XVIII.

Yes, oft beside the ruin'd labyrinth
Which skirts the hoary caves of the green deep,
Did Laon and his friend on one gray plinth,

Round whose worn base the wild waves hiss and leap,

Resting at eve, a lofty converse keep; And that this friend was false, may now be said Calmly-that he like other men could weep Tears which are lies, and could betray and spread Snares for that guileless heart which for his own had bled.

XIX.

Then, had no great aim recompensed my sorrow, I must have sought dark respite from its stress, In dreamless rest, in sleep that sees no morrowFor to tread life's dismaying wilderness Without one smile to cheer, one voice to bless, Amid the snares and scoffs of human-kind, Is hard-but I betray'd it not, nor less With love that scorn'd return, sought to unbind The interwoven clouds which make its wisdom blind. XX.

With deathless minds which leave where they have past

A path of light, my soul communion knew;
Till from that glorious intercourse, at last,
As from a mine of magic store, I drew
Words which were weapons;-round my heart

there grew

The adamantine armor of their power, And from my fancy wings of golden hue Sprang forth-yet not alone from wisdom's tower, A minister of truth, these plumes young Laon bore.

XXI.

An orphan with my parents lived, whose eyes Were load-stars of delight, which drew me home When I might wander forth; nor did I prize Aught human thing beneath Heaven's mighty dome Beyond this child: so when sad hours were come, And baffled hope like ice still clung to me, Since kin were cold, and friends had now become Heartless and false, I turn'd from all, to be, Cythna, the only source of tears and smiles to thee.

XXII.

What wert thou then? A child most infantine, Yet wandering far beyond that innocent age In all but its sweet looks and mien divine; Even then, methought, with the world's tyrant rage A patient warfare thy young heart did wage, When those soft eyes of scarcely conscious thought, Some tale, or thine own fancies would engage To overflow with tears, or converse fraught With passion, o'er their depths its fleeting light had wrought

XXIII.

She moved upon this earth a shape of brightness,
A power, that from its objects scarcely drew
One impulse of her being-in her lightness
Most like some radiant cloud of morning dew,
Which wanders through the waste air's pathless

blue,

To nourish some far desert; she did seem Beside me, gathering beauty as she grew, Like the bright shade of some immortal dream Which walks, when tempest sleeps, the wave of life's dork stream.

XXIV.

As mine own shadow was this child to me, A second self, far dearer and more fair; Which clothed in undissolving radiancy All those steep paths which languor and despair Of human things, had made so dark and bare, But which I trod alone-nor, till bereft Of friends, and overcome by lonely care, Knew I what solace for that loss was left, Though by a bitter wound my trusting heart was cleft.

XXV.

Once she was dear, now she was all I had
To love in human life-this playmate sweet,
This child of twelve years old-so she was made
My sole associate, and her willing feet
Wander'd with mine where earth and ocean meet,
Beyond the aerial mountains whose vast cells
The unreposing billows ever beat,

Through forests wide and old, and lawny dells, Where boughs of incense droop over the emerald wells.

XXVI.

And warm and light I felt her clasping hand When twined in mine: she follow'd where I went, Through the lone paths of our immortal land. It had no waste, but some memorial lent Which strung me to my toil-some monument Vital with mind: then, Cythna by my side, Until the bright and beaming day were spent, Would rest, with looks entreating to abide, Too earnest and too sweet ever to be denied.

XXVII.

And soon I could not have refused her-thus For ever, day and night, we two were ne'er Parted, but when brief sleep divided us : And when the pauses of the lulling air Of noon beside the sea, had made a lair For her soothed senses, in my arms she slept, And I kept watch over her slumbers there, While, as the shifting visions o'er her swept, Amid her innocent rest by turns she smiled and wept

XXVIII.

And, in the murmur of her dreams was heard
Sometimes the name of Laon:-suddenly
She would arise, and like the secret bird
Whom sunset wakens, fill the shore and sky
With her sweet accents-a wild melody!
Hymns which my soul had woven to Freedom
strong

The source of passion whence they rose, to be; Triumphant strains, which, like a spirit's tongue, To the enchanted waves that child of glory sung.

XXIX.

Her white arms lifted through the shadowy stream
Of her loose hair-oh, excellently great
Seem'd to me then my purpose, the vast theme
Of those impassion'd songs, when Cythna sate
Amid the calm which rapture doth create
After its tumult, her heart vibrating,
Her spirit o'er the ocean's floating state

From her deep eyes far wandering, on the wing Of visions that were mine, beyond its utmost spring

XXX.

For, before Cythna loved it, had my song
Peopled with thoughts the boundless universe,
A mighty congregation, which were strong
Where'er they trod the darkness to disperse
The cloud of that unutterable curse

Which clings upon mankind :-all things became
Slaves to my holy and heroic verse,

Earth, sea and sky, the planets, life and fame

And fate, or whate'er else binds the world's wondrous frame.

XXXI.

And this beloved child thus felt the sway Of my conceptions, gathering like a cloud The very wind on which it rolls away: Hers too were all my thoughts, ere yet endow'd With music and with light, their fountains flow'd In poesy; and her still and earnest face, Pallid with feelings which intensely glow'd Within, was turn'd on mine with speechless grace, Watching the hopes which there her heart had learn'd

to trace.

XXXII.

In me, communion with this purest being Kindled intenser zeal, and made me wise In knowledge, which in hers mine own mind seeing Left in the human world few mysteries: How without fear of evil or disguise Was Cythna!-what a spirit strong and mild, Which death, or pain or peril could despise, Yet melt in tenderness! what genius wild, Yet mighty, was inclosed within one simple child!

XXXIII.

New lore was this-old age with its gray hair,
And wrinkled legends of unworthy things,
And icy sneers, is naught: it cannot dare
To burst the chains which life for ever flings
On the entangled soul's aspiring wings,
So is it cold and cruel, and is made

The careless slave of that dark power which brings Evil, like blight on man, who, still betray'd, Laughs o'er the grave in which his living hopes are laid.

XXXIV.

Nor are the strong and the severe to keep
The empire of the world: thus Cythna taught
Even in the visions of her eloquent sleep,
Unconscious of the power through which she
wrought

The woof of such intelligible thought,

As from the tranquil strength which cradled lay
In her smile-peopled rest, my spirit sought
Why the deceiver and the slave has sway
O'er heralds so divine of truth's arising day.
XXXV.

Within that fairest form, the female mind
Untainted by the poison-clouds which rest
On the dark world, a sacred home did find :
But else, from the wide earth's maternal breast,
Victorious Evil, which had dispossest

All native power, had those fair children torn,
And made them slaves to soothe his vile unrest,
And minister to lust its joys forlorn,

Till they had learn'd to breathe the atmosphere of

scorn.

XXXVI.

This misery was but coldly felt, till she
Became my only friend, who had indued
My purpose with a wider sympathy;
Thus, Cythna mourn'd with me the servitude
In which the half of human-kind were mew'd,
Victims of lust and hate, the slaves of slaves.
She mourn'd that grace and power were thrown
as food

To the hyena Lust, who, among graves,
Over his lothed meal, laughing in agony, raves.

XXXVII.

And I, still gazing on that glorious child.

Even as these thoughts flush'd o'er her." Cythna

sweet,

Well with the world art thou unreconciled: Never will peace and human nature meet Till free and equal man and woman greet Domestic peace; and ere this power can make In human hearts its calm and holy seat: This slavery must be broken."-As I spake, From Cythna's eyes a light of exultation brake.

XXXVIII.

She replied earnestly :-"It shall be mine, This task, mine, Laon!-thou hast much to gain; Nor wilt thou at poor Cythna's pride repine, If she should lead a happy female train To meet thee over the rejoicing plain, When myriads at thy call shall throng around The Golden City."-Then the child did strain My arm upon her tremulous heart, and wound Her own about my neck, till some reply she found.

XXXIX.

I smiled and spake not-"Wherefore dost thou smile
At what I say? Laon, I am not weak,
And though my cheek might become pale the while,
With thee, if thou desirest, will I seek
Through their array of banded slaves to wreak
Ruin upon the tyrants. I had thought

It was more hard to turn my unpractised cheek
To scorn and shame, and this beloved spot
And thee, O dearest friend, to leave and murmur not

XL.

"Whence came I what I am? thou, Laon, knowest How a young child should thus undaunted be; Methinks, it is a power which thou bestowest, Through which I seek, by most resembling thee. So to become most good, and great and free, Yet far beyond this Ocean's utmost roar In towers and huts are many like to me, Who, could they see thine eyes, or feel such lore As I have learnt from them, like me would fear no more

XLI.

"Think'st thou that I shall speak unskilfully,
And none will heed me? I remember now,
How once, a slave in tortures doom'd to die,
Was saved, because in accents sweet and low
He sung a song his Judge loved long ago,
As he was led to death.-All shall relent
Who hear me tears as mine have flow'd, shal
flow,

Hearts beat as mine now beats, with such intent As renovates the world; a will omnipotent!

XLII.

"Yes, I will tread Pride's golden palaces,
Through Penury's roofless huts and squalid cells
Will I descend, where'er in abjectness
Woman with some vile slave her tyrant dwells,
There with the music of thine own sweet spells
Will disenchant the captives, and will pour
For the despairing, from the crystal wells
Of thy deep spirit, reason's mighty lore,

XLVIII.

"We part to meet again-but yon blue waste,
Yon desert wide and deep holds no recess,
Within whose happy silence, thus embraced
We might survive all ills in one caress:
Nor doth the grave-I fear 'tis passionless-
Nor yon cold vacant Heaven:-we meet again
Within the minds of men, whose lips shall bless
Our memory, and whose hopes its light retain