Euganean Hills

Recording by Leonard Wilson.

Section twenty-one, Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills.

Many a green isle needs must be in the deep wide sea of misery, or the mariner, worn and wan, never thus could voyage on.

Day and night and night and day, drifting on his dreary way, with a solid darkness black closing round his vessel's track.

But their rage would be subdued By that clime divine and calm, And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves Under which the bright sea heaves, While each breathless interval In their whisperings musical The inspired soul supplies With its own deep melodies; And the love which heals all strife Circling, like the breath of life, All things in that sweet abode With its own mild brotherhood.

They, not it, would change; and soon Every sprite beneath the moon Would repent its envy vain, And the earth grow young again.

End of section 21, Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

Section twenty-one.

Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills.

Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on, Day and night, and night and day, Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track; Whilst above, the sunless sky Big with clouds hangs heavily; And behind, the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet.

He is ever drifted on O'er the unreposing wave To the haven of the grave.

But their rage would be subdued by that clime divine and calm, and the winds whose wings rain balm on the uplifted soul, and leaves under which the bright sea heaves, while each breathless interval in their whisperings musical the inspired soul supplies with its own deep melodies, and the love which heals all strife circling like the breath of life all things in that sweet abode with its own mild brotherhood.

They, not it, would change, and soon every sprite beneath the moon would repent its envy vain, and the earth grow young again.

End of section 21, Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

Recording by Leonard Wilson.

Section twenty-one, Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills.

Many a green isle needs must be in the deep wide sea of misery, or the mariner, worn and wan, never thus could voyage on.

Day and night and night and day, drifting on his dreary way, with the solid darkness black closing round his vessel's track.

Whilst above, the sunless sky Big with clouds hangs heavily And behind, the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet He has ever drifted on O'er the unreposing wave To the haven of the grave What if there no friends will greet? What if there no heart will meet His with love's impatient beat? Wander wheresoe'er he may Can he dream before that day To find refuge from distress In friendship's smile, in love's caress? Then twill wreak him little woe Whether such there be or no Senseless is the breast and cold Which relenting love would fold Bloodless are the veins and chill Which the pulse of pain did fill Every little living nerve That from bitter words did swerve Round the tortured lips and brow Are like sapless leaflets now Frozen upon December's bough On the beach of a northern sea Which tempests shake eternally As once the wretch there lay to sleep Lies a solitary heap One white skull and seven dry bones On the margin of the stones Where a few grey rushes stand Boundaries of the sea and land Nor is heard one voice of wail But the sea-mews as they sail O'er the billows of the gale Or the whirlwind up and down Howling like a slaughtered town When a king in glory rides Through the pomp and fratricides Those unburied bones around There is many a mournful sound There is no lament for him Like a sunless vapour dim Who once clothed with life and thought What now moves nor murmurs not Ay, many flowering islands lie In the waters of wide agony To such a one this morn was led My bark by soft winds piloted Mid the mountains Euganean I stood listening to the paean With which the legioned rooks did hail The sun's uprise majestical Gathering round with wings all hoar Through the dewy mist they soar Like grey shades till the eastern heaven bursts And then as clouds of even Flecked with fire and azure lie In the unfathomable sky So their plumes of purple grain Starred with drops of golden rain Gleam above the sun-light woods As in silent multitudes On the morning's fretful gale Through the broken mist they sail And the vapours cloven and gleaming Follow down the dark steep streaming Till all is bright and clear and still Round the solitary hill Beneath this spread like a green sea The waveless plain of Lombardy Bounded by the vaporous air Islanded by cities fair Underneath day's azure eyes Ocean's nursling Venice lies A peopled labyrinth of walls Amphitrite's destined halls Which her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves Lo the sun upsprings behind Broad red radiant half reclined On the level quivering line Of the waters crystalline And before that chasm of light As within a furnace bright Column tower and dome and spire Shine like obelisks of fire Pointing with inconstant motion From the altar of dark ocean To the sapphire-tinted skies As the flames of sacrifice From the marble shrines did rise As to pierce the dome of gold Where Apollo spoke of old Sea-girt city thou hast been Ocean's child and then his queen Now is come a darker day And thou soon must be his prey If the power that raised thee here Hallow so thy watery bier A less drear ruin then than now With thy conquest-branded brow Stooping to the slave of slaves From thy throne among the waves Wilt thou be when the sea-mew flies As once before it flew O'er thine isles depopulate And all is in its ancient state Save where many a palace gate With green sea-flowers overgrown Like a rock of ocean's own Topples o'er the abandoned sea As the tides change sullenly The fisher on his watery way Wandering at the close of day Will spread his sail and seize his oar Till he pass the gloomy shore Lest thy dead should from their sleep Bursting o'er the starlight deep Lead a rapid mask of death O'er the waters of his path Those who alone thy towers behold Quivering through aerial gold As I now behold them here Would imagine not they were Sepulchres where human forms Like pollution-nourished worms To the corpse of greatness cling Murdered and now mouldering But if freedom should awake In her omnipotence and shake From the Celtic anarch's hold All the keys of dungeons cold Where a hundred cities lie Chained like thee ingloriously Thou and all thy sister band might adorn this sunny land, twining memories of old time with new virtues more sublime.

If not, perish thou and they clouds which stain truth's rising day by her sun consumed away.

Earth can spare ye, while like flowers in the waste of years and hours from your dust new nations spring with more kindly blossoming.

But their rage would be subdued By that clime divine and calm, And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves Under which the bright sea heaves, While each breathless interval In their whisperings musical The inspired soul supplies With its own deep melodies; And the love which heals all strife Circling, like the breath of life, All things in that sweet abode With its own mild brotherhood.

Section twenty one.

Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills.

Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on; Day and night, and night and day, Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track; Whilst above, the sunless sky, Big with clouds, hangs heavily; And behind, the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet.

He has ever drifted on O'er the unreposing wave To the haven of the grave.

But their rage would be subdued By that clime divine and calm, And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves Under which the bright sea heaves, While each breathless interval In their whisperings musical The inspired soul supplies With its own deep melodies; And the love which heals all strife Circling like the breath of life All things in that sweet abode With its own mild brotherhood.

They, not it, would change; and soon Every sprite beneath the moon Would repent its envy vain, And the earth grow young again.

End of section twenty-one, Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills, by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

Recording by Leonard Wilson Section Twenty Two One Word is Too Often Profaned One word is too often profaned For me to profane it One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother And pity from thee more dear Than that from another I can give not what men call love But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the heavens reject not The desire of the moth for the star Of the night for the morrow The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow? End of Section Twenty Two One Word is Too Often Profaned by Percy Bysshe Shelley Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio Section Twenty-One of Shelley Selected Poems and Prose This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

Recording by Leonard Wilson Section Twenty-One Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of misery Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on Day and night, and night and day Drifting on his dreary way With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track Whilst above the sunless sky Big with clouds hangs heavily And behind the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet He is ever drifted on O'er the unreposing wave To the haven of the grave What if there no friends will greet What if there no heart will meet His with love's impatient beat Wander wheresoe'er he may Can he dream before that day To find refuge from distress In friendship's smile, in love's caress Then 'twill wreak him little woe Whether such there be or no Senseless is the breast and cold Which relenting love would fold Bloodless are the veins and chill Which the pulse of pain did fill Every little living nerve That from bitter words did swerve Round the tortured lips and brow Are like sapless leaflets now Frozen upon December's bough On the beach of a northern sea Which tempests shake eternally As once the wretch there lay to sleep Lies a solitary heap One white skull and seven dry bones On the margin of the stones Where a few gray rushes stand Boundaries of the sea and land Nor is heard one voice of wail But the sea-mews, as they sail O'er the billows of the gale; Or the whirlwind up and down Howling like a slaughtered town, When a king in glory rides Through the pomp and fratricides.

Those unburied bones around, There is many a mournful sound.

There is no lament for him Like a sunless vapor dim, Who once clothed with life and thought What now moves nor murmurs not.

But their rage would be subdued by that clime divine and calm and the winds whose wings rain balm on the uplifted soul and leaves under which the bright sea heaves while each breathless interval in their whisperings musical the inspired soul supplies with its own deep melodies and the love which heals all strife circling like the breath of life all things in that sweet abode with its own mild brotherhood.

They not it would change and soon every sprite beneath the moon would repent its envy vain and the earth grow young again.

End of section 21 lines written among the Euganean hills by Percy Bysshe Shelley recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

Section 22 of Shelley Selected Poems and Prose.

The artist who this idol wrought To echo all harmonious thought Felled a tree while on the steep The woods were in their winter's sleep, Rocked in that repose divine On the wind-swept Apennine; And dreaming, some of autumn past, And some of spring approaching fast, And some of April buds and showers, And some of songs in July bowers, And all of love.

And so this tree— Oh! that such our death may be!— Died in sleep, and felt no pain, To live in happier form again; From which, beneath heaven's fairest star, The artist wrought this loved guitar, And taught it justly to reply To all who question skilfully In language gentle as thine own, Whispering in enamoured tone Sweet oracles of woods and dells, And summer winds in sylvan cells: For it had learned all harmonies Of the plains and of the skies, Of the forests and the mountains, And the many-voiced fountains, The clearest echoes of the hills, The softest notes of falling rills, The melodies of birds and bees, The murmuring of summer seas, And pattering rain, and breathing dew, and airs of evening and it knew that seldom heard mysterious sound which driven on its diurnal round as it floats through boundless day our world enkindles on its way all this it knows but will not tell to those who cannot question well the spirit that inhabits it it talks according to the wit of its companions and no more is heard than has been felt before by those who tempt it to betray these secrets of an elder day but sweetly as its answers will flatter hands a perfect skill it keeps its highest holiest tone for our beloved jane alone end of section nineteen with a guitar to jane by percy bysshe shelley recording by leonard wilson of springfield ohio section twenty of shelley selected poems and prose this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by leonard wilson section twenty two one word is too often profaned one word is too often profaned for me to profane it one feeling too falsely disdained for thee to disdain it one hope is too like despair for prudence to smother and pity from thee more dear than that from another i can give not what men call love but wilt thou accept not the worship the heart lifts above and the heavens reject not the desire of the moth for the star of the night for the morrow the devotion to something afar from the sphere of our sorrow end of section twenty two one word is too often profaned by percy bysshe shelley recording by leonard wilson of springfield ohio section twenty one of shelley selected poems and prose this librivox recording is in the public domain recording by leonard wilson section twenty one lines written among the euganean hills many a green isle needs must be in the deep wide sea of misery or the mariner worn and wan never thus could voyage on day and night and night and day drifting on his dreary way with the solid darkness black closing round his vessel's track whilst above the sunless sky big with clouds hangs heavily and behind the tempest fleet hurries on with lightning feet he is ever drifted on o'er the unreposing wave to the haven of the grave what if there no friends will greet what if there no heart will meet his with love's impatient beat wander wheresoe'er he may can he dream before that day to find refuge from distress in friendship's smile in love's caress then twill wreak him little woe whether such there be or no senseless is the breast and cold which relenting love would fold bloodless are the veins and chill which the pulse of pain did fill every little living nerve that from bitter words did swerve round the tortured lips and brow are like sapless leaflets now frozen upon december's bough on the beach of a northern sea which tempests shake eternally as once the wretch there lay to sleep lies a solitary heap one white skull and seven dry bones on the margin of the stones where a few grey rushes stand boundaries of the sea and land nor is heard one voice of wail but the sea mews as they sail o'er the billows of the gale or the whirlwind up and down howling like a slaughtered town when a king in glory rides through the pomp and fratricides those unburied bones around there is many a mournful sound there is no lament for him like a sunless vapour dim who once clothed with life and thought what now moves nor murmurs not aye many flowering islands lie in the waters of wide agony to such a one this morn was led my bark by soft winds piloted mid the mountains euganean i stood listening to the paean with which the legion rooks did hail the sun's uprise majestical gathering round with wings all hoar through the dewy mist they soar like grey shades till the eastern heaven bursts And then as clouds of even Flecked with fire and azure lie In the unfathomable sky So their plumes of purple grain Starred with drops of golden rain Gleam above the sun-light woods As in silent multitudes On the morning's fretful gale Through the broken mist they sail And the vapours cloven and gleaming Follow down the dark steep streaming Till all is bright and clear and still Round the solitary hill Beneath is spread like a green sea The waveless plain of Lombardy Bounded by the vaporous air Islanded by cities fair Underneath day's azure eyes Ocean's nursling Venice lies A peopled labyrinth of walls Amphitrite's destined halls Which her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves Lo the sun upsprings behind Broad red radiant half reclined On the level quivering line Of the waters crystalline And before that chasm of light As within a furnace bright Column tower and dome and spire Shine like obelisks of fire Pointing with inconstant motion From the altar of dark ocean To the sapphire tinted skies As the flames of sacrifice From the marble shrines did rise As to pierce the dome of gold Where Apollo spoke of old Sea-girt city thou hast been Ocean's child and then his queen Now is come a darker day And thou soon must be his prey If the power that raised thee here Hallow so thy watery bier A less drear ruin then than now With thy conquest branded brow Stooping to the slave of slaves From thy throne among the waves Wilt thou be when the sea-mew flies As once before it flew O'er thine isles depopulate And all is in its ancient state Save where many a palace gate With green sea-flowers overgrown Like a rock of ocean's own Topples o'er the abandoned sea As the tides change sullenly The fisher on his watery way Wandering at the close of day Will spread his sail and seize his oar Till he pass the gloomy shore Lest thy dead should from their sleep Bursting o'er the starlight deep Lead a rapid mask of death O'er the waters of his path Those who alone thy towers behold Quivering through aerial gold As I now behold them here Would imagine not they were Sepulchres where human forms Like pollution nourished worms To the corpse of greatness cling Murdered and now mouldering But if freedom should awake In her omnipotence and shake From the Celtic anarch's hold All the keys of dungeons cold Where a hundred cities lie Chained like thee ingloriously Thou and all thy sister band Might adorn this sunny land Twining memories of old time With new virtues more sublime If not perish thou and they Clouds which stain truth's rising day By her sun consumed away Earth can spare ye while like flowers In the waste of years and hours From your dust new nations spring With more kindly blossoming Perish let there only be Floating o'er thy heartless sea As the garment of thy sky Clothes the world immortally One remembrance more sublime Than the tattered pall of time Which scarce hides thy visage wan That a tempest-cleaving swan Of the sons of Albion Driven from his ancestral streams By the might of evil dreams Found a nest in thee And ocean welcomed him With such emotion that its joy Grew his and sprung from his lips Like music flung o'er a mighty Thunder-fit chastening terror What though yet poesy's unfailing river Which through Albion winds forever Lashing with melodious wave Many a sacred poet's grave Mourn its latest nursling fled What though thou with all thy dead Scarce can for this fame repay Aught thine own O rather say Though thy sins and slavery's foul Overcloud a sun-like soul As the ghost of Homer clings Round Scabander's wasting springs As divinest Shakespeare's might Fills Avon and the world with light Like omniscient power which he Imaged mid mortality As the love from Petrarch's urn Yet amid yon hills doth burn A quenchless lamp by which the heart Sees things unearthly So thou art mighty spirit So shall be the city That did refuge thee Lo the sun floats up the sky Like thought-winged liberty Till the universal light Seems to level plain and height From the sea a mist has spread And the beams of morn lie dead On the towers of Venice now Like its glory long ago By the skirts of that gray cloud Many-domed Padua proud Stands, a peopled solitude 'Mid the harvest's shining plain, Where the peasant heaps his grain In the garner of his foe And the milk-white oxen slow, With the purple vintage strain, Heaped upon the creaking wain That the brutal Celt may swill Drunken sleep with savage will.

And the sickle to the sword Lies unchanged, though many a lord, Like a weed whose shade is poison, Overgrows this region's foison, Sheaves of whom are ripe to come To destruction's harvest-home.

Men must reap the things they sow; Force from force must ever flow or worse.

They, not it, would change, and soon every sprite beneath the moon would repent its envy vain, and the earth grow young again.

End of section twenty-one.

Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.

Recording by Leonard Wilson.

Section twenty-one, Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills.

Many a green isle needs must be in the deep wide sea of misery, or the mariner, worn and wan, never thus could voyage on.

Day and night and night and day, drifting on his dreary way, with the solid darkness black closing round his vessel's track.

But their rage would be subdued by that clime divine and calm, and the winds whose wings rain balm on the uplifted soul, and leaves under which the bright sea heaves, while each breathless interval in their whisperings musical the inspired soul supplies with its own deep melodies; and the love which heals all strife circling like the breath of life all things in that sweet abode with its own mild brotherhood.

They, not it, would change; and soon every sprite beneath the moon would repent its envy vain, and the earth grow young again.

End of section 21, Lines Written Among the Euganean Hills by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

Recording by Leonard Wilson of Springfield, Ohio.