open lay,
Passion’s divinest stream had made impetuous way.

LX.

  Beneath the darkness of his outspread hair
  He stood thus beautiful; but there was One
  Who sate beside him like his shadow there,
  And held his hand—far lovelier—she was known
  To be thus fair, by the few lines alone
  Which through her floating locks and gather’d cloak,
  Glances of soul-dissolving glory, shone:—
  None else beheld her eyes—in him they woke
Memories which found a tongue, as thus he silence broke.