No more alone through the world’s wilderness, Although I trod the paths of high intent, 65 I journeyed now: no more companionless, Where solitude is like despair, I went.-- There is the wisdom of a stern content, When Poverty can blight the just and good, When Infamy dares mock the innocent, 70 And cherished friends turn with the multitude To trample: this was ours, and we unshaken stood! Now has descended a serener hour, And, with inconstant fortune, friends return; Though suffering leaves the knowledge and the power 75 Which says:--Let scorn be not repaid with scorn; And from thy side two gentle babes are born To fill our home with smiles, and thus are we Most fortunate beneath life’s beaming morn; And these delights, and thou, have been to me 80 The parents of the Song I consecrate to thee. Is it, that now my inexperienced fingers But strike the prelude of a loftier strain? Or must the lyre on which my spirit lingers Soon pause in silence, ne’er to sound again, 85 Though it might shake the Anarch Custom’s reign, And charm the minds of men to Truth’s own sway, Holier than was Amphion’s? I would fain Reply in hope--but I am worn away, And Death and Love are yet contending for their prey. And what art thou? I know, but dare not speak: 91 Time may interpret to his silent years. Yet in the paleness of thy thoughtful cheek, And in the light thine ample forehead wears, And in thy sweetest smiles, and in thy tears, 95 And in thy gentle speech, a prophecy Is whispered, to subdue my fondest fears: And through thine eyes, even in thy soul I see A lamp of vestal fire burning internally. They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, 100 Of glorious parents, thou aspiring Child: I wonder not--for one then left this earth, Whose life was like a setting planet mild, Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled Of its departing glory; still her fame 105 Shines on thee through the tempests dark and wild, Which shake these latter days; and thou canst claim The shelter, from thy Sire, of an immortal name. Truth’s deathless voice pauses among mankind! If there must be no response to my cry-- 110 If men must rise and stamp with fury blind On his pure name who loves them--thou and I, Sweet Friend! can look from our tranquillity Like lamps into the world’s tempestuous night,-- Two tranquil stars, while clouds are passing by 115 Which wrap them from the foundering seaman’s sight, That burn from year to year with unextinguished light. _Percy Bysshe Shelley._ CCXX _FRANCE: AN ODE, 1797._