The Triumph of Life


Swift as a spirit hastening to his task 
Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth 
Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask 
Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth. 
The smokeless altars of the mountain snows 
Flamed above crimson clouds, & at the birth 
Of light, the Ocean’s orison arose 
To which the birds tempered their matin lay, 
All flowers in field or forest which unclose 
Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day, 
Swinging their censers in the element, 
With orient incense lit by the new ray 
Burned slow & inconsumably, & sent 
Their odorous sighs up to the smiling air, 
And in succession due, did Continent, 
Isle, Ocean, & all things that in them wear 
The form & character of mortal mould 
Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear 
Their portion of the toil which he of old 
Took as his own & then imposed on them; 
But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold 
Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem 
The cone of night, now they were laid asleep, 
Stretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem 
Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep 
Of a green Apennine: before me fled 
The night; behind me rose the day; the Deep 
Was at my feet, & Heaven above my head 
When a strange trance over my fancy grew 
Which was not slumber, for the shade it spread 
Was so transparent that the scene came through 
As clear as when a veil of light is drawn 
O’er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew 
That I had felt the freshness of that dawn, 
Bathed in the same cold dew my brow & hair 
And sate as thus upon that slope of lawn 
Under the self same bough, & heard as there 
The birds, the fountains & the Ocean hold 
Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air. 
And then a Vision on my brain was rolled. 

As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay 
This was the tenour of my waking dream. 
Methought I sate beside a public way 
Thick strewn with summer dust, & a great stream 
Of people there was hurrying to & fro 
Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam, 
All hastening onward, yet none seemed to know 
Whither he went, or whence he came, or why 
He made one of the multitude, yet so 
Was borne amid the crowd as through the sky 
One of the million leaves of summer’s bier.— 
Old age & youth, manhood & infancy, 
Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, 
Some flying from the thing they feared & some 
Seeking the object of another’s fear, 
And others as with steps towards the tomb 
Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath, 
And others mournfully within the gloom 
Of their own shadow walked, and called it death … 
And some fled from it as it were a ghost, 
Half fainting in the affliction of vain breath. 
But more with motions which each other crost 
Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw 
Or birds within the noonday ether lost, 
Upon that path where flowers never grew; 
And weary with vain toil & faint for thirst 
Heard not the fountains whose melodious dew 
Out of their mossy cells forever burst 
Nor felt the breeze which from the forest told 
Of grassy paths, & wood lawns interspersed 
With overarching elms & caverns cold, 
And violet banks where sweet dreams brood, but they 
Pursued their serious folly as of old …. 
And as I gazed methought that in the way 
The throng grew wilder, as the woods of June 
When the South wind shakes the extinguished day.— 
And a cold glare, intenser than the noon 
But icy cold, obscured with [[blank]] light 
The Sun as he the stars. Like the young moon 
When on the sunlit limits of the night 
Her white shell trembles amid crimson air 
And whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might 
Doth, as a herald of its coming, bear 
The ghost of her dead Mother, whose dim form 
Bends in dark ether from her infant’s chair, 
So came a chariot on the silent storm 
Of its own rushing splendour, and a Shape 
So sate within as one whom years deform 
Beneath a dusky hood & double cape 
Crouching within the shadow of a tomb, 
And o’er what seemed the head, a cloud like crape, 
Was bent a dun & faint etherial gloom 
Tempering the light; upon the chariot’s beam 
A Janus-visaged Shadow did assume 
The guidance of that wonder-winged team. 
The Shapes which drew it in thick lightnings 
Were lost: I heard alone on the air’s soft stream 
The music of their ever moving wings. 
All the four faces of that charioteer 
Had their eyes banded . . . little profit brings 
Speed in the van & blindness in the rear, 
Nor then avail the beams that quench the Sun 
Or that his banded eyes could pierce the sphere 
Of all that is, has been, or will be done.— 
So ill was the car guided, but it past 
With solemn speed majestically on . . . 
The crowd gave way, & I arose aghast, 
Or seemed to rise, so mighty was the trance, 
And saw like clouds upon the thunder blast 
The million with fierce song and maniac dance 
Raging around; such seemed the jubilee 
As when to greet some conqueror’s advance 
Imperial Rome poured forth her living sea 
From senatehouse & prison & theatre 
When Freedom left those who upon the free 
Had bound a yoke which soon they stooped to bear. 
Nor wanted here the true similitude 
Of a triumphal pageant, for where’er 
The chariot rolled a captive multitude 
Was driven; althose who had grown old in power 
Or misery,—all who have their age subdued, 
By action or by suffering, and whose hour 
Was drained to its last sand in weal or woe, 
So that the trunk survived both fruit & flower; 
All those whose fame or infamy must grow 
Till the great winter lay the form & name 
Of their own earth with them forever low, 
All but the sacred few who could not tame 
Their spirits to the Conqueror, but as soon 
As they had touched the world with living flame 
Fled back like eagles to their native noon, 
Of those who put aside the diadem 
Of earthly thrones or gems, till the last one 
Were there;—for they of Athens & Jerusalem 
Were neither mid the mighty captives seen 
Nor mid the ribald crowd that followed them 
Or fled before . . Now swift, fierce & obscene 
The wild dance maddens in the van, & those 
Who lead it, fleet as shadows on the green, 
Outspeed the chariot & without repose 
Mix with each other in tempestuous measure 
To savage music …. Wilder as it grows, 
They, tortured by the agonizing pleasure, 
Convulsed & on the rapid whirlwinds spun 
Of that fierce spirit, whose unholy leisure 
Was soothed by mischief since the world begun, 
Throw back their heads & loose their streaming hair, 
And in their dance round her who dims the Sun 
Maidens & youths fling their wild arms in air 
As their feet twinkle; they recede, and now 
Bending within each other’s atmosphere 
Kindle invisibly; and as they glow 
Like moths by light attracted & repelled, 
Oft to new bright destruction come & go. 
Till like two clouds into one vale impelled 
That shake the mountains when their lightnings mingle 
And die in rain,—the fiery band which held 
Their natures, snaps . . . ere the shock cease to tingle 
One falls and then another in the path 
Senseless, nor is the desolation single, 
Yet ere I can say where the chariot hath 
Past over them; nor other trace I find 
But as of foam after the Ocean’s wrath 
Is spent upon the desert shore.—Behind, 
Old men, and women foully disarrayed 
Shake their grey hair in the insulting wind, 
Limp in the dance & strain, with limbs decayed, 
Seeking to reach the light which leaves them still 
Farther behind & deeper in the shade. 
But not the less with impotence of will 
They wheel, though ghastly shadows interpose 
Round them & round each other, and fulfill 
Their work and to the dust whence they arose 
Sink & corruption veils them as they lie 
And frost in these performs what fire in those. 
Struck to the heart by this sad pageantry, 
Half to myself I said, “And what is this? 
Whose shape is that within the car? & why”- 
I would have added—”is all here amiss?” 
But a voice answered . . “Life” . . . I turned & knew 
(O Heaven have mercy on such wretchedness!) 
That what I thought was an old root which grew 
To strange distortion out of the hill side 
Was indeed one of that deluded crew, 
And that the grass which methought hung so wide 
And white, was but his thin discoloured hair, 
And that the holes it vainly sought to hide 
Were or had been eyes.—”lf thou canst forbear 
To join the dance, which I had well forborne,” 
Said the grim Feature, of my thought aware, 
“I will now tell that which to this deep scorn 
Led me & my companions, and relate 
The progress of the pageant since the morn; 
“If thirst of knowledge doth not thus abate, 
Follow it even to the night, but I 
Am weary” . . . Then like one who with the weight 
Of his own words is staggered, wearily 
He paused, and ere he could resume, I cried, 
“First who art thou?” . . . “Before thy memory 
“I feared, loved, hated, suffered, did, & died, 
And if the spark with which Heaven lit my spirit 
Earth had with purer nutriment supplied 
“Corruption would not now thus much inherit 
Of what was once Rousseau—nor this disguise 
Stained that within which still disdains to wear it.— 
“If I have been extinguished, yet there rise 
A thousand beacons from the spark I bore.”— 
“And who are those chained to the car?” “The Wise, 
“The great, the unforgotten: they who wore 
Mitres & helms & crowns, or wreathes of light, 
Signs of thought’s empire over thought; their lore 
“Taught them not this—to know themselves; their might 
Could not repress the mutiny within, 
And for the morn of truth they feigned, deep night 
“Caught them ere evening.” “Who is he with chin 
Upon his breast and hands crost on his chain?” 
“The Child of a fierce hour; he sought to win 
“The world, and lost all it did contain 
Of greatness, in its hope destroyed; & more 
Of fame & peace than Virtue’s self can gain 
“Without the opportunity which bore 
Him on its eagle’s pinion to the peak 
From which a thousand climbers have before 
“Fall’n as Napoleon fell.”—I felt my cheek 
Alter to see the great form pass away 
Whose grasp had left the giant world so weak 
That every pigmy kicked it as it lay— 
And much I grieved to think how power & will 
In opposition rule our mortal day— 
And why God made irreconcilable 
Good & the means of good; and for despair 
I half disdained mine eye’s desire to fill 
With the spent vision of the times that were 
And scarce have ceased to be . . . “Dost thou behold,” 
Said then my guide, “those spoilers spoiled, Voltaire, 
“Frederic, & Kant, Catherine, & Leopold, 
Chained hoary anarch, demagogue & sage 
Whose name the fresh world thinks already old— 
“For in the battle Life & they did wage 
She remained conqueror—I was overcome 
By my own heart alone, which neither age 
“Nor tears nor infamy nor now the tomb 
Could temper to its object.”—”Let them pass”— 
I cried—”the world & its mysterious doom 
“Is not so much more glorious than it was 
That I desire to worship those who drew 
New figures on its false & fragile glass 
“As the old faded.”—”Figures ever new 
Rise on the bubble, paint them how you may; 
We have but thrown, as those before us threw, 
“Our shadows on it as it past away. 
But mark, how chained to the triumphal chair 
The mighty phantoms of an elder day— 
“All that is mortal of great Plato there 
Expiates the joy & woe his master knew not; 
That star that ruled his doom was far too fair— 
“And Life, where long that flower of Heaven grew not, 
Conquered the heart by love which gold or pain 
Or age or sloth or slavery could subdue not— 
“And near [[blank]] walk the [[blank]] twain, 
The tutor & his pupil, whom Dominion 
Followed as tame as vulture in a chain.— 
“The world was darkened beneath either pinion 
Of him whom from the flock of conquerors 
Fame singled as her thunderbearing minion; 
“The other long outlived both woes & wars, 
Throned in new thoughts of men, and still had kept 
The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors 
“If Bacon’s spirit [[blank]] had not leapt 
Like lightning out of darkness; he compelled 
The Proteus shape of Nature’s as it slept 
“To wake & to unbar the caves that held 
The treasure of the secrets of its reign— 
See the great bards of old who inly quelled 
“The passions which they sung, as by their strain 
May well be known: their living melody 
Tempers its own contagion to the vein 
“Of those who are infected with it—I 
Have suffered what I wrote, or viler pain!— 
“And so my words were seeds of misery— 
Even as the deeds of others.”—”Not as theirs,” 
I said—he pointed to a company 
In which I recognized amid the heirs 
Of Caesar’s crime from him to Constantine, 
The Anarchs old whose force & murderous snares 
Had founded many a sceptre bearing line 
And spread the plague of blood & gold abroad, 
And Gregory & John and men divine 
Who rose like shadows between Man & god 
Till that eclipse, still hanging under Heaven, 
Was worshipped by the world o’er which they strode 
For the true Sun it quenched.—”Their power was given 
But to destroy,” replied the leader—”I 
Am one of those who have created, even 
“If it be but a world of agony.”— 
“Whence camest thou & whither goest thou? 
How did thy course begin,” I said, “& why? 
“Mine eyes are sick of this perpetual flow 
Of people, & my heart of one sad thought.— 
Speak.”—”Whence I came, partly I seem to know, 
“And how & by what paths I have been brought 
To this dread pass, methinks even thou mayst guess; 
Why this should be my mind can compass not; 
“Whither the conqueror hurries me still less. 
But follow thou, & from spectator turn 
Actor or victim in this wretchedness, 
“And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learn 
From thee.—Now listen . . . In the April prime 
When all the forest tops began to burn 
“With kindling green, touched by the azure clime 
Of the young year, I found myself asleep 
Under a mountain which from unknown time 
“Had yawned into a cavern high & deep, 
And from it came a gentle rivulet 
Whose water like clear air in its calm sweep 
“Bent the soft grass & kept for ever wet 
The stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the grove 
With sound which all who hear must needs forget 
“All pleasure & all pain, all hate & love, 
Which they had known before that hour of rest: 
A sleeping mother then would dream not of 
“The only child who died upon her breast 
At eventide, a king would mourn no more 
The crown of which his brow was dispossest 
“When the sun lingered o’er the Ocean floor 
To gild his rival’s new prosperity.— 
Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore 
“Ills, which if ills, can find no cure from thee, 
The thought of which no other sleep will quell 
Nor other music blot from memory— 
“So sweet & deep is the oblivious spell.— 
Whether my life had been before that sleep 
The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell 
“Like this harsh world in which I wake to weep, 
I know not. I arose & for a space 
The scene of woods & waters seemed to keep, 
“Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace 
Of light diviner than the common Sun 
Sheds on the common Earth, but all the place 
“Was filled with many sounds woven into one 
Oblivious melody, confusing sense 
Amid the gliding waves & shadows dun; 
“And as I looked the bright omnipresence 
Of morning through the orient cavern flowed, 
And the Sun’s image radiantly intense 
“Burned on the waters of the well that glowed 
Like gold, and threaded all the forest maze 
With winding paths of emerald fire—there stood 
“Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze 
Of his own glory, on the vibrating 
Floor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays, 
“A shape all light, which with one hand did fling 
Dew on the earth, as if she were the Dawn 
Whose invisible rain forever seemed to sing 
“A silver music on the mossy lawn, 
And still before her on the dusky grass 
Iris her many coloured scarf had drawn.— 
“In her right hand she bore a crystal glass 
Mantling with bright Nepenthe;—the fierce splendour 
Fell from her as she moved under the mass 
“Of the deep cavern, & with palms so tender 
Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow, 
Glided along the river, and did bend her 
“Head under the dark boughs, till like a willow 
Her fair hair swept the bosom of the stream 
That whispered with delight to be their pillow.— 
“As one enamoured is upborne in dream 
O’er lily-paven lakes mid silver mist 
To wondrous music, so this shape might seem 
“Partly to tread the waves with feet which kist 
The dancing foam, partly to glide along 
The airs that roughened the moist amethyst, 
“Or the slant morning beams that fell among 
The trees, or the soft shadows of the trees; 
And her feet ever to the ceaseless song 
“Of leaves & winds & waves & birds & bees 
And falling drops moved in a measure new 
Yet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze 
“Up from the lake a shape of golden dew 
Between two rocks, athwart the rising moon, 
Moves up the east, where eagle never flew.— 
“And still her feet, no less than the sweet tune 
To which they moved, seemed as they moved, to blot 
The thoughts of him who gazed on them, & soon 
“All that was seemed as if it had been not, 
As if the gazer’s mind was strewn beneath 
Her feet like embers, & she, thought by thought, 
“Trampled its fires into the dust of death, 
As Day upon the threshold of the east 
Treads out the lamps of night, until the breath 
“Of darkness reillumines even the least 
Of heaven’s living eyes—like day she came, 
Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased 
“To move, as one between desire and shame 
Suspended, I said—’If, as it doth seem, 
Thou comest from the realm without a name, 
” ‘Into this valley of perpetual dream, 
Shew whence I came, and where I am, and why— 
Pass not away upon the passing stream.’ 
” ‘Arise and quench thy thirst,’ was her reply, 
And as a shut lily, stricken by the wand 
Of dewy morning’s vital alchemy, 
“I rose; and, bending at her sweet command, 
Touched with faint lips the cup she raised, 
And suddenly my brain became as sand 
“Where the first wave had more than half erased 
The track of deer on desert Labrador, 
Whilst the fierce wolf from which they fled amazed 
“Leaves his stamp visibly upon the shore 
Until the second bursts—so on my sight 
Burst a new Vision never seen before.— 
“And the fair shape waned in the coming light 
As veil by veil the silent splendour drops 
From Lucifer, amid the chrysolite 
“Of sunrise ere it strike the mountain tops— 
And as the presence of that fairest planet 
Although unseen is felt by one who hopes 
“That his day’s path may end as he began it 
In that star’s smile, whose light is like the scent 
Of a jonquil when evening breezes fan it, 
“Or the soft note in which his dear lament 
The Brescian shepherd breathes, or the caress 
That turned his weary slumber to content.— 
“So knew I in that light’s severe excess 
The presence of that shape which on the stream 
Moved, as I moved along the wilderness, 
“More dimly than a day appearing dream, 
The ghost of a forgotten form of sleep 
A light from Heaven whose half extinguished beam 
“Through the sick day in which we wake to weep 
Glimmers, forever sought, forever lost.— 
So did that shape its obscure tenour keep 
“Beside my path, as silent as a ghost; 
But the new Vision, and its cold bright car, 
With savage music, stunning music, crost 
“The forest, and as if from some dread war 
Triumphantly returning, the loud million 
Fiercely extolled the fortune of her star.— 
“A moving arch of victory the vermilion 
And green & azure plumes of Iris had 
Built high over her wind-winged pavilion, 
“And underneath aetherial glory clad 
The wilderness, and far before her flew 
The tempest of the splendour which forbade 
Shadow to fall from leaf or stone;—the crew 
Seemed in that light like atomies that dance 
Within a sunbeam.—Some upon the new 
“Embroidery of flowers that did enhance 
The grassy vesture of the desart, played, 
Forgetful of the chariot’s swift advance; 
“Others stood gazing till within the shade 
Of the great mountain its light left them dim.— 
Others outspeeded it, and others made 
“Circles around it like the clouds that swim 
Round the high moon in a bright sea of air, 
And more did follow, with exulting hymn, 
“The chariot & the captives fettered there, 
But all like bubbles on an eddying flood 
Fell into the same track at last & were 
“Borne onward.—I among the multitude 
Was swept; me sweetest flowers delayed not long, 
Me not the shadow nor the solitude, 
“Me not the falling stream’s Lethean song, 
Me, not the phantom of that early form 
Which moved upon its motion,—but among 
“The thickest billows of the living storm 
I plunged, and bared my bosom to the clime 
Of that cold light, whose airs too soon deform.— 
“Before the chariot had begun to climb 
The opposing steep of that mysterious dell, 
Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme 
“Of him whom from the lowest depths of Hell 
Through every Paradise & through all glory 
Love led serene, & who returned to tell 
“In words of hate & awe the wondrous story 
How all things are transfigured, except Love; 
For deaf as is a sea which wrath makes hoary 
“The world can hear not the sweet notes that move 
The sphere whose light is melody to lovers—- 
A wonder worthy of his rhyme—the grove 
“Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers, 
The earth was grey with phantoms, & the air 
Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers 
“A flock of vampire-bats before the glare 
Of the tropic sun, bring ere evening 
Strange night upon some Indian isle,—thus were 
“Phantoms diffused around, & some did fling 
Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves, 
Behind them, some like eaglets on the wing 
“Were lost in the white blaze, others like elves 
Danced in a thousand unimagined shapes 
Upon the sunny streams & grassy shelves; 
“And others sate chattering like restless apes 
On vulgar paws and voluble like fire. 
Some made a cradle of the ermined capes 
“Of kingly mantles, some upon the tiar 
Of pontiffs sate like vultures, others played 
Within the crown which girt with empire 
“A baby’s or an idiot’s brow, & made 
Their nests in it; the old anatomies 
Sate hatching their bare brood under the shade 
“Of demon wings, and laughed from their dead eyes 
To reassume the delegated power 
Arrayed in which these worms did monarchize 
“Who make this earth their charnel.—Others more 
Humble, like falcons sate upon the fist 
Of common men, and round their heads did soar, 
“Or like small gnats & flies, as thick as mist 
On evening marshes, thronged about the brow 
Of lawyer, statesman, priest & theorist, 
“And others like discoloured flakes of snow 
On fairest bosoms & the sunniest hair 
Fell, and were melted by the youthful glow 
“Which they extinguished; for like tears, they were 
A veil to those from whose faint lids they rained 
In drops of sorrow.—I became aware 
“Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stained 
The track in which we moved; after brief space 
From every form the beauty slowly waned, 
“From every firmest limb & fairest face 
The strength & freshness fell like dust, & left 
The action & the shape without the grace 
“Of life; the marble brow of youth was cleft 
With care, and in the eyes where once hope shone 
Desire like a lioness bereft 
“Of its last cub, glared ere it died; each one 
Of that great crowd sent forth incessantly 
These shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown 
“In Autumn evening from a popular tree— 
Each, like himself & like each other were, 
At first, but soon distorted, seemed to be 
“Obscure clouds moulded by the casual air; 
And of this stuff the car’s creative ray 
Wrought all the busy phantoms that were there 
“As the sun shapes the clouds—thus, on the way 
Mask after mask fell from the countenance 
And form of all, and long before the day 
“Was old, the joy which waked like Heaven’s glance 
The sleepers in the oblivious valley, died, 
And some grew weary of the ghastly dance 
“And fell, as I have fallen by the way side, 
Those soonest from whose forms most shadows past 
And least of strength & beauty did abide.”— 
“Then, what is Life?” I said . . . the cripple cast 
His eye upon the car which now had rolled 
Onward, as if that look must be the last, 
And answered …. “Happy those for whom the fold 
Of …