Of grace, or majesty, or mystery;?
But, undulating woods, and silent well,
485 And leaping rivulet, and evening gloom Now deepening the dark shades, for speech assuming
Held commune with him, as if he and it
Were all that was,?only . . . when his regard
Was raised by intense pensiveness, . . . two eyes,
490 Two starry eyes, hung in the gloom of thought,
And seemed with their serene and azure smiles
To beckon him. Obedient to the light
That shone within his soul, he went, pursuing
The windings of the dell.?The rivulet
495 Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine
Beneath the forest flowed. Sometimes it fell
Among the moss with hollow harmony
Dark and profound. Now on the polished stones
It danced; like childhood laughing as it went:
500 Then, through the plain in tranquil wanderings crept,
Reflecting every herb and drooping bud
That overhung its quietness.?'O stream!
.
75 8 / PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
Whose source is inaccessibly profound,
Whither do thy mysterious waters tend?
50? Thou imagest my life. Thy darksome stillness,
Thy dazzling waves, thy loud and hollow gulphs,
Thy searchless' fountain, and invisible course undiscoverahle Have each their type in me: and the wide sky,
And measureless ocean may declare as soon
510 What oozy cavern or what wandering cloud
Contains thy waters, as the universe
Tell where these living thoughts reside, when stretched
Upon thy flowers my bloodless limbs shall waste
I' the passing wind!'
Beside the grassy shore
515 Of the small stream he went; he did impress
On the green moss his tremulous step, that caught
Strong shuddering from his burning limbs. As one
Roused by some joyous madness from the couch
Of fever, he did move; yet, not like him,
520 Forgetful of the grave, where, when the flame
Of his frail exultation shall be spent,
He must descend. With rapid steps he went
Reneath the shade of trees, beside the flow
Of the wild babbling rivulet; and now
525 The forest's solemn canopies were changed For the uniform and lightsome0 evening sky. luminous
Grey rocks did peep from the spare, moss, and stemmed
The struggling brook: tall spires of windlestrae8
Threw their thin shadows down the rugged slope,
530 And nought but knarled roots9 of antient pines Rranchless and blasted, clenched with grasping roots
