'Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills' by Percy Bysshe Shelley

AI and Tech Aggregator
Download Mp3s Free
Tears of the Kingdom Roleplay
Best Free University Courses Online
TOTK Roleplay

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.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 gray 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 sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning's fitful 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 masque of death
O'er the waters of his path.Those who alone thy towers behold
Quivering through aereal 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 ldering:
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? oh, rather say
Though thy sins and slaveries foul
Overcloud a sunlike soul?
As the ghost of Homer clings
Round Scamander'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-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; but 'tis a bitter woe
That love or reason cannot change
The despot's rage, the slave's revenge.Padua, thou within whose walls
Those mute guests at festivals,
Son and Mother, Death and Sin,
Played at dice for Ezzelin,
Till Death cried, "I win, I win!"
And Sin cursed to lose the wager,
But Death promised, to assuage her,
That he would petition for
Her to be made Vice-Emperor,
When the destined years were o'er,
Over all between the Po
And the eastern Alpine snow,
Under the mighty Austrian.
She smiled so as Sin only can,
And since that time, ay, long before,
Both have ruled from shore to shore, -That incestuous pair, who follow
Tyrants as the sun the swallow,
As Repentance follows Crime,
And as changes follow Time.In thine halls the lamp of learning,
Padua, now no more is burning;
Like a meteor, whose wild way
Is lost over the grave of day,
It gleams betrayed and to betray:
Once remotest nations came
To adore that sacred flame,
When it lit not many a hearth
On this cold and gloomy earth:
Now new fires from antique light
Spring beneath the wide world's might;
But their spark lies dead in thee,
Trampled out by Tyranny.
As the Norway woodman quells,
In the depth of piny dells,
One light flame among the brakes,
While the boundless forest shakes,
And its mighty trunks are torn
By the fire thus lowly born:
The spark beneath his feet is dead,
He starts to see the flames it fed
Howling through the darkened sky
With a myriad tongues victoriously,
And sinks down in fear: so thou,
O Tyranny, beholdest now
Light around thee, and thou hearest
The loud flames ascend, and fearest:
Grovel on the earth; ay, hide
In the dust thy purple pride!Noon descends around me now:
'Tis the noon of autumn's glow,
When a soft and purple mist
Like a vapourous amethyst,
Or an air-dissolved star
Mingling light and fragrance, far
From the curved horizon's bound
To the point of Heaven's profound,
Fills the overflowing sky;
And the plains that silent lie
Underneath the leaves unsodden
Where the infant Frost has trodden
With his morning-winged feet,
Whose bright print is gleaming yet;
And the red and golden vines,
Piercing with their trellised lines
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness;
The dun and bladed grass no less,
Pointing from this hoary tower
In the windless air; the flower
Glimmering at my feet; the line
Of the olive-sandalled Apennine
In the south dimly islanded;
And the Alps, whose snows are spread
High between the clouds and sun;
And of living things each one;
And my spirit which so long
Darkened this swift stream of song, -Interpenetrated lie
By the glory of the sky:
Be it love, light, harmony,
Odour, or the soul of all
Which from Heaven like dew doth fall,
Or the mind which feeds this verse
Peopling the lone universe.Noon descends, and after noon
Autumn's evening meets me soon,
Leading the infantine moon,
And that one star, which to her
Almost seems to minister
Half the crimson light she brings
From the sunset's radiant springs:
And the soft dreams of the morn
(Which like winged winds had borne
To that silent isle, which lies
Mid remembered agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being)
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing,
And its ancient pilot, Pain,
Sits beside the helm again.Other flowering isles must be
In the sea of Life and Agony:
Other spirits float and flee
O'er that gulf: even now, perhaps,
On some rock the wild wave wraps,
With folded wings they waiting sit
For my bark, to pilot it
To some calm and blooming cove,
Where for me, and those I love,
May a windless bower be built,
Far from passion, pain, and guilt,
In a dell mid lawny hills,
Which the wild sea-murmur fills,
And soft sunshine, and the sound
Of old forests echoing round,
And the light and smell divine
Of all flowers that breathe and shine:
We may live so happy there,
That the Spirits of the Air,
Envying us, may even entice
To our healing Paradise
The polluting multitude;
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.

Editor 1 Interpretation

Introduction

Oh, where do I even begin? Percy Bysshe Shelley is one of my all-time favorite poets and his work never fails to leave me in awe. Today, I want to dive deep into one of his most beautiful pieces, "Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills". This poem is a masterpiece that captures the essence of nature, beauty, and the human experience. So, buckle up, and join me as we explore Shelley's poetic genius.

Analysis

The poem begins with Shelley describing the "Euganean Hills" and the beauty of nature that surrounds him. He uses vivid imagery to bring the hills to life, painting a picture of a serene and tranquil landscape. The "blue surface of the lake" and "rocks which tower, / To the dull sky their rugged peaks among" are just some of the striking imagery Shelley employs to describe the hills.

But, as with many of Shelley's works, there is more to this poem than just the beauty of nature. He uses the hills as a metaphor for the human experience, exploring the themes of life, death, and the passing of time. The lines "But on the pillars of her palace stood / Tall flowerets, pale of hue, and delicate" speak to the fleeting nature of life and beauty. Just as the "flowerets" will wither and die, so too will our own lives come to an end.

Shelley goes on to explore the concept of death and the afterlife, asking the rhetorical question "What is beyond / Is urged by all the faculties of who / Feel or behold or know, and from the soul / With the fleshly eye, when that is gone, / Vision which is not vision". Here, he suggests that there is something beyond death, something that we cannot fully comprehend or understand.

The poem then takes a more introspective turn, as Shelley reflects on his own place in the world. He muses on the passing of time and the inevitability of change, stating that "All that yet remains / Cherish and love, and to their worth be true / Till years, Time’s grave winnow, shall their pride / Be dust". This speaks to the idea that we must cherish what we have while we can, as everything is fleeting and will eventually come to an end.

Finally, Shelley returns to the beauty of nature, using it as a source of comfort and solace in the face of life's hardships. He writes, "The sun is set; the swallows are asleep; / The bats are flitting fast in the gray air; / The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep, / And evening’s breath, wandering here and there / Over the quivering surface of the stream, / Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream". This description of the natural world is both calming and peaceful, suggesting that even in the face of death and change, there is still beauty and peace to be found.

Interpretation

So, what does all of this mean? To me, Shelley is exploring some of the most fundamental aspects of the human experience - life, death, time, and the beauty of nature. He suggests that life is fleeting and that we must cherish what we have while we can. He also suggests that there is something beyond death, something that we cannot fully comprehend or understand.

But perhaps most importantly, Shelley suggests that there is beauty and solace to be found in the natural world. In a world that can often be chaotic and harsh, he reminds us that there is still peace and beauty to be found in the hills and streams around us.

Conclusion

In conclusion, "Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills" is a beautiful and thought-provoking poem that explores some of the most fundamental aspects of the human experience. Shelley's use of vivid imagery and introspective musings make for a truly breathtaking piece of poetry. And while the themes explored in this poem may be heavy, Shelley reminds us that even in the face of life's hardships, there is still beauty and peace to be found in the natural world.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

Poetry Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills: A Masterpiece of Romanticism

Percy Bysshe Shelley was one of the most prominent poets of the Romantic era, and his poem "Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills" is a masterpiece of this literary movement. The poem was written in 1818, during Shelley's travels in Italy, and it reflects his fascination with the natural beauty of the Euganean Hills, a range of volcanic hills in the Veneto region.

The poem is composed of 103 lines, divided into seven stanzas, and it is written in iambic pentameter, a meter that was popular in English poetry during the Renaissance. The poem's structure is complex, with a mix of rhymed and unrhymed lines, and it features a variety of poetic devices, such as alliteration, assonance, and imagery.

The poem's opening lines set the tone for the rest of the poem, as Shelley describes the beauty of the Euganean Hills in vivid detail:

"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"

Here, Shelley contrasts the natural beauty of the hills with the "sea of Misery," suggesting that the hills offer a respite from the hardships of life. The image of the "mariner, worn and wan" reinforces this idea, as it suggests that the hills are a place of rest and rejuvenation.

Throughout the poem, Shelley uses the natural world as a metaphor for human emotions and experiences. For example, in the second stanza, he describes the hills as "Nature's holy plan," suggesting that they are a reflection of a divine order. He also uses the image of the "clouds that gather round the setting sun" to represent the passing of time and the inevitability of death.

In the third stanza, Shelley shifts his focus to the human world, describing the "cities of the plain" that lie at the foot of the hills. He contrasts the beauty of the hills with the ugliness of the cities, suggesting that human civilization is a corruption of nature's purity:

"Yet let us ponder boldly—'tis a base Abandonment of reason to resign Our right of thought—our last and only place Of refuge; this, at least, shall still be mine: Though from our birth the faculty divine Is chained and tortured—cabined, cribbed, confined, And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine Too brightly on the unprepared mind."

Here, Shelley argues that human beings have a duty to think critically and to resist the forces that would limit their freedom of thought. He suggests that the hills offer a space for this kind of reflection, away from the constraints of society.

In the fourth stanza, Shelley returns to the natural world, describing the "olive-groves" and "vineyards" that cover the hills. He uses these images to suggest the abundance and fertility of nature, and he contrasts this with the "barren crags" that lie beyond the hills, suggesting that there is a limit to nature's bounty.

In the fifth stanza, Shelley shifts his focus to the human experience of love, using the image of the "rose" to represent the beauty and fragility of love:

"Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds, depart And come, for some uncertain moments lent. Man were immortal, and omnipotent, Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart."

Here, Shelley suggests that love is fleeting and uncertain, and that it is ultimately subject to the whims of fate. He also suggests that the human desire for immortality and power is ultimately futile, as it is subject to the same forces of change and decay as everything else in the natural world.

In the sixth stanza, Shelley returns to the theme of human civilization, describing the "mighty wrecks" of ancient Rome that lie in ruins at the foot of the hills. He contrasts the grandeur of these ruins with the "humble homes" of the peasants who live on the hills, suggesting that human civilization is ultimately transitory and that the natural world endures.

Finally, in the seventh stanza, Shelley returns to the theme of the natural world, describing the "sunset of sweet Italy" and the "starry skies" that lie above the hills. He suggests that the beauty of the natural world is a source of comfort and inspiration, and that it offers a glimpse of a divine order that transcends human experience:

"Yet, though the Sun and Moon Were in the flat sea sunk, and Wisdom's power Along the shore, like winds or waves, were strown, Mightier despair would drive us to the last, And, standing on the brink of dark eternity, Bid the soul quench its hopelessness in thee."

Here, Shelley suggests that even in the face of despair and death, the beauty of the natural world offers a source of hope and comfort. He suggests that the human soul can find solace in the contemplation of nature's beauty, and that this beauty offers a glimpse of a divine order that transcends human experience.

In conclusion, "Lines Written Among The Euganean Hills" is a masterpiece of Romantic poetry, and it reflects Shelley's fascination with the natural world and his belief in the power of the human imagination. The poem is a complex and nuanced exploration of the relationship between human beings and the natural world, and it offers a vision of a world in which the beauty of nature offers a source of comfort and inspiration in the face of the hardships of life.

Editor Recommended Sites

Crypto Advisor - Crypto stats and data & Best crypto meme coins: Find the safest coins to invest in for this next alt season, AI curated
Google Cloud Run Fan site: Tutorials and guides for Google cloud run
Learn GPT: Learn large language models and local fine tuning for enterprise applications
Gitops: Git operations management
State Machine: State machine events management across clouds. AWS step functions GCP workflow

Recommended Similar Analysis

Chimney -Sweeper, The by William Blake analysis
Now Close The Windows by Robert Frost analysis
To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell analysis
Snow by e.e. Cummings analysis
La Figlia Che Piange (The Weeping Girl) by T.S. Eliot analysis
Death Be Not Proud by John Donne analysis
A Thanksgiving Poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar analysis
Nurse 's Song by William Blake analysis
The Dying Christian To His Soul by Alexander Pope analysis
If I should die by Emily Dickinson analysis