THE COMPLETE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

VOLUME 2

OXFORD EDITION. INCLUDING MATERIALS NEVER BEFOREPRINTED IN ANY EDITION OF THE POEMS. 

EDITED WITH TEXTUAL NOTES

BY

THOMAS HUTCHINSON, M. A. EDITOR OF THE OXFORD WORDSWORTH. 

1914. 

CONTENTS. 

EARLY POEMS [1814, 1815]:

STANZA, WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL. 

STANZAS. --APRIL, 1814. 

TO HARRIET. 

TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN. 

TO --. 'YET LOOK ON ME'. 

MUTABILITY. 

ON DEATH. 

A SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD. 

TO --. 'OH! THERE ARE SPIRITS OF THE AIR'. 

TO WORDSWORTH. 

FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE

LINES: 'THE COLD EARTH SLEPT BELOW'

NOTE ON THE EARLY POEMS, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816:

THE SUNSET. 

HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. 

MONT BLANC. 

CANCELLED PASSAGE OF MONT BLANC. 

FRAGMENT: HOME. 

FRAGMENT OF A GHOST STORY. 

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1816, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817:

MARIANNE'S DREAM. 

TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING. 

THE SAME: STANZAS 1 AND 2. 

TO CONSTANTIA. 

FRAGMENT: TO ONE SINGING. 

A FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC. 

ANOTHER FRAGMENT TO MUSIC. 

'MIGHTY EAGLE'. 

TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. 

FROM THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THE POEM TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. 

ON FANNY GODWIN. 

LINES: 'THAT TIME IS DEAD FOR EVER'. 

DEATH. 

OTHO. 

FRAGMENTS SUPPOSED TO BE PARTS OF OTHO. 

'O THAT A CHARIOT OF CLOUD WERE MINE'. 

FRAGMENTS: TO A FRIEND RELEASED FROM PRISON. SATAN BROKEN LOOSE. IGNICULUS DESIDERII. AMOR AETERNUS. THOUGHTS COME AND GO IN SOLITUDE. 

A HATE-SONG. 

LINES TO A CRITIC. 

OZYMANDIAS. 

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1817, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818. 

TO THE NILE. 

PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES. 

THE PAST. 

TO MARY --. 

ON A FADED VIOLET. 

LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS. 

SCENE FROM "TASSO". 

SONG FOR "TASSO". 

INVOCATION TO MISERY. 

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES. 

THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 

MARENGHI. 

SONNET: 'LIFT NOT THE PAINTED VEIL'. 

FRAGMENTS: TO BYRON. APOSTROPHE TO SILENCE. THE LAKE'S MARGIN. 'MY HEAD IS WILD WITH WEEPING'. THE VINE-SHROUD. 

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819:

LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION. 

SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND. 

SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819. 

FRAGMENT: TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND. 

FRAGMENT: 'WHAT MEN GAIN FAIRLY'. 

A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM. 

SONNET: ENGLAND IN 1819. 

AN ODE WRITTEN OCTOBER, 1819. 

CANCELLED STANZA. 

ODE TO HEAVEN. 

ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 

AN EXHORTATION. 

THE INDIAN SERENADE. 

CANCELLED PASSAGE. 

TO SOPHIA [MISS STACEY]. 

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY, 1. 

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY, 2. 

TO MARY SHELLEY, 1. 

TO MARY SHELLEY, 2. 

ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI. 

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 

FRAGMENT: 'FOLLOW TO THE DEEP WOOD'S WEEDS'. 

THE BIRTH OF PLEASURE. 

FRAGMENTS: LOVE THE UNIVERSE TO-DAY. 'A GENTLE STORY OF TWO LOVERS YOUNG'. LOVE'S TENDER ATMOSPHERE. WEDDED SOULS. 'IS IT THAT IN SOME BRIGHTER SPHERE'. SUFFICIENT UNTO THE DAY. 'YE GENTLE VISITATIONS OF CALM THOUGHT'. MUSIC AND SWEET POETRY. THE SEPULCHRE OF MEMORY. 'WHEN A LOVER CLASPS HIS FAIREST'. 'WAKE THE SERPENT NOT'. RAIN. A TALE UNTOLD. TO ITALY. WINE OF THE FAIRIES. A ROMAN'S CHAMBER. ROME AND NATURE. 

VARIATION OF THE SONG OF THE MOON. 

CANCELLED STANZA OF THE MASK OF ANARCHY. 

NOTE BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820:

THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 

CANCELLED PASSAGE. 

A VISION OF THE SEA. 

THE CLOUD. 

TO A SKYLARK. 

ODE TO LIBERTY. 

CANCELLED PASSAGE. 

TO --. 'I FEAR THY KISSES, GENTLE MAIDEN'. 

ARETHUSA. 

SONG OF PROSERPINE. 

HYMN OF APOLLO. 

HYMN OF PAN. 

THE QUESTION. 

THE TWO SPIRITS. AN ALLEGORY. 

ODE TO NAPLES. 

AUTUMN: A DIRGE. 

THE WANING MOON. 

TO THE MOON. 

DEATH. 

LIBERTY. 

SUMMER AND WINTER. 

THE TOWER OF FAMINE. 

AN ALLEGORY. 

THE WORLD'S WANDERERS. 

SONNET: 'YE HASTEN TO THE GRAVE!'. 

LINES TO A REVIEWER. 

FRAGMENT OF A SATIRE ON SATIRE. 

GOOD-NIGHT. 

BUONA NOTTE. 

ORPHEUS. 

FIORDISPINA. 

TIME LONG PAST. 

FRAGMENTS: THE DESERTS OF DIM SLEEP. 'THE VIEWLESS AND INVISIBLE CONSEQUENCE'. A SERPENT-FACE. DEATH IN LIFE. 'SUCH HOPE, AS IS THE SICK DESPAIR OF GOOD'. 'ALAS THIS IS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT LIFE WAS'. MILTON'S SPIRIT. 'UNRISEN SPLENDOUR OF THE BRIGHTEST SUN'. PATER OMNIPOTENS. TO THE MIND OF MAN. 

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS SHELLEY. 

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821:

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR. 

TO NIGHT. 

TIME. 

LINES: 'FAR, FAR AWAY'. 

FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION. 

TO EMILIA VIVIANI. 

THE FUGITIVES. 

TO --. 'MUSIC, WHEN SOFT VOICES DIE'. 

SONG: 'RARELY, RARELY, COMEST THOU'. 

MUTABILITY. 

LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON. 

SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS. 

THE AZIOLA. 

A LAMENT. 

REMEMBRANCE. 

TO EDWARD WILLIAMS. 

TO --. 'ONE WORD IS TOO OFTEN PROFANED'. 

TO --. 'WHEN PASSION'S TRANCE IS OVERPAST'. 

A BRIDAL SONG. 

EPITHALAMIUM. 

ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME. 

LOVE, HOPE, DESIRE, AND FEAR. 

FRAGMENTS WRITTEN FOR "HELLAS". 

FRAGMENT: 'I WOULD NOT BE A KING'. 

GINEVRA. 

EVENING: PONTE AL MARE, PISA. 

THE BOAT ON THE SERCHIO. 

MUSIC. 

SONNET TO BYRON. 

FRAGMENT ON KEATS. 

FRAGMENT: 'METHOUGHT I WAS A BILLOW IN THE CROWD'. 

TO-MORROW. 

STANZA: 'IF I WALK IN AUTUMN'S EVEN'. 

FRAGMENTS: A WANDERER. LIFE ROUNDED WITH SLEEP. 'I FAINT, I PERISH WITH MY LOVE'. THE LADY OF THE SOUTH. ZEPHYRUS THE AWAKENER. RAIN. 'WHEN SOFT WINDS AND SUNNY SKIES'. 'AND THAT I WALK THUS PROUDLY CROWNED'. 'THE RUDE WIND IS SINGING'. 'GREAT SPIRIT'. 'O THOU IMMORTAL DEITY'. THE FALSE LAUREL AND THE TRUE. MAY THE LIMNER. BEAUTY'S HALO. 'THE DEATH KNELL IS RINGING'. 'I STOOD UPON A HEAVEN-CLEAVING TURRET'. 

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1821, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1822:

THE ZUCCA. 

THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER PATIENT. 

LINES: 'WHEN THE LAMP IS SHATTERED'. 

TO JANE: THE INVITATION. 

TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION. 

THE PINE FOREST OF THE CASCINE NEAR PISA. 

WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE. 

TO JANE: 'THE KEEN STARS WERE TWINKLING'. 

A DIRGE. 

LINES WRITTEN IN THE BAY OF LERICI. 

LINES: 'WE MEET NOT AS WE PARTED'. 

THE ISLE. 

FRAGMENT: TO THE MOON. 

EPITAPH. 

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1822, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

***

EARLY POEMS [1814, 1815]. 

[The poems which follow appeared, with a few exceptions, either in thevolumes published from time to time by Shelley himself, or in the"Posthumous Poems" of 1824, or in the "Poetical Works" of 1839, ofwhich a second and enlarged edition was published by Mrs. Shelley inthe same year. A few made their first appearance in some fugitivepublication--such as Leigh Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book"--and weresubsequently incorporated in the collective editions. In every case theeditio princeps and (where this is possible) the exact date ofcomposition are indicated below the title. ]

***

STANZA, WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL. 

[Composed March, 1814. Published in Hogg's "Life of Shelley", 1858. ]

Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;Thy gentle words stir poison there;Thou hast disturbed the only restThat was the portion of despair!Subdued to Duty's hard control, _5I could have borne my wayward lot:The chains that bind this ruined soulHad cankered then--but crushed it not. 

***

STANZAS. --APRIL, 1814. 

[Composed at Bracknell, April, 1814. Published with "Alastor", 1816. ]

Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even:Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven. 

Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away! _5Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's ungentle mood:Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay:Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude. 

Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; _10Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth. 

The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head:The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet:But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, _15Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace may meet. 

The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep:Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows;Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. _20

Thou in the grave shalt rest--yet till the phantoms fleeWhich that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not freeFrom the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile. 

NOTE:_6 tear 1816; glance 1839. 

***

TO HARRIET. 

[Composed May, 1814. Published (from the Esdaile manuscript) by Dowden, "Life of Shelley", 1887. ]

Thy look of love has power to calmThe stormiest passion of my soul;Thy gentle words are drops of balmIn life's too bitter bowl;No grief is mine, but that alone _5These choicest blessings I have known. 

Harriet! if all who long to liveIn the warm sunshine of thine eye, That price beyond all pain must give, --Beneath thy scorn to die; _10Then hear thy chosen own too lateHis heart most worthy of thy hate. 

Be thou, then, one among mankindWhose heart is harder not for state, Thou only virtuous, gentle, kind, _15Amid a world of hate;And by a slight endurance sealA fellow-being's lasting weal. 

For pale with anguish is his cheek, His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim, _20Thy name is struggling ere he speak, Weak is each trembling limb;In mercy let him not endureThe misery of a fatal cure. 

Oh, trust for once no erring guide! _25Bid the remorseless feeling flee;'Tis malice, 'tis revenge, 'tis pride, 'Tis anything but thee;Oh, deign a nobler pride to prove, And pity if thou canst not love. _30

***

TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN. 

[Composed June, 1814. Published in "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed;Yes, I was firm--thus wert not thou;--My baffled looks did fear yet dreadTo meet thy looks--I could not knowHow anxiously they sought to shine _5With soothing pity upon mine. 

2. To sit and curb the soul's mute rageWhich preys upon itself alone;To curse the life which is the cageOf fettered grief that dares not groan, _10Hiding from many a careless eyeThe scorned load of agony. 

3. Whilst thou alone, then not regarded, The ... Thou alone should be, To spend years thus, and be rewarded, _15As thou, sweet love, requited meWhen none were near--Oh! I did wakeFrom torture for that moment's sake. 

4. Upon my heart thy accents sweetOf peace and pity fell like dew _20On flowers half dead;--thy lips did meetMine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threwTheir soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain. 

5. We are not happy, sweet! our state _25Is strange and full of doubt and fear;More need of words that ills abate;--Reserve or censure come not nearOur sacred friendship, lest there beNo solace left for thee and me. _30

6. Gentle and good and mild thou art, Nor can I live if thou appearAught but thyself, or turn thine heartAway from me, or stoop to wearThe mask of scorn, although it be _35To hide the love thou feel'st for me. 

NOTES:_2 wert 1839; did 1824. _3 fear 1824, 1839; yearn cj. Rossetti. _23 Their 1839; thy 1824. _30 thee]thou 1824, 1839. _32 can I 1839; I can 1824. _36 feel'st 1839; feel 1824. 

***

TO --. 

[Published in "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. See Editor's Note. ]

Yet look on me--take not thine eyes away, Which feed upon the love within mine own, Which is indeed but the reflected rayOf thine own beauty from my spirit thrown. Yet speak to me--thy voice is as the tone _5Of my heart's echo, and I think I hearThat thou yet lovest me; yet thou aloneLike one before a mirror, without careOf aught but thine own features, imaged there;

And yet I wear out life in watching thee; _10A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeedArt kind when I am sick, and pity me... 

***

MUTABILITY. 

[Published with "Alastor", 1816. ]

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly!--yet soonNight closes round, and they are lost for ever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings _5Give various response to each varying blast, To whose frail frame no second motion bringsOne mood or modulation like the last. 

We rest. --A dream has power to poison sleep;We rise. --One wandering thought pollutes the day; _10We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!--For, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free:Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; _15Nought may endure but Mutability. 

NOTES:_15 may 1816; can Lodore, chapter 49, 1835 (Mrs. Shelley). _16 Nought may endure but 1816; Nor aught endure save Lodore, chapter 49, 1835 (Mrs. Shelley). 

***

ON DEATH. 

[For the date of composition see Editor's Note. Published with "Alastor", 1816. ]

THERE IS NO WORK, NOR DEVICE, NOR KNOWLEDGE, NOR WISDOM, IN THE GRAVE, WHITHER THOU GOEST. --Ecclesiastes. 

The pale, the cold, and the moony smileWhich the meteor beam of a starless nightSheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle, Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wanThat flits round our steps till their strength is gone. _5

O man! hold thee on in courage of soulThrough the stormy shades of thy worldly way, And the billows of cloud that around thee rollShall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, _10Where Hell and Heaven shall leave thee freeTo the universe of destiny. 

This world is the nurse of all we know, This world is the mother of all we feel, And the coming of death is a fearful blow _15To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel;When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass like an unreal mystery. 

The secret things of the grave are there, Where all but this frame must surely be, _20Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous earNo longer will live to hear or to seeAll that is great and all that is strangeIn the boundless realm of unending change. 

Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death? _25Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?Who painteth the shadows that are beneathThe wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb?Or uniteth the hopes of what shall beWith the fears and the love for that which we see? _30

***

A SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD. 

LECHLADE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE. 

[Composed September, 1815. Published with "Alastor", 1816. ]

The wind has swept from the wide atmosphereEach vapour that obscured the sunset's ray;And pallid Evening twines its beaming hairIn duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day:Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men, _5Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen. 

They breathe their spells towards the departing day, Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea;Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway, Responding to the charm with its own mystery. _10The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grassKnows not their gentle motions as they pass. 

Thou too, aereal Pile! whose pinnaclesPoint from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells, _15Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire, Around whose lessening and invisible heightGather among the stars the clouds of night. 

The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres:And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound, _20Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs, Breathed from their wormy beds all living things around, And mingling with the still night and mute skyIts awful hush is felt inaudibly. 

Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild _25And terrorless as this serenest night:Here could I hope, like some inquiring childSporting on graves, that death did hide from human sightSweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleepThat loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep. _30

***

TO --. 

[Published with "Alastor", 1816. See Editor's Note. ]

DAKRTSI DIOISO POTMON 'APOTMON. 

Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fairAs star-beams among twilight trees:--Such lovely ministers to meet _5Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet. 

With mountain winds, and babbling springs, And moonlight seas, that are the voiceOf these inexplicable things, Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice _10When they did answer thee; but theyCast, like a worthless boon, thy love away. 

And thou hast sought in starry eyesBeams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth:--tame sacrificeTo a fond faith! still dost thou pine? _15Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hopeOn the false earth's inconstancy? _20Did thine own mind afford no scopeOf love, or moving thoughts to thee?That natural scenes or human smilesCould steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled _25Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;The glory of the moon is dead;Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed;Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery. _30

This fiend, whose ghastly presence everBeside thee like thy shadow hangs, Dream not to chase;--the mad endeavourWould scourge thee to severer pangs. Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, Dark as it is, all change would aggravate. _35

NOTES:_1 of 1816; in 1839. _8 moonlight 1816; mountain 1839. 

***

TO WORDSWORTH. 

[Published with "Alastor", 1816. ]

Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to knowThat things depart which never may return:Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine _5Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore. Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shineOn some frail bark in winter's midnight roar:Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stoodAbove the blind and battling multitude: _10In honoured poverty thy voice did weaveSongs consecrate to truth and liberty, --Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve, Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be. 

***

FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE. 

[Published with "Alastor", 1816. ]

I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groanTo think that a most unambitious slave, Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the graveOf Liberty. Thou mightst have built thy throneWhere it had stood even now: thou didst prefer _5A frail and bloody pomp which Time has sweptIn fragments towards Oblivion. Massacre, For this I prayed, would on thy sleep have crept, Treason and Slavery, Rapine, Fear, and Lust, And stifled thee, their minister. I know _10Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, That Virtue owns a more eternal foeThan Force or Fraud: old Custom, legal Crime, And bloody Faith the foulest birth of Time. 

***

LINES. 

[Published in Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book", 1823, where it is headed"November, 1815". Reprinted in the "Posthumous Poems", 1824. SeeEditor's Note. ]

1. The cold earth slept below, Above the cold sky shone;And all around, with a chilling sound, From caves of ice and fields of snow, The breath of night like death did flow _5Beneath the sinking moon. 

2. The wintry hedge was black, The green grass was not seen, The birds did rest on the bare thorn's breast, Whose roots, beside the pathway track, _10Had bound their folds o'er many a crackWhich the frost had made between. 

3. Thine eyes glowed in the glareOf the moon's dying light;As a fen-fire's beam on a sluggish stream _15Gleams dimly, so the moon shone there, And it yellowed the strings of thy raven hair, That shook in the wind of night. 

4. The moon made thy lips pale, beloved--The wind made thy bosom chill-- _20The night did shed on thy dear headIts frozen dew, and thou didst lieWhere the bitter breath of the naked skyMight visit thee at will. 

NOTE:_17 raven 1823; tangled 1824. 

***

NOTE ON THE EARLY POEMS, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

The remainder of Shelley's Poems will be arranged in the order in whichthey were written. Of course, mistakes will occur in placing some ofthe shorter ones; for, as I have said, many of these were thrown aside, and I never saw them till I had the misery of looking over his writingsafter the hand that traced them was dust; and some were in the hands ofothers, and I never saw them till now. The subjects of the poems areoften to me an unerring guide; but on other occasions I can only guess, by finding them in the pages of the same manuscript book that containspoems with the date of whose composition I am fully conversant. In thepresent arrangement all his poetical translations will be placedtogether at the end. 

The loss of his early papers prevents my being able to give any of thepoetry of his boyhood. Of the few I give as "Early Poems", the greaterpart were published with "Alastor"; some of them were writtenpreviously, some at the same period. The poem beginning 'Oh, there arespirits in the air' was addressed in idea to Coleridge, whom he neverknew; and at whose character he could only guess imperfectly, throughhis writings, and accounts he heard of him from some who knew him well. He regarded his change of opinions as rather an act of will thanconviction, and believed that in his inner heart he would be haunted bywhat Shelley considered the better and holier aspirations of his youth. The summer evening that suggested to him the poem written in thechurchyard of Lechlade occurred during his voyage up the Thames in1815. He had been advised by a physician to live as much as possible inthe open air; and a fortnight of a bright warm July was spent intracing the Thames to its source. He never spent a season moretranquilly than the summer of 1815. He had just recovered from a severepulmonary attack; the weather was warm and pleasant. He lived nearWindsor Forest; and his life was spent under its shades or on thewater, meditating subjects for verse. Hitherto, he had chiefly aimed atextending his political doctrines, and attempted so to do by appeals inprose essays to the people, exhorting them to claim their rights; buthe had now begun to feel that the time for action was not ripe inEngland, and that the pen was the only instrument wherewith to preparethe way for better things. 

In the scanty journals kept during those years I find a record of thebooks that Shelley read during several years. During the years of 1814and 1815 the list is extensive. It includes, in Greek, Homer, Hesiod, Theocritus, the histories of Thucydides and Herodotus, and DiogenesLaertius. In Latin, Petronius, Suetonius, some of the works of Cicero, a large proportion of those of Seneca and Livy. In English, Milton'spoems, Wordsworth's "Excursion", Southey's "Madoc" and "Thalaba", Locke"On the Human Understanding", Bacon's "Novum Organum". In Italian, Ariosto, Tasso, and Alfieri. In French, the "Reveries d'un Solitaire"of Rousseau. To these may be added several modern books of travel. Heread few novels. 

***

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816. 

THE SUNSET. 

[Written at Bishopsgate, 1816 (spring). Published in full in the"Posthumous Poems", 1824. Lines 9-20, and 28-42, appeared in Hunt's"Literary Pocket-Book", 1823, under the titles, respectively, of"Sunset. From an Unpublished Poem", And "Grief. A Fragment". ]

There late was One within whose subtle being, As light and wind within some delicate cloudThat fades amid the blue noon's burning sky, Genius and death contended. None may knowThe sweetness of the joy which made his breath _5Fail, like the trances of the summer air, When, with the Lady of his love, who thenFirst knew the unreserve of mingled being, He walked along the pathway of a fieldWhich to the east a hoar wood shadowed o'er, _10But to the west was open to the sky. There now the sun had sunk, but lines of goldHung on the ashen clouds, and on the pointsOf the far level grass and nodding flowersAnd the old dandelion's hoary beard, _15And, mingled with the shades of twilight, layOn the brown massy woods--and in the eastThe broad and burning moon lingeringly roseBetween the black trunks of the crowded trees, While the faint stars were gathering overhead. -- _20'Is it not strange, Isabel, ' said the youth, 'I never saw the sun? We will walk hereTo-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me. '

That night the youth and lady mingled layIn love and sleep--but when the morning came _25The lady found her lover dead and cold. Let none believe that God in mercy gaveThat stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild, But year by year lived on--in truth I thinkHer gentleness and patience and sad smiles, _30And that she did not die, but lived to tendHer aged father, were a kind of madness, If madness 'tis to be unlike the world. For but to see her were to read the taleWoven by some subtlest bard, to make hard hearts _35Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief;--Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan:Her eyelashes were worn away with tears, Her lips and cheeks were like things dead--so pale;Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins _40And weak articulations might be seenDay's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead selfWhich one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day, Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!

'Inheritor of more than earth can give, _45Passionless calm and silence unreproved, Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest, And are the uncomplaining things they seem, Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love;Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were--Peace!' _50This was the only moan she ever made. 

NOTES:_4 death 1839; youth 1824. _22 sun? We will walk 1824; sunrise? We will wake cj. Forman. _37 Her eyes... Wan Hunt, 1823; omitted 1824, 1839. _38 worn 1824; torn 1839. 

***

HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY. 

[Composed, probably, in Switzerland, in the summer of 1816. Publishedin Hunt's "Examiner", January 19, 1817, and with "Rosalind and Helen", 1819. ]

1. The awful shadow of some unseen PowerFloats though unseen among us, --visitingThis various world with as inconstant wingAs summer winds that creep from flower to flower, --Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower, _5It visits with inconstant glanceEach human heart and countenance;Like hues and harmonies of evening, --Like clouds in starlight widely spread, --Like memory of music fled, -- _10Like aught that for its grace may beDear, and yet dearer for its mystery. 

2. Spirit of BEAUTY, that dost consecrateWith thine own hues all thou dost shine uponOf human thought or form, --where art thou gone? _15Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate?Ask why the sunlight not for everWeaves rainbows o'er yon mountain-river, Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown, _20Why fear and dream and death and birthCast on the daylight of this earthSuch gloom, --why man has such a scopeFor love and hate, despondency and hope?

3. No voice from some sublimer world hath ever _25To sage or poet these responses given--Therefore the names of Demon, Ghost, and Heaven. Remain the records of their vain endeavour, Frail spells--whose uttered charm might not avail to sever, From all we hear and all we see, _30Doubt, chance, and mutability. Thy light alone--like mist o'er mountains driven, Or music by the night-wind sentThrough strings of some still instrument, Or moonlight on a midnight stream, _35Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream. 

4. Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds departAnd come, for some uncertain moments lent. Man were immortal, and omnipotent, Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, _40Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart. Thou messenger of sympathies, That wax and wane in lovers' eyes--Thou--that to human thought art nourishment, Like darkness to a dying flame! _45Depart not as thy shadow cameDepart not--lest the grave should be, Like life and fear, a dark reality. 

5. While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and spedThrough many a listening chamber, cave and ruin, _50And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuingHopes of high talk with the departed dead. I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed;I was not heard--I saw them not--When musing deeply on the lot _55Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooingAll vital things that wake to bringNews of birds and blossoming, --Sudden, thy shadow fell on me;I shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy! _60

6. I vowed that I would dedicate my powersTo thee and thine--have I not kept the vow?With beating heart and streaming eyes, even nowI call the phantoms of a thousand hoursEach from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers _65Of studious zeal or love's delightOutwatched with me the envious night--They know that never joy illumed my browUnlinked with hope that thou wouldst freeThis world from its dark slavery, _70That thou--O awful LOVELINESS, Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express. 

7. The day becomes more solemn and sereneWhen noon is past--there is a harmonyIn autumn, and a lustre in its sky, _75Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been!Thus let thy power, which like the truthOf nature on my passive youthDescended, to my onward life supply _80Its calm--to one who worships thee, And every form containing thee, Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bindTo fear himself, and love all human kind. 

NOTES:_2 among 1819; amongst 1817. _14 dost 1819; doth 1817. _21 fear and dream 1819; care and pain Boscombe manuscript. _37-_48 omitted Boscombe manuscript. _44 art 1817; are 1819. _76 or 1819; nor 1839. 

***

MONT BLANC. 

LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 

[Composed in Switzerland, July, 1816 (see date below). Printed at theend of the "History of a Six Weeks' Tour" published by Shelley in 1817, and reprinted with "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Amongst the Boscombemanuscripts is a draft of this Ode, mainly in pencil, which has beencollated by Dr. Garnett. ]

1. The everlasting universe of thingsFlows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark--now glittering--now reflecting gloom--Now lending splendour, where from secret springsThe source of human thought its tribute brings _5Of waters, --with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assumeIn the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river _10Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves. 

2. Thus thou, Ravine of Arve--dark, deep Ravine--Thou many-coloured, many-voiced vale, Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sailFast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene, _15Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes downFrom the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne, Bursting through these dark mountains like the flameOf lightning through the tempest;--thou dost lie, Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging, _20Children of elder time, in whose devotionThe chainless winds still come and ever cameTo drink their odours, and their mighty swingingTo hear--an old and solemn harmony;Thine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep _25Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veilRobes some unsculptured image; the strange sleepWhich when the voices of the desert failWraps all in its own deep eternity;--Thy caverns echoing to the Arve's commotion, _30A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion, Thou art the path of that unresting sound--Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on theeI seem as in a trance sublime and strange _35To muse on my own separate fantasy, My own, my human mind, which passivelyNow renders and receives fast influencings, Holding an unremitting interchangeWith the clear universe of things around; _40One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wingsNow float above thy darkness, and now restWhere that or thou art no unbidden guest, In the still cave of the witch Poesy, Seeking among the shadows that pass by _45Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee, Some phantom, some faint image; till the breastFrom which they fled recalls them, thou art there!

3. Some say that gleams of a remoter worldVisit the soul in sleep, --that death is slumber, _50And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumberOf those who wake and live. --I look on high;Has some unknown omnipotence unfurledThe veil of life and death? or do I lieIn dream, and does the mightier world of sleep _55Spread far around and inaccessiblyIts circles? For the very spirit fails, Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steepThat vanishes among the viewless gales!Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky, _60Mont Blanc appears, --still, snowy, and serene--Its subject mountains their unearthly formsPile around it, ice and rock; broad vales betweenOf frozen floods, unfathomable deeps, Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread _65And wind among the accumulated steeps;A desert peopled by the storms alone, Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone, And the wolf tracts her there--how hideouslyIts shapes are heaped around! rude, bare, and high, _70Ghastly, and scarred, and riven. --Is this the sceneWhere the old Earthquake-daemon taught her youngRuin? Were these their toys? or did a seaOf fire envelope once this silent snow?None can reply--all seems eternal now. _75The wilderness has a mysterious tongueWhich teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild, So solemn, so serene, that man may be, But for such faith, with nature reconciled;Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal _80Large codes of fraud and woe; not understoodBy all, but which the wise, and great, and goodInterpret, or make felt, or deeply feel. 

4. The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams, Ocean, and all the living things that dwell _85Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain, Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane, The torpor of the year when feeble dreamsVisit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleepHolds every future leaf and flower;--the bound _90With which from that detested trance they leap;The works and ways of man, their death and birth, And that of him and all that his may be;All things that move and breathe with toil and soundAre born and die; revolve, subside, and swell. _95Power dwells apart in its tranquillity, Remote, serene, and inaccessible:And THIS, the naked countenance of earth, On which I gaze, even these primaeval mountainsTeach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep _100Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains, Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice, Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal powerHave piled: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle, A city of death, distinct with many a tower _105And wall impregnable of beaming ice. Yet not a city, but a flood of ruinIs there, that from the boundaries of the skyRolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewingIts destined path, or in the mangled soil _110Branchless and shattered stand; the rocks, drawn downFrom yon remotest waste, have overthrownThe limits of the dead and living world, Never to be reclaimed. The dwelling-placeOf insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil; _115Their food and their retreat for ever gone, So much of life and joy is lost. The raceOf man flies far in dread; his work and dwellingVanish, like smoke before the tempest's stream, And their place is not known. Below, vast caves _120Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam, Which from those secret chasms in tumult wellingMeet in the vale, and one majestic River, The breath and blood of distant lands, for everRolls its loud waters to the ocean waves, _125Breathes its swift vapours to the circling air. 

5. Mont Blanc yet gleams on high--the power is there, The still and solemn power of many sights, And many sounds, and much of life and death. In the calm darkness of the moonless nights, _130In the lone glare of day, the snows descendUpon that Mountain; none beholds them there, Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun, Or the star-beams dart through them:--Winds contendSilently there, and heap the snow with breath _135Rapid and strong, but silently! Its homeThe voiceless lightning in these solitudesKeeps innocently, and like vapour broodsOver the snow. The secret strength of thingsWhich governs thought, and to the infinite dome _140Of heaven is as a law, inhabits thee!And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea, If to the human mind's imaginingsSilence and solitude were vacancy?

July 23, 1816. 

NOTES:_15 cloud-shadows]cloud shadows 1817; cloud, shadows 1824; clouds, shadows 1839. _20 Thy 1824; The 1839. _53 unfurled]upfurled cj. James Thomson ('B. V. '). _56 Spread 1824; Speed 1839. _69 tracks her there 1824; watches her Boscombe manuscript. _79 But for such 1824; In such a Boscombe manuscript. _108 boundaries of the sky]boundary of the skies cj. Rossetti (cf. Lines 102, 106). _121 torrents']torrent's 1817, 1824, 1839. 

***

CANCELLED PASSAGE OF MONT BLANC. 

[Published by Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

There is a voice, not understood by all, Sent from these desert-caves. It is the roarOf the rent ice-cliff which the sunbeams call, Plunging into the vale--it is the blastDescending on the pines--the torrents pour... _5

***

FRAGMENT: HOME. 

[Published by Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

Dear home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys, The least of which wronged Memory ever makesBitterer than all thine unremembered tears. 

***

FRAGMENT OF A GHOST STORY. 

[Published by Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

A shovel of his ashes tookFrom the hearth's obscurest nook, Muttering mysteries as she went. Helen and Henry knew that GrannyWas as much afraid of Ghosts as any, _5And so they followed hard--But Helen clung to her brother's arm, And her own spasm made her shake. 

***

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1816, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

Shelley wrote little during this year. The poem entitled "The Sunset"was written in the spring of the year, while still residing atBishopsgate. He spent the summer on the shores of the Lake of Geneva. The "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" was conceived during his voyage roundthe lake with Lord Byron. He occupied himself during this voyage byreading the "Nouvelle Heloise" for the first time. The reading it onthe very spot where the scenes are laid added to the interest; and hewas at once surprised and charmed by the passionate eloquence andearnest enthralling interest that pervade this work. There wassomething in the character of Saint-Preux, in his abnegation of self, and in the worship he paid to Love, that coincided with Shelley's owndisposition; and, though differing in many of the views and shocked byothers, yet the effect of the whole was fascinating and delightful. 

"Mont Blanc" was inspired by a view of that mountain and itssurrounding peaks and valleys, as he lingered on the Bridge of Arve onhis way through the Valley of Chamouni. Shelley makes the followingmention of this poem in his publication of the "History of a Six Weeks'Tour, and Letters from Switzerland": 'The poem entitled "Mont Blanc" iswritten by the author of the two letters from Chamouni and Vevai. Itwas composed under the immediate impression of the deep and powerfulfeelings excited by the objects which it attempts to describe; and, asan undisciplined overflowing of the soul, rests its claim toapprobation on an attempt to imitate the untamable wildness andinaccessible solemnity from which those feelings sprang. '

This was an eventful year, and less time was given to study than usual. In the list of his reading I find, in Greek, Theocritus, the"Prometheus" of Aeschylus, several of Plutarch's "Lives", and the worksof Lucian. In Latin, Lucretius, Pliny's "Letters", the "Annals" and"Germany" of Tacitus. In French, the "History of the French Revolution"by Lacretelle. He read for the first time, this year, Montaigne's"Essays", and regarded them ever after as one of the most delightfuland instructive books in the world. The list is scanty in Englishworks: Locke's "Essay", "Political Justice", and Coleridge's "LaySermon", form nearly the whole. It was his frequent habit to read aloudto me in the evening; in this way we read, this year, the NewTestament, "Paradise Lost", Spenser's "Faery Queen", and "Don Quixote". 

***

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817. 

MARIANNE'S DREAM. 

[Composed at Marlow, 1817. Published in Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book", 1819, and reprinted in "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. A pale Dream came to a Lady fair, And said, A boon, a boon, I pray!I know the secrets of the air, And things are lost in the glare of day, Which I can make the sleeping see, _5If they will put their trust in me. 

2. And thou shalt know of things unknown, If thou wilt let me rest betweenThe veiny lids, whose fringe is thrownOver thine eyes so dark and sheen: _10And half in hope, and half in fright, The Lady closed her eyes so bright. 

3. At first all deadly shapes were drivenTumultuously across her sleep, And o'er the vast cope of bending heaven _15All ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep;And the Lady ever looked to spyIf the golden sun shone forth on high. 

4. And as towards the east she turned, She saw aloft in the morning air, _20Which now with hues of sunrise burned, A great black Anchor rising there;And wherever the Lady turned her eyes, It hung before her in the skies. 

5. The sky was blue as the summer sea, _25The depths were cloudless overhead, The air was calm as it could be, There was no sight or sound of dread, But that black Anchor floating stillOver the piny eastern hill. _30

6. The Lady grew sick with a weight of fearTo see that Anchor ever hanging, And veiled her eyes; she then did hearThe sound as of a dim low clanging, And looked abroad if she might know _35Was it aught else, or but the flowOf the blood in her own veins, to and fro. 

7. There was a mist in the sunless air, Which shook as it were with an earthquake's shock, But the very weeds that blossomed there _40Were moveless, and each mighty rockStood on its basis steadfastly;The Anchor was seen no more on high. 

8. But piled around, with summits hidIn lines of cloud at intervals, _45Stood many a mountain pyramidAmong whose everlasting wallsTwo mighty cities shone, and everThrough the red mist their domes did quiver. 

9. On two dread mountains, from whose crest, _50Might seem, the eagle, for her brood, Would ne'er have hung her dizzy nest, Those tower-encircled cities stood. A vision strange such towers to see, Sculptured and wrought so gorgeously, _55Where human art could never be. 

10. And columns framed of marble white, And giant fanes, dome over domePiled, and triumphant gates, all brightWith workmanship, which could not come _60From touch of mortal instrument, Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lentFrom its own shapes magnificent. 

11. But still the Lady heard that clangFilling the wide air far away; _65And still the mist whose light did hangAmong the mountains shook alway, So that the Lady's heart beat fast, As half in joy, and half aghast, On those high domes her look she cast. _70

12. Sudden, from out that city sprungA light that made the earth grow red;Two flames that each with quivering tongueLicked its high domes, and overheadAmong those mighty towers and fanes _75Dropped fire, as a volcano rainsIts sulphurous ruin on the plains. 

13. And hark! a rush as if the deepHad burst its bonds; she looked behindAnd saw over the western steep _80A raging flood descend, and windThrough that wide vale; she felt no fear, But said within herself, 'Tis clearThese towers are Nature's own, and sheTo save them has sent forth the sea. _85

14. And now those raging billows cameWhere that fair Lady sate, and sheWas borne towards the showering flameBy the wild waves heaped tumultuously. And, on a little plank, the flow _90Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro. 

15. The flames were fiercely vomitedFrom every tower and every dome, And dreary light did widely shedO'er that vast flood's suspended foam, _95Beneath the smoke which hung its nightOn the stained cope of heaven's light. 

16. The plank whereon that Lady sateWas driven through the chasms, about and about, Between the peaks so desolate _100Of the drowning mountains, in and out, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails--While the flood was filling those hollow vales. 

17. At last her plank an eddy crossed, And bore her to the city's wall, _105Which now the flood had reached almost;It might the stoutest heart appalTo hear the fire roar and hissThrough the domes of those mighty palaces. 

18. The eddy whirled her round and round _110Before a gorgeous gate, which stoodPiercing the clouds of smoke which boundIts aery arch with light like blood;She looked on that gate of marble clear, With wonder that extinguished fear. _115

19. For it was filled with sculptures rarest, Of forms most beautiful and strange, Like nothing human, but the fairestOf winged shapes, whose legions rangeThroughout the sleep of those that are, _120Like this same Lady, good and fair. 

20. And as she looked, still lovelier grewThose marble forms;--the sculptor sureWas a strong spirit, and the hueOf his own mind did there endure _125After the touch, whose power had braidedSuch grace, was in some sad change faded. 

21. She looked, the flames were dim, the floodGrew tranquil as a woodland riverWinding through hills in solitude; _130Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver, And their fair limbs to float in motion, Like weeds unfolding in the ocean. 

22. And their lips moved; one seemed to speak, When suddenly the mountains cracked, _135And through the chasm the flood did breakWith an earth-uplifting cataract:The statues gave a joyous scream, And on its wings the pale thin DreamLifted the Lady from the stream. _140

23. The dizzy flight of that phantom paleWaked the fair Lady from her sleep, And she arose, while from the veilOf her dark eyes the Dream did creep, And she walked about as one who knew _145That sleep has sights as clear and trueAs any waking eyes can view. 

NOTES:_18 golden 1819; gold 1824, 1839. _28 or 1824; nor 1839. _62 or]a cj. Rossetti. _63 its]their cj. Rossetti. _92 flames cj. Rossetti; waves 1819, 1824, 1839. _101 mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839. _106 flood]flames cj. James Thomson ('B. V. '). _120 that 1819, 1824; who 1839. _135 mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839. 

***

TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley in "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Amongst theShelley manuscripts at the Bodleian is a chaotic first draft, fromwhich Mr. Locock ["Examination", etc. , 1903, pages 60-62] has, withpatient ingenuity, disengaged a first and a second stanza consistentwith the metrical scheme of stanzas 3 and 4. The two stanzas thusrecovered are printed here immediately below the poem as edited by Mrs. Shelley. It need hardly be added that Mr. Locock's restored versioncannot, any more than Mrs. Shelley's obviously imperfect one, beregarded in the light of a final recension. ]

1. Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die, Perchance were death indeed!--Constantia, turn!In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burnBetween thy lips, are laid to sleep; _5Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour, it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet. Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget!

2. A breathless awe, like the swift change _10Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers, Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange, Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. The cope of heaven seems rent and clovenBy the enchantment of thy strain, _15And on my shoulders wings are woven, To follow its sublime careerBeyond the mighty moons that waneUpon the verge of Nature's utmost sphere, Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear. _20

3. Her voice is hovering o'er my soul--it lingersO'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings, The blood and life within those snowy fingersTeach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. My brain is wild, my breath comes quick-- _25The blood is listening in my frame, And thronging shadows, fast and thick, Fall on my overflowing eyes;My heart is quivering like a flame;As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, _30I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies. 

4. I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy songFlows on, and fills all things with melody. --Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, _35On which, like one in trance upborne, Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn. Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which when the starry waters sleep, Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, _40Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight. 

STANZAS 1 AND 2. 

As restored by Mr. C. D. Locock. 

1. Cease, cease--for such wild lessons madmen learnThus to be lost, and thus to sink and diePerchance were death indeed!--Constantia turnIn thy dark eyes a power like light doth lieEven though the sounds its voice that were _5Between [thy] lips are laid to sleep:Within thy breath, and on thy hairLike odour, it is [lingering] yetAnd from thy touch like fire doth leap--Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet-- _10Alas, that the torn heart can bleed but not forget. 

2. [A deep and] breathless awe like the swift changeOf dreams unseen but felt in youthful slumbersWild sweet yet incommunicably strangeThou breathest now in fast ascending numbers... _15

***

TO CONSTANTIA. [Dated 1817 by Mrs. Shelley, and printed by her in the "PoeticalWorks", 1839, 1st edition. A copy exists amongst the Shelleymanuscripts at the Bodleian. See Mr. C. D. Locock's "Examination", etc. , 1903, page 46. ]

1. The rose that drinks the fountain dewIn the pleasant air of noon, Grows pale and blue with altered hue--In the gaze of the nightly moon;For the planet of frost, so cold and bright, _5Makes it wan with her borrowed light. 

2. Such is my heart--roses are fair, And that at best a withered blossom;But thy false care did idly wearIts withered leaves in a faithless bosom; _10And fed with love, like air and dew, Its growth--

NOTES:_1 The rose]The red Rose B. _2 pleasant]fragrant B. _6 her omitted B. 

***

FRAGMENT: TO ONE SINGING. 

[Dated 1817 by Mrs. Shelley, and published in the "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. The manuscript original, by which Mr. Locock hasrevised and (by one line) enlarged the text, is amongst the Shelleymanuscripts at the Bodleian. The metre, as Mr. Locock ("Examination", etc. , 1903, page 63) points out, is terza rima. ]

My spirit like a charmed bark doth swimUpon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing, Far far away into the regions dim

Of rapture--as a boat, with swift sails wingingIts way adown some many-winding river, _5Speeds through dark forests o'er the waters swinging... 

NOTES:_3 Far far away B. ; Far away 1839. _6 Speeds... Swinging B. ; omitted 1839. 

***

A FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC. 

[Published in "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. Dated 1817 (Mrs. Shelley). ]

Silver key of the fountain of tears, Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild;Softest grave of a thousand fears, Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child, Is laid asleep in flowers. _5

***

ANOTHER FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC. 

[Published in "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. Dated 1817 (Mrs. Shelley). ]

No, Music, thou art not the 'food of Love. 'Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self, Till it becomes all Music murmurs of. 

***

'MIGHTY EAGLE'. 

SUPPOSED TO BE ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM GODWIN. 

[Published in 1882 ("Poetical Works of P. B. S. ") by Mr. H. BuxtonForman, C. B. , by whom it is dated 1817. ]

Mighty eagle! thou that soarestO'er the misty mountain forest, And amid the light of morningLike a cloud of glory hiest, And when night descends defiest _5The embattled tempests' warning!

***

TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 

[Published in part (5-9, 14) by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition (without title); in full 2nd edition (with title). Fourtranscripts in Mrs. Shelley's hand are extant: two--Leigh Hunt's andCh. Cowden Clarke's--described by Forman, and two belonging to Mr. C. W. Frederickson of Brooklyn, described by Woodberry ["Poetical Works", Centenary Edition, 3 193-6]. One of the latter (here referred to as Fa)is corrected in Shelley's autograph. A much-corrected draft inShelley's hand is in the Harvard manuscript book. ]

1. Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crestOf that foul, knotted, many-headed wormWhich rends our Mother's bosom--Priestly Pest!Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!

2. Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice sold, _5Truth trampled, Nature's landmarks overthrown, And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold, Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction's throne. 

3. And whilst that sure slow Angel which aye standsWatching the beck of Mutability _10Delays to execute her high commands, And, though a nation weeps, spares thine and thee, 4. Oh, let a father's curse be on thy soul, And let a daughter's hope be on thy tomb;Be both, on thy gray head, a leaden cowl _15To weigh thee down to thine approaching doom. 

5. I curse thee by a parent's outraged love, By hopes long cherished and too lately lost, By gentle feelings thou couldst never prove, By griefs which thy stern nature never crossed; _20

6. By those infantine smiles of happy light, Which were a fire within a stranger's hearth, Quenched even when kindled, in untimely nightHiding the promise of a lovely birth:

7. By those unpractised accents of young speech, _25Which he who is a father thought to frameTo gentlest lore, such as the wisest teach--THOU strike the lyre of mind!--oh, grief and shame!

8. By all the happy see in children's growth--That undeveloped flower of budding years-- _30Sweetness and sadness interwoven both, Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest fears-

9. By all the days, under an hireling's care, Of dull constraint and bitter heaviness, --O wretched ye if ever any were, -- _35Sadder than orphans, yet not fatherless!

10. By the false cant which on their innocent lipsMust hang like poison on an opening bloom, By the dark creeds which cover with eclipseTheir pathway from the cradle to the tomb-- _40

11. By thy most impious Hell, and all its terror;By all the grief, the madness, and the guiltOf thine impostures, which must be their error--That sand on which thy crumbling power is built--

12. By thy complicity with lust and hate-- _45Thy thirst for tears--thy hunger after gold--The ready frauds which ever on thee wait--The servile arts in which thou hast grown old--

13. By thy most killing sneer, and by thy smile--By all the arts and snares of thy black den, _50And--for thou canst outweep the crocodile--By thy false tears--those millstones braining men--

14. By all the hate which checks a father's love--By all the scorn which kills a father's care--By those most impious hands which dared remove _55Nature's high bounds--by thee--and by despair--

15. Yes, the despair which bids a father groan, And cry, 'My children are no longer mine--The blood within those veins may be mine own, But--Tyrant--their polluted souls are thine;-- _60

16. I curse thee--though I hate thee not. --O slave!If thou couldst quench the earth-consuming HellOf which thou art a daemon, on thy graveThis curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well!

NOTES:_9 Angel which aye cancelled by Shelley for Fate which ever Fa. _24 promise of a 1839, 2nd edition; promises of 1839, 1st edition. _27 lore]love Fa. _32 and saddest]the saddest Fa. _36 yet not fatherless! cancelled by Shelley for why not fatherless? Fa. _41-_44 By... Built 'crossed by Shelley and marked dele by Mrs. Shelley' (Woodberry) Fa. _50 arts and snares 1839, 1st edition; snares and arts Harvard Coll. Manuscript; snares and nets Fa. ; acts and snares 1839, 2nd edition. _59 those]their Fa. 

***

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley (1, 5, 6), "Poetical Works", 1839, 1stedition; in full, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. A transcript isextant in Mrs. Shelley's hand. ]

1. The billows on the beach are leaping around it, The bark is weak and frail, The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound itDarkly strew the gale. Come with me, thou delightful child, Come with me, though the wave is wild, _5And the winds are loose, we must not stay, Or the slaves of the law may rend thee away. 

2. They have taken thy brother and sister dear, They have made them unfit for thee; _10They have withered the smile and dried the tearWhich should have been sacred to me. To a blighting faith and a cause of crimeThey have bound them slaves in youthly prime, And they will curse my name and thee _15Because we fearless are and free. 

3. Come thou, beloved as thou art;Another sleepeth stillNear thy sweet mother's anxious heart, Which thou with joy shalt fill, _20With fairest smiles of wonder thrownOn that which is indeed our own, And which in distant lands will beThe dearest playmate unto thee. 

4. Fear not the tyrants will rule for ever, _25Or the priests of the evil faith;They stand on the brink of that raging river, Whose waves they have tainted with death. It is fed from the depth of a thousand dells, Around them it foams and rages and swells; _30And their swords and their sceptres I floating see, Like wrecks on the surge of eternity. 

5. Rest, rest, and shriek not, thou gentle child!The rocking of the boat thou fearest, And the cold spray and the clamour wild?-- _35There, sit between us two, thou dearest--Me and thy mother--well we knowThe storm at which thou tremblest so, With all its dark and hungry graves, Less cruel than the savage slaves _40Who hunt us o'er these sheltering waves. 

6. This hour will in thy memoryBe a dream of days forgotten long. We soon shall dwell by the azure seaOf serene and golden Italy, Or Greece, the Mother of the free; _45And I will teach thine infant tongueTo call upon those heroes oldIn their own language, and will mouldThy growing spirit in the flameOf Grecian lore, that by such name _50A patriot's birthright thou mayst claim!

NOTES:_1 on the beach omitted 1839, 1st edition. _8 of the law 1839, 1st edition; of law 1839, 2nd edition. _14 prime transcript; time editions 1839. _16 fearless are editions 1839; are fearless transcript. _20 shalt transcript; wilt editions 1839. _25-_32 Fear... Eternity omitted, transcript. See "Rosalind and Helen", lines 894-901. _33 and transcript; omitted editions 1839. _41 us transcript, 1839, 1st edition; thee 1839, 2nd edition. _42 will in transcript, 1839, 2nd edition; will sometime in 1839, 1st edition. _43 long transcript; omitted editions 1839. _48 those transcript, 1839, 1st edition; their 1839, 2nd edition. 

***

FROM THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THE POEM TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. 

[Published in Dr. Garnett's "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

1. The world is now our dwelling-place;Where'er the earth one fading traceOf what was great and free does keep, That is our home!... Mild thoughts of man's ungentle race _5Shall our contented exile reap;For who that in some happy placeHis own free thoughts can freely chaseBy woods and waves can clothe his faceIn cynic smiles? Child! we shall weep. _10

2. This lament, The memory of thy grievous wrongWill fade... But genius is omnipotentTo hallow... _15

***

ON FANNY GODWIN. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, among the poems of 1817, in "PoeticalWorks", 1839, 1st edition. ]

Her voice did quiver as we parted, Yet knew I not that heart was brokenFrom which it came, and I departedHeeding not the words then spoken. Misery--O Misery, _5This world is all too wide for thee. 

***

LINES. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley with the date 'November 5th, 1817, ' in"Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. That time is dead for ever, child!Drowned, frozen, dead for ever!We look on the pastAnd stare aghastAt the spectres wailing, pale and ghast, _5Of hopes which thou and I beguiledTo death on life's dark river. 

2. The stream we gazed on then rolled by;Its waves are unreturning;But we yet stand _10In a lone land, Like tombs to mark the memoryOf hopes and fears, which fade and fleeIn the light of life's dim morning. 

***

DEATH. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley in "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. They die--the dead return not--MiserySits near an open grave and calls them over, A Youth with hoary hair and haggard eye--They are the names of kindred, friend and lover, Which he so feebly calls--they all are gone-- _5Fond wretch, all dead! those vacant names alone, This most familiar scene, my pain--These tombs--alone remain. 

2. Misery, my sweetest friend--oh, weep no more!Thou wilt not be consoled--I wonder not! _10For I have seen thee from thy dwelling's doorWatch the calm sunset with them, and this spotWas even as bright and calm, but transitory, And now thy hopes are gone, thy hair is hoary;This most familiar scene, my pain-- _15These tombs--alone remain. 

NOTE:_5 calls editions 1839; called 1824. 

***

OTHO. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

1. Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou couldst not be, Last of the Romans, though thy memory claimFrom Brutus his own glory--and on theeRests the full splendour of his sacred fame:Nor he who dared make the foul tyrant quail _5Amid his cowering senate with thy name, Though thou and he were great--it will availTo thine own fame that Otho's should not fail. 

2. 'Twill wrong thee not--thou wouldst, if thou couldst feel, Abjure such envious fame--great Otho died _10Like thee--he sanctified his country's steel, At once the tyrant and tyrannicide, In his own blood--a deed it was to bringTears from all men--though full of gentle pride, Such pride as from impetuous love may spring, _15That will not be refused its offering. 

NOTE:_13 bring cj. Garnett; buy 1839, 1st edition; wring cj. Rossetti. 

***

FRAGMENTS SUPPOSED TO BE PARTS OF OTHO. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862, --where, however, only the fragment numbered 2 is assigned to "Otho". Forman (1876)connects all three fragments with that projected poem. ]

1. Those whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil, Nor custom, queen of many slaves, makes blind, Have ever grieved that man should be the spoilOf his own weakness, and with earnest mindFed hopes of its redemption; these recur _5Chastened by deathful victory now, and findFoundations in this foulest age, and stirMe whom they cheer to be their minister. 

2. Dark is the realm of grief: but human thingsThose may not know who cannot weep for them. _10

... 

3. Once more descendThe shadows of my soul upon mankind, For to those hearts with which they never blend, Thoughts are but shadows which the flashing mindFrom the swift clouds which track its flight of fire, _15Casts on the gloomy world it leaves behind. 

... 

***

'O THAT A CHARIOT OF CLOUD WERE MINE'. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

O that a chariot of cloud were mine!Of cloud which the wild tempest weaves in air, When the moon over the ocean's lineIs spreading the locks of her bright gray hair. O that a chariot of cloud were mine! _5I would sail on the waves of the billowy windTo the mountain peak and the rocky lake, And the... 

***

FRAGMENT: TO A FRIEND RELEASED FROM PRISON. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

For me, my friend, if not that tears did trembleIn my faint eyes, and that my heart beat fastWith feelings which make rapture pain resemble, Yet, from thy voice that falsehood starts aghast, I thank thee--let the tyrant keep _5His chains and tears, yea, let him weepWith rage to see thee freshly risen, Like strength from slumber, from the prison, In which he vainly hoped the soul to bindWhich on the chains must prey that fetter humankind. _10

NOTE:For the metre see Fragment: "A Gentle Story" (A. C. Bradley. )

***

FRAGMENT: SATAN BROKEN LOOSE. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

A golden-winged Angel stoodBefore the Eternal Judgement-seat:His looks were wild, and Devils' bloodStained his dainty hands and feet. The Father and the Son _5Knew that strife was now begun. They knew that Satan had broken his chain, And with millions of daemons in his train, Was ranging over the world again. Before the Angel had told his tale, _10A sweet and a creeping soundLike the rushing of wings was heard around;And suddenly the lamps grew pale--The lamps, before the Archangels seven, That burn continually in Heaven. _15

***

FRAGMENT: "IGNICULUS DESIDERII". 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. Thisfragment is amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian. See Mr. C. D. Locock's "Examination", etc. , 1903, page 63. ]

To thirst and find no fill--to wail and wanderWith short unsteady steps--to pause and ponder--To feel the blood run through the veins and tingleWhere busy thought and blind sensation mingle;To nurse the image of unfelt caresses _5Till dim imagination just possessesThe half-created shadow, then all the nightSick... 

NOTES:_2 unsteady B. ; uneasy 1839, 1st edition. _7, _8 then... Sick B. ; wanting, 1839, 1st edition. 

***

FRAGMENT: "AMOR AETERNUS". 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

Wealth and dominion fade into the massOf the great sea of human right and wrong, When once from our possession they must pass;But love, though misdirected, is amongThe things which are immortal, and surpass _5All that frail stuff which will be--or which was. 

***

FRAGMENT: THOUGHTS COME AND GO IN SOLITUDE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

My thoughts arise and fade in solitude, The verse that would invest them melts awayLike moonlight in the heaven of spreading day:How beautiful they were, how firm they stood, Flecking the starry sky like woven pearl! _5

***

A HATE-SONG. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

A hater he came and sat by a ditch, And he took an old cracked lute;And he sang a song which was more of a screech'Gainst a woman that was a brute. 

***

LINES TO A CRITIC. 

[Published by Hunt in "The Liberal", No. 3, 1823. Reprinted in"Posthumous Poems", 1824, where it is dated December, 1817. ]

1. Honey from silkworms who can gather, Or silk from the yellow bee?The grass may grow in winter weatherAs soon as hate in me. 

2. Hate men who cant, and men who pray, _5And men who rail like thee;An equal passion to repayThey are not coy like me. 

3. Or seek some slave of power and goldTo be thy dear heart's mate; _10Thy love will move that bigot coldSooner than me, thy hate. 

4. A passion like the one I proveCannot divided be;I hate thy want of truth and love-- _15How should I then hate thee?

***

OZYMANDIAS. 

[Published by Hunt in "The Examiner", January, 1818. Reprinted with"Rosalind and Helen", 1819. There is a copy amongst the Shelleymanuscripts at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. C. D. Locock's"Examination", etc. , 1903, page 46. ]

I met a traveller from an antique landWho said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the desert... Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, _5Tell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:And on the pedestal these words appear:'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: _10Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'Nothing beside remains. Round the decayOf that colossal wreck, boundless and bareThe lone and level sands stretch far away. 

NOTE:_9 these words appear]this legend clear B. 

***

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1817, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

The very illness that oppressed, and the aspect of death which hadapproached so near Shelley, appear to have kindled to yet keener lifethe Spirit of Poetry in his heart. The restless thoughts kept awake bypain clothed themselves in verse. Much was composed during this year. The "Revolt of Islam", written and printed, was a greateffort--"Rosalind and Helen" was begun--and the fragments and poems Ican trace to the same period show how full of passion and reflectionwere his solitary hours. 

In addition to such poems as have an intelligible aim and shape, many astray idea and transitory emotion found imperfect and abruptexpression, and then again lost themselves in silence. As he neverwandered without a book and without implements of writing, I find manysuch, in his manuscript books, that scarcely bear record; while some ofthem, broken and vague as they are, will appear valuable to those wholove Shelley's mind, and desire to trace its workings. 

He projected also translating the "Hymns" of Homer; his version ofseveral of the shorter ones remains, as well as that to Mercury alreadypublished in the "Posthumous Poems". His readings this year werechiefly Greek. Besides the "Hymns" of Homer and the "Iliad", he readthe dramas of Aeschylus and Sophocles, the "Symposium" of Plato, andArrian's "Historia Indica". In Latin, Apuleius alone is named. InEnglish, the Bible was his constant study; he read a great portion ofit aloud in the evening. Among these evening readings I find alsomentioned the "Faerie Queen"; and other modern works, the production ofhis contemporaries, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Moore and Byron. 

His life was now spent more in thought than action--he had lost theeager spirit which believed it could achieve what it projected for thebenefit of mankind. And yet in the converse of daily life Shelley wasfar from being a melancholy man. He was eloquent when philosophy orpolitics or taste were the subjects of conversation. He was playful;and indulged in the wild spirit that mocked itself and others--not inbitterness, but in sport. The author of "Nightmare Abbey" seized onsome points of his character and some habits of his life when hepainted Scythrop. He was not addicted to 'port or madeira, ' but inyouth he had read of 'Illuminati and Eleutherarchs, ' and believed thathe possessed the power of operating an immediate change in the minds ofmen and the state of society. These wild dreams had faded; sorrow andadversity had struck home; but he struggled with despondency as he didwith physical pain. There are few who remember him sailing paper boats, and watching the navigation of his tiny craft with eagerness--orrepeating with wild energy "The Ancient Mariner", and Southey's "OldWoman of Berkeley"; but those who do will recollect that it was insuch, and in the creations of his own fancy when that was most daringand ideal, that he sheltered himself from the storms anddisappointments, the pain and sorrow, that beset his life. 

No words can express the anguish he felt when his elder children weretorn from him. In his first resentment against the Chancellor, on thepassing of the decree, he had written a curse, in which there breathes, besides haughty indignation, all the tenderness of a father's love, which could imagine and fondly dwell upon its loss and theconsequences. 

At one time, while the question was still pending, the Chancellor hadsaid some words that seemed to intimate that Shelley should not bepermitted the care of any of his children, and for a moment he fearedthat our infant son would be torn from us. He did not hesitate toresolve, if such were menaced, to abandon country, fortune, everything, and to escape with his child; and I find some unfinished stanzasaddressed to this son, whom afterwards we lost at Rome, written underthe idea that we might suddenly be forced to cross the sea, so topreserve him. This poem, as well as the one previously quoted, were notwritten to exhibit the pangs of distress to the public; they were thespontaneous outbursts of a man who brooded over his wrongs and woes, and was impelled to shed the grace of his genius over theuncontrollable emotions of his heart. I ought to observe that thefourth verse of this effusion is introduced in "Rosalind and Helen". When afterwards this child died at Rome, he wrote, a propos of theEnglish burying-ground in that city: 'This spot is the repository of asacred loss, of which the yearnings of a parent's heart are nowprophetic; he is rendered immortal by love, as his memory is by death. My beloved child lies buried here. I envy death the body far less thanthe oppressors the minds of those whom they have torn from me. The onecan only kill the body, the other crushes the affections. '

***

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818. 

TO THE NILE. 

['Found by Mr. Townshend Meyer among the papers of Leigh Hunt, [and]published in the "St. James's Magazine" for March, 1876. ' (Mr. H. Buxton Forman, C. B. ; "Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", Library Edition, 1876, volume 3 page 410. ) First included among Shelley's poetical worksin Mr. Forman's Library Edition, where a facsimile of the manuscript isgiven. Composed February 4, 1818. See "Complete Works of John Keats", edition H. Buxton Forman, Glasgow, 1901, volume 4 page 76. ]

Month after month the gathered rains descendDrenching yon secret Aethiopian dells, And from the desert's ice-girt pinnaclesWhere Frost and Heat in strange embraces blendOn Atlas, fields of moist snow half depend. _5Girt there with blasts and meteors Tempest dwellsBy Nile's aereal urn, with rapid spellsUrging those waters to their mighty end. O'er Egypt's land of Memory floods are levelAnd they are thine, O Nile--and well thou knowest _10That soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evilAnd fruits and poisons spring where'er thou flowest. Beware, O Man--for knowledge must to thee, Like the great flood to Egypt, ever be. 

***

PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES. 

[Composed May 4, 1818. Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a copy amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the BodleianLibrary, which supplies the last word of the fragment. ]

Listen, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar, Or like the sea on a northern shore, Heard in its raging ebb and flow _5By the captives pent in the cave below. The Apennine in the light of dayIs a mighty mountain dim and gray, Which between the earth and sky doth lay;But when night comes, a chaos dread _10On the dim starlight then is spread, And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm, Shrouding... 

***

THE PAST. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. Wilt thou forget the happy hoursWhich we buried in Love's sweet bowers, Heaping over their corpses coldBlossoms and leaves, instead of mould?Blossoms which were the joys that fell, _5And leaves, the hopes that yet remain. 

2. Forget the dead, the past? Oh, yetThere are ghosts that may take revenge for it, Memories that make the heart a tomb, Regrets which glide through the spirit's gloom, _10And with ghastly whispers tellThat joy, once lost, is pain. 

***

TO MARY --. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

O Mary dear, that you were hereWith your brown eyes bright and clear. And your sweet voice, like a birdSinging love to its lone mateIn the ivy bower disconsolate; _5Voice the sweetest ever heard!And your brow more... Than the ... SkyOf this azure Italy. Mary dear, come to me soon, _10I am not well whilst thou art far;As sunset to the sphered moon, As twilight to the western star, Thou, beloved, art to me. 

O Mary dear, that you were here; _15The Castle echo whispers 'Here!'

***

ON A FADED VIOLET. 

[Published by Hunt, "Literary Pocket-Book", 1821. Reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Again reprinted, with severalvariants, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. Our text is that of theeditio princeps, 1821. A transcript is extant in a letter from Shelleyto Sophia Stacey, dated March 7, 1820. ]

1. The odour from the flower is goneWhich like thy kisses breathed on me;The colour from the flower is flownWhich glowed of thee and only thee!

2. A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form, _5It lies on my abandoned breast, And mocks the heart which yet is warm, With cold and silent rest. 

3. I weep, --my tears revive it not!I sigh, --it breathes no more on me; _10Its mute and uncomplaining lotIs such as mine should be. 

NOTES:_1 odour]colour 1839. _2 kisses breathed]sweet eyes smiled 1839. _3 colour]odour 1839. _4 glowed]breathed 1839. _5 shrivelled]withered 1839. _8 cold and silent all editions; its cold, silent Stacey manuscript. 

***

LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS. 

OCTOBER, 1818. 

[Composed at Este, October, 1818. Published with "Rosalind and Helen", 1819. Amongst the late Mr. Fredk. Locker-Lampson's collections atRowfant there is a manuscript of the lines (167-205) on Byron, interpolated after the completion of the poem. ]

Many a green isle needs must beIn the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on--Day and night, and night and day, _5Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness blackClosing round his vessel's track:Whilst above the sunless sky, Big with clouds, hangs heavily, _10And behind the tempest fleetHurries on with lightning feet, Riving sail, and cord, and plank, Till the ship has almost drankDeath from the o'er-brimming deep; _15And sinks down, down, like that sleepWhen the dreamer seems to beWeltering through eternity;And the dim low line beforeOf a dark and distant shore _20Still recedes, as ever stillLonging with divided will, But no power to seek or shun, He is ever drifted onO'er the unreposing wave _25To the haven of the grave. What, if there no friends will greet;What, if there no heart will meetHis with love's impatient beat;Wander wheresoe'er he may, _30Can he dream before that dayTo find refuge from distressIn friendship's smile, in love's caress?Then 'twill wreak him little woeWhether such there be or no: _35Senseless is the breast, and cold, Which relenting love would fold;Bloodless are the veins and chillWhich the pulse of pain did fill;Every little living nerve _40That from bitter words did swerveRound the tortured lips and brow, Are like sapless leaflets nowFrozen upon December's bough. 

On the beach of a northern sea _45Which 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, _50Where a few gray rushes stand, Boundaries of the sea and land:Nor is heard one voice of wailBut the sea-mews, as they sailO'er the billows of the gale; _55Or the whirlwind up and downHowling, like a slaughtered town, When a king in glory ridesThrough the pomp of fratricides:Those unburied bones around _60There is many a mournful sound;There is no lament for him, Like a sunless vapour, dim, Who once clothed with life and thoughtWhat now moves nor murmurs not. _65

Ay, many flowering islands lieIn the waters of wide Agony:To such a one this morn was led, My bark by soft winds piloted:'Mid the mountains Euganean _70I stood listening to the paeanWith which the legioned rooks did hailThe sun's uprise majestical;Gathering round with wings all hoar, Through the dewy mist they soar _75Like gray shades, till the eastern heavenBursts, and then, as clouds of even, Flecked with fire and azure, lieIn the unfathomable sky, So their plumes of purple grain, _80Starred with drops of golden rain, Gleam above the sunlight woods, As in silent multitudesOn the morning's fitful galeThrough the broken mist they sail, _85And the vapours cloven and gleamingFollow, down the dark steep streaming, Till all is bright, and clear, and still, Round the solitary hill. 

Beneath is spread like a green sea _90The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by the vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair;Underneath Day's azure eyesOcean's nursling, Venice lies, _95A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls, Which her hoary sire now pavesWith his blue and beaming waves. Lo! the sun upsprings behind, _100Broad, red, radiant, half-reclinedOn the level quivering lineOf the waters crystalline;And before that chasm of light, As within a furnace bright, _105Column, tower, and dome, and spire, Shine like obelisks of fire, Pointing with inconstant motionFrom the altar of dark oceanTo the sapphire-tinted skies; _110As the flames of sacrificeFrom the marble shrines did rise, As to pierce the dome of goldWhere Apollo spoke of old. 

Sun-girt City, thou hast been _115Ocean'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 hereHallow so thy watery bier. _120A less drear ruin then than now, With thy conquest-branded browStooping to the slave of slavesFrom thy throne, among the wavesWilt thou be, when the sea-mew _125Flies, as once before it flew, O'er thine isles depopulate, And all is in its ancient state, Save where many a palace gate _130With green sea-flowers overgrownLike a rock of Ocean's own, Topples o'er the abandoned seaAs the tides change sullenly. The fisher on his watery way, Wandering at the close of day, _135Will spread his sail and seize his oarTill he pass the gloomy shore, Lest thy dead should, from their sleepBursting o'er the starlight deep, Lead a rapid masque of death _140O'er the waters of his path. 

Those who alone thy towers beholdQuivering through aereal gold, As I now behold them here, Would imagine not they were _145Sepulchres, where human forms, Like pollution-nourished worms, To the corpse of greatness cling, Murdered, and now mouldering:But if Freedom should awake _150In her omnipotence, and shakeFrom the Celtic Anarch's holdAll the keys of dungeons cold, Where a hundred cities lieChained like thee, ingloriously, _155Thou and all thy sister bandMight adorn this sunny land, Twining memories of old timeWith new virtues more sublime;If not, perish thou and they!-- _160Clouds which stain truth's rising dayBy her sun consumed away--Earth can spare ye: while like flowers, In the waste of years and hours, From your dust new nations spring _165With more kindly blossoming. 

Perish--let there only beFloating o'er thy hearthless seaAs the garment of thy skyClothes the world immortally, _170One remembrance, more sublimeThan the tattered pall of time, Which scarce hides thy visage wan;--That a tempest-cleaving SwanOf the songs of Albion, _175Driven from his ancestral streamsBy the might of evil dreams, Found a nest in thee; and OceanWelcomed him with such emotionThat its joy grew his, and sprung _180From his lips like music flungO'er a mighty thunder-fit, Chastening terror:--what though yetPoesy's unfailing River, Which through Albion winds forever _185Lashing with melodious waveMany a sacred Poet's grave, Mourn its latest nursling fled?What though thou with all thy deadScarce can for this fame repay _190Aught thine own? oh, rather sayThough thy sins and slaveries foulOvercloud a sunlike soul?As the ghost of Homer clingsRound Scamander's wasting springs; _195As divinest Shakespeare's mightFills Avon and the world with lightLike omniscient power which heImaged 'mid mortality;As the love from Petrarch's urn, _200Yet amid yon hills doth burn, A quenchless lamp by which the heartSees things unearthly;--so thou art, Mighty spirit--so shall beThe City that did refuge thee. _205

Lo, the sun floats up the skyLike thought-winged Liberty, Till the universal lightSeems to level plain and height;From the sea a mist has spread, _210And the beams of morn lie deadOn the towers of Venice now, Like its glory long ago. By the skirts of that gray cloudMany-domed Padua proud _215Stands, a peopled solitude, 'Mid the harvest-shining plain, Where the peasant heaps his grainIn the garner of his foe, And the milk-white oxen slow _220With the purple vintage strain, Heaped upon the creaking wain, That the brutal Celt may swillDrunken sleep with savage will;And the sickle to the sword _225Lies unchanged, though many a lord, Like a weed whose shade is poison, Overgrows this region's foison, Sheaves of whom are ripe to comeTo destruction's harvest-home: _230Men must reap the things they sow, Force from force must ever flow, Or worse; but 'tis a bitter woeThat love or reason cannot changeThe despot's rage, the slave's revenge. _235

Padua, thou within whose wallsThose mute guests at festivals, Son and Mother, Death and Sin, Played at dice for Ezzelin, Till Death cried, "I win, I win!" _240And Sin cursed to lose the wager, But Death promised, to assuage her, That he would petition forHer to be made Vice-Emperor, When the destined years were o'er, _245Over all between the PoAnd the eastern Alpine snow, Under the mighty Austrian. Sin smiled so as Sin only can, And since that time, ay, long before, _250Both have ruled from shore to shore, --That incestuous pair, who followTyrants as the sun the swallow, As Repentance follows Crime, And as changes follow Time. _255

In thine halls the lamp of learning, Padua, now no more is burning;Like a meteor, whose wild wayIs lost over the grave of day, It gleams betrayed and to betray: _260Once remotest nations cameTo adore that sacred flame, When it lit not many a hearthOn this cold and gloomy earth:Now new fires from antique light _265Spring 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, _270One light flame among the brakes, While the boundless forest shakes, And its mighty trunks are tornBy the fire thus lowly born:The spark beneath his feet is dead, _275He starts to see the flames it fedHowling through the darkened skyWith a myriad tongues victoriously, And sinks down in fear: so thou, O Tyranny, beholdest now _280Light around thee, and thou hearestThe loud flames ascend, and fearest:Grovel on the earth; ay, hideIn the dust thy purple pride!

Noon descends around me now: _285'Tis the noon of autumn's glow, When a soft and purple mistLike a vaporous amethyst, Or an air-dissolved starMingling light and fragrance, far _290From the curved horizon's boundTo the point of Heaven's profound, Fills the overflowing sky;And the plains that silent lieUnderneath, the leaves unsodden _295Where the infant Frost has troddenWith his morning-winged feet, Whose bright print is gleaming yet;And the red and golden vines, Piercing with their trellised lines _300The rough, dark-skirted wilderness;The dun and bladed grass no less, Pointing from this hoary towerIn the windless air; the flowerGlimmering at my feet; the line _305Of the olive-sandalled ApennineIn the south dimly islanded;And the Alps, whose snows are spreadHigh between the clouds and sun;And of living things each one; _310And my spirit which so longDarkened this swift stream of song, --Interpenetrated lieBy the glory of the sky:Be it love, light, harmony, _315Odour, or the soul of allWhich from Heaven like dew doth fall, Or the mind which feeds this versePeopling the lone universe. 

Noon descends, and after noon _320Autumn's evening meets me soon, Leading the infantine moon, And that one star, which to herAlmost seems to ministerHalf the crimson light she brings _325From the sunset's radiant springs:And the soft dreams of the morn(Which like winged winds had borneTo that silent isle, which liesMid remembered agonies, _330The 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 _335In the sea of Life and Agony:Other spirits float and fleeO'er that gulf: even now, perhaps, On some rock the wild wave wraps, With folded wings they waiting sit _340For my bark, to pilot itTo some calm and blooming cove, Where for me, and those I love, May a windless bower be built, Far from passion, pain, and guilt, _345In a dell mid lawny hills, Which the wild sea-murmur fills, And soft sunshine, and the soundOf old forests echoing round, And the light and smell divine _350Of all flowers that breathe and shine:We may live so happy there, That the Spirits of the Air, Envying us, may even enticeTo our healing Paradise _355The polluting multitude;But their rage would be subduedBy that clime divine and calm, And the winds whose wings rain balmOn the uplifted soul, and leaves _360Under which the bright sea heaves;While each breathless intervalIn their whisperings musicalThe inspired soul suppliesWith its own deep melodies; _365And the love which heals all strifeCircling, like the breath of life, All things in that sweet abodeWith its own mild brotherhood, They, not it, would change; and soon _370Every sprite beneath the moonWould repent its envy vain, And the earth grow young again. 

NOTES:_54 seamews 1819; seamew's Rossetti. _115 Sun-girt]Sea-girt cj. Palgrave. _165 From your dust new 1819; From thy dust shall Rowfant manuscript (heading of lines 167-205). _175 songs 1819; sons cj. Forman. _278 a 1819; wanting, 1839. 

***

SCENE FROM 'TASSO'. 

[Composed, 1818. Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

MADDALO, A COURTIER. MALPIGLIO, A POET. PIGNA, A MINISTER. ALBANO, AN USHER. 

MADDALO:No access to the Duke! You have not saidThat the Count Maddalo would speak with him?

PIGNA:Did you inform his Grace that Signor PignaWaits with state papers for his signature?

MALPIGLIO:The Lady Leonora cannot know _5That I have written a sonnet to her fame, In which I ... Venus and Adonis. You should not take my gold and serve me not. 

ALBANO:In truth I told her, and she smiled and said, 'If I am Venus, thou, coy Poesy, _10Art the Adonis whom I love, and heThe Erymanthian boar that wounded him. 'O trust to me, Signor Malpiglio, Those nods and smiles were favours worth the zechin. 

MALPIGLIO:The words are twisted in some double sense _15That I reach not: the smiles fell not on me. 

PIGNA:How are the Duke and Duchess occupied?

ALBANO:Buried in some strange talk. The Duke was leaning, His finger on his brow, his lips unclosed. The Princess sate within the window-seat, _20And so her face was hid; but on her kneeHer hands were clasped, veined, and pale as snow, And quivering--young Tasso, too, was there. 

MADDALO:Thou seest on whom from thine own worshipped heavenThou drawest down smiles--they did not rain on thee. _25

MALPIGLIO:Would they were parching lightnings for his sakeOn whom they fell!

***

SONG FOR 'TASSO'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. I loved--alas! our life is love;But when we cease to breathe and moveI do suppose love ceases too. I thought, but not as now I do, Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore, _5Of all that men had thought before. And all that Nature shows, and more. 

2. And still I love and still I think, But strangely, for my heart can drinkThe dregs of such despair, and live, _10And love;... And if I think, my thoughts come fast, I mix the present with the past, And each seems uglier than the last. 

3. Sometimes I see before me flee _15A silver spirit's form, like thee, O Leonora, and I sit... Still watching it, Till by the grated casement's ledgeIt fades, with such a sigh, as sedge _20Breathes o'er the breezy streamlet's edge. 

***

INVOCATION TO MISERY. 

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", September 8, 1832. Reprinted (as"Misery, a Fragment") by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1stedition. Our text is that of 1839. A pencil copy of this poem isamongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. C. D. Locock's "Examination", etc. , 1903, page 38. The readings of this copyare indicated by the letter B. In the footnotes. ]

1. Come, be happy!--sit near me, Shadow-vested Misery:Coy, unwilling, silent bride, Mourning in thy robe of pride, Desolation--deified! _5

2. Come, be happy!--sit near me:Sad as I may seem to thee, I am happier far than thou, Lady, whose imperial browIs endiademed with woe. _10

3. Misery! we have known each other, Like a sister and a brotherLiving in the same lone home, Many years--we must live someHours or ages yet to come. _15

4. 'Tis an evil lot, and yetLet us make the best of it;If love can live when pleasure dies, We two will love, till in our eyesThis heart's Hell seem Paradise. _20

5. Come, be happy!--lie thee downOn the fresh grass newly mown, Where the Grasshopper doth singMerrily--one joyous thingIn a world of sorrowing! _25

6. There our tent shall be the willow, And mine arm shall be thy pillow;Sounds and odours, sorrowfulBecause they once were sweet, shall lullUs to slumber, deep and dull. _30

7. Ha! thy frozen pulses flutterWith a love thou darest not utter. Thou art murmuring--thou art weeping--Is thine icy bosom leapingWhile my burning heart lies sleeping? _35

8. Kiss me;--oh! thy lips are cold:Round my neck thine arms enfold--They are soft, but chill and dead;And thy tears upon my headBurn like points of frozen lead. _40

9. Hasten to the bridal bed--Underneath the grave 'tis spread:In darkness may our love be hid, Oblivion be our coverlid--We may rest, and none forbid. _45

10. Clasp me till our hearts be grownLike two shadows into one;Till this dreadful transport mayLike a vapour fade away, In the sleep that lasts alway. _50

11. We may dream, in that long sleep, That we are not those who weep;E'en as Pleasure dreams of thee, Life-deserting Misery, Thou mayst dream of her with me. _55

12. Let us laugh, and make our mirth, At the shadows of the earth, As dogs bay the moonlight clouds, Which, like spectres wrapped in shrouds, Pass o'er night in multitudes. _60

13. All the wide world, beside us, Show like multitudinousPuppets passing from a scene;What but mockery can they mean, Where I am--where thou hast been? _65

NOTES:_1 near B. , 1839; by 1832. _8 happier far]merrier yet B. _15 Hours or]Years and 1832. _17 best]most 1832. _19 We two will]We will 1832. _27 mine arm shall be thy B. , 1839; thine arm shall be my 1832. _33 represented by asterisks, 1832. _34, _35 Thou art murmuring, thou art weeping, Whilst my burning bosom's leaping 1832; Was thine icy bosom leaping While my burning heart was sleeping B. _40 frozen 1832, 1839, B. ; molten cj. Forman. _44 be]is B. _47 shadows]lovers 1832, B. _59 which B. , 1839; that 1832. _62 Show]Are 1832, B. _63 Puppets passing]Shadows shifting 1832; Shadows passing B. _64, _65 So B. : What but mockery may they mean? Where am I?--Where thou hast been 1832. 

***

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, where it is dated'December, 1818. ' A draft of stanza 1 is amongst the Boscombemanuscripts. (Garnett). ]

1. The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wearThe purple noon's transparent might, The breath of the moist earth is light, _5Around its unexpanded buds;Like many a voice of one delight, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, The City's voice itself, is soft like Solitude's. 

2. I see the Deep's untrampled floor _10With green and purple seaweeds strown;I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:I sit upon the sands alone, --The lightning of the noontide ocean _15Is flashing round me, and a toneArises from its measured motion, How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. 

3. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, _20Nor that content surpassing wealthThe sage in meditation found, And walked with inward glory crowned--Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround-- _25Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;--To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. 

4. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are;I could lie down like a tired child, _30And weep away the life of careWhich I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm airMy cheek grow cold, and hear the sea _35Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. 

5. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan; _40They might lament--for I am oneWhom men love not, --and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sunShall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. _45

NOTES:_4 might Boscombe manuscript, Medwin 1847; light 1824, 1839. _5 The... Light Boscombe manuscript, 1839, Medwin 1847; omitted, 1824. Moist earth Boscombe manuscript; moist air 1839; west wind Medwin 1847. _17 measured 1824; mingled 1847. _18 did any heart now 1824; if any heart could Medwin 1847. _31 the 1824; this Medwin 1847. _36 dying 1824; outworn Medwin 1847. 

***

THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 

[Published in part (1-67) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824;the remainder (68-70) by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

A woodman whose rough heart was out of tune(I think such hearts yet never came to good)Hated to hear, under the stars or moon, One nightingale in an interfluous woodSatiate the hungry dark with melody;-- _5And as a vale is watered by a flood, Or as the moonlight fills the open skyStruggling with darkness--as a tuberosePeoples some Indian dell with scents which lie

Like clouds above the flower from which they rose, _10The singing of that happy nightingaleIn this sweet forest, from the golden close

Of evening till the star of dawn may fail, Was interfused upon the silentness;The folded roses and the violets pale _15

Heard her within their slumbers, the abyssOf heaven with all its planets; the dull earOf the night-cradled earth; the loneliness

Of the circumfluous waters, --every sphereAnd every flower and beam and cloud and wave, _20And every wind of the mute atmosphere, And every beast stretched in its rugged cave, And every bird lulled on its mossy bough, And every silver moth fresh from the grave

Which is its cradle--ever from below _25Aspiring like one who loves too fair, too far, To be consumed within the purest glow

Of one serene and unapproached star, As if it were a lamp of earthly light, Unconscious, as some human lovers are, _30

Itself how low, how high beyond all heightThe heaven where it would perish!--and every formThat worshipped in the temple of the night

Was awed into delight, and by the charmGirt as with an interminable zone, _35Whilst that sweet bird, whose music was a storm

Of sound, shook forth the dull oblivionOut of their dreams; harmony became loveIn every soul but one. 

... 

And so this man returned with axe and saw _40At evening close from killing the tall treen, The soul of whom by Nature's gentle law

Was each a wood-nymph, and kept ever greenThe pavement and the roof of the wild copse, Chequering the sunlight of the blue serene _45

With jagged leaves, --and from the forest topsSinging the winds to sleep--or weeping oftFast showers of aereal water-drops

Into their mother's bosom, sweet and soft, Nature's pure tears which have no bitterness;-- _50Around the cradles of the birds aloft

They spread themselves into the lovelinessOf fan-like leaves, and over pallid flowersHang like moist clouds:--or, where high branches kiss, Make a green space among the silent bowers, _55Like a vast fane in a metropolis, Surrounded by the columns and the towers

All overwrought with branch-like traceriesIn which there is religion--and the mutePersuasion of unkindled melodies, _60

Odours and gleams and murmurs, which the luteOf the blind pilot-spirit of the blastStirs as it sails, now grave and now acute, Wakening the leaves and waves, ere it has passedTo such brief unison as on the brain _65One tone, which never can recur, has cast, One accent never to return again. 

... 

The world is full of Woodmen who expelLove's gentle Dryads from the haunts of life, And vex the nightingales in every dell. _70

NOTE:_8 --or as a tuberose cj. A. C. Bradley. 

***

MARENGHI. (This fragment refers to an event told in Sismondi's"Histoire des Republiques Italiennes", which occurred during the warwhen Florence finally subdued Pisa, and reduced it to aprovince. --[MRS. SHELLEY'S NOTE, 1824. ])

[Published in part (stanzas 7-15. ) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824; stanzas 1-28 by W. M. Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. The Boscombe manuscript--evidently a first draft--from which(through Dr. Garnett) Rossetti derived the text of 1870 is now at theBodleian, and has recently been collated by Mr. C. D. Locock, to whomthe enlarged and amended text here printed is owing. The substitution, in title and text, of "Marenghi" for "Mazenghi" (1824) is due toRossetti. Here as elsewhere in the footnotes B. = the Bodleianmanuscript. ]

1. Let those who pine in pride or in revenge, Or think that ill for ill should be repaid, Who barter wrong for wrong, until the exchangeRuins the merchants of such thriftless trade, Visit the tower of Vado, and unlearn _5Such bitter faith beside Marenghi's urn. 

2. A massy tower yet overhangs the town, A scattered group of ruined dwellings now... 

... 

3. Another scene are wise Etruria knewIts second ruin through internal strife _10And tyrants through the breach of discord threwThe chain which binds and kills. As death to life, As winter to fair flowers (though some be poison)So Monarchy succeeds to Freedom's foison. 

4. In Pisa's church a cup of sculptured gold _15Was brimming with the blood of feuds forsworn:A Sacrament more holy ne'er of oldEtrurians mingled mid the shades forlornOf moon-illumined forests, when... 

5. And reconciling factions wet their lips _20With that dread wine, and swear to keep each spiritUndarkened by their country's last eclipse... 

... 

6. Was Florence the liberticide? that bandOf free and glorious brothers who had planted, Like a green isle mid Aethiopian sand, _25A nation amid slaveries, disenchantedOf many impious faiths--wise, just--do they, Does Florence, gorge the sated tyrants' prey?

7. O foster-nurse of man's abandoned glory, Since Athens, its great mother, sunk in splendour; _30Thou shadowest forth that mighty shape in story, As ocean its wrecked fanes, severe yet tender:--The light-invested angel PoesyWas drawn from the dim world to welcome thee. 

8. And thou in painting didst transcribe all taught _35By loftiest meditations; marble knewThe sculptor's fearless soul--and as he wrought, The grace of his own power and freedom grew. And more than all, heroic, just, sublime, Thou wart among the false... Was this thy crime? _40

9. Yes; and on Pisa's marble walls the twineOf direst weeds hangs garlanded--the snakeInhabits its wrecked palaces;--in thineA beast of subtler venom now doth makeIts lair, and sits amid their glories overthrown, _45And thus thy victim's fate is as thine own. 

10. The sweetest flowers are ever frail and rare, And love and freedom blossom but to wither;And good and ill like vines entangled are, So that their grapes may oft be plucked together;-- _50Divide the vintage ere thou drink, then makeThy heart rejoice for dead Marenghi's sake. 

10a. [Albert] Marenghi was a Florentine;If he had wealth, or children, or a wifeOr friends, [or farm] or cherished thoughts which twine _55The sights and sounds of home with life's own lifeOf these he was despoiled and Florence sent... 

... 

11. No record of his crime remains in story, But if the morning bright as evening shone, _60It was some high and holy deed, by gloryPursued into forgetfulness, which wonFrom the blind crowd he made secure and freeThe patriot's meed, toil, death, and infamy. 

12. For when by sound of trumpet was declaredA price upon his life, and there was set _65A penalty of blood on all who sharedSo much of water with him as might wetHis lips, which speech divided not--he wentAlone, as you may guess, to banishment. 

13. Amid the mountains, like a hunted beast, He hid himself, and hunger, toil, and cold, _70Month after month endured; it was a feastWhene'er he found those globes of deep-red goldWhich in the woods the strawberry-tree doth bear, Suspended in their emerald atmosphere. _75

14. And in the roofless huts of vast morasses, Deserted by the fever-stricken serf, All overgrown with reeds and long rank grasses, And hillocks heaped of moss-inwoven turf, And where the huge and speckled aloe made, _80Rooted in stones, a broad and pointed shade, --

15. He housed himself. There is a point of strandNear Vado's tower and town; and on one sideThe treacherous marsh divides it from the land, Shadowed by pine and ilex forests wide, _85And on the other, creeps eternally, Through muddy weeds, the shallow sullen sea. 

16. Here the earth's breath is pestilence, and fewBut things whose nature is at war with life--Snakes and ill worms--endure its mortal dew. The trophies of the clime's victorious strife-- _90And ringed horns which the buffalo did wear, And the wolf's dark gray scalp who tracked him there. 

17. And at the utmost point... Stood thereThe relics of a reed-inwoven cot, _95Thatched with broad flags. An outlawed murdererHad lived seven days there: the pursuit was hotWhen he was cold. The birds that were his graveFell dead after their feast in Vado's wave. 

18. There must have burned within Marenghi's breast _100That fire, more warm and bright than life and hope, (Which to the martyr makes his dungeon... More joyous than free heaven's majestic copeTo his oppressor), warring with decay, --Or he could ne'er have lived years, day by day. _105

19. Nor was his state so lone as you might think. He had tamed every newt and snake and toad, And every seagull which sailed down to drinkThose freshes ere the death-mist went abroad. And each one, with peculiar talk and play, _110Wiled, not untaught, his silent time away. 

20. And the marsh-meteors, like tame beasts, at nightCame licking with blue tongues his veined feet;And he would watch them, as, like spirits bright, In many entangled figures quaint and sweet _115To some enchanted music they would dance--Until they vanished at the first moon-glance. 

21. He mocked the stars by grouping on each weedThe summer dew-globes in the golden dawn;And, ere the hoar-frost languished, he could read _120Its pictured path, as on bare spots of lawnIts delicate brief touch in silver weavesThe likeness of the wood's remembered leaves. 

22. And many a fresh Spring morn would he awaken--While yet the unrisen sun made glow, like iron _125Quivering in crimson fire, the peaks unshakenOf mountains and blue isles which did environWith air-clad crags that plain of land and sea, --And feel ... Liberty. 

23. And in the moonless nights when the dun ocean _130Heaved underneath wide heaven, star-impearled, Starting from dreams... Communed with the immeasurable world;And felt his life beyond his limbs dilated, Till his mind grew like that it contemplated. _135

24. His food was the wild fig and strawberry;The milky pine-nuts which the autumn-blastShakes into the tall grass; or such small fryAs from the sea by winter-storms are cast;And the coarse bulbs of iris-flowers he found _140Knotted in clumps under the spongy ground. 

25. And so were kindled powers and thoughts which madeHis solitude less dark. When memory came(For years gone by leave each a deepening shade), His spirit basked in its internal flame, -- _145As, when the black storm hurries round at night, The fisher basks beside his red firelight. 

26. Yet human hopes and cares and faiths and errors, Like billows unawakened by the wind, Slept in Marenghi still; but that all terrors, _150Weakness, and doubt, had withered in his mind. His couch... 

... 

27. And, when he saw beneath the sunset's planetA black ship walk over the crimson ocean, --Its pennon streaming on the blasts that fan it, _155Its sails and ropes all tense and without motion, Like the dark ghost of the unburied evenStriding athwart the orange-coloured heaven, --

28. The thought of his own kind who made the soulWhich sped that winged shape through night and day, -- _160The thought of his own country... 

... 

NOTES:_3 Who B. ; Or 1870. _6 Marenghi's 1870; Mazenghi's B. _7 town 1870; sea B. _8 ruined 1870; squalid B. ('the whole line is cancelled, ' Locock). _11 threw 1870; cancelled, B. _17 A Sacrament more B. ; At Sacrament: more 1870. _18 mid B. ; with 1870. _19 forests when... B. ; forests. 1870. _23, _24 that band Of free and glorious brothers who had 1870; omitted, B. _25 a 1870; one B. _27 wise, just--do they 1870; omitted, B. _28 Does 1870; Doth B. Prey 1870; spoil B. _33 angel 1824; Herald [?] B. _34 to welcome thee 1824; cancelled for... By thee B. _42 direst 1824; Desert B. _45 sits amid 1824 amid cancelled for soils (?) B. _53-_57 Albert... Sent B. ; omitted 1824, 1870. Albert cancelled B. : Pietro is the correct name. _53 Marenghi]Mazenghi B. _55 farm doubtful: perh. Fame (Locock). _62 he 1824; thus B. _70 Amid the mountains 1824; Mid desert mountains [?] B. _71 toil, and cold]cold and toil editions 1824, 1839. _92, _93 And... There B. (see Editor's Note); White bones, and locks of dun and yellow hair, And ringed horns which buffaloes did wear-- 1870. _94 at the utmost point 1870; cancelled for when (where?) B. _95 reed B. ; weed 1870. _99 after B. ; upon 1870. _100 burned within Marenghi's breast B. ; lived within Marenghi's heart 1870. _101 and B. ; or 1870. _103 free B. ; the 1870. _109 freshes B. ; omitted, 1870. _118 by 1870; with B. _119 dew-globes B. ; dewdrops 1870. _120 languished B. ; vanished 1870. _121 path, as on [bare] B. ; footprints, as on 1870. _122 silver B. ; silence 1870. _130 And in the moonless nights 1870; cancelled, B. Dun B. ; dim 1870. _131 Heaved 1870; cancelled, B. Wide B. ; the 1870. Star-impearled B. ; omitted, 1870. _132 Starting from dreams 1870; cancelled for He B. _137 autumn B. ; autumnal 1870. _138 or B. ; and 1870. _155 pennon B. ; pennons 1870. _158 athwart B. ; across 1870. 

***

SONNET. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Our text is that of the "Poetical Works", 1839. ]

Lift not the painted veil which those who liveCall Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there, And it but mimic all we would believeWith colours idly spread, --behind, lurk FearAnd Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave _5Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear. I knew one who had lifted it--he sought, For his lost heart was tender, things to loveBut found them not, alas! nor was there aughtThe world contains, the which he could approve. _10Through the unheeding many he did move, A splendour among shadows, a bright blotUpon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that stroveFor truth, and like the Preacher found it not. 

NOTES:_6 Their... Drear 1839; The shadows, which the world calls substance, there 1824. _7 who had lifted 1839; who lifted 1824. 

***

FRAGMENT: TO BYRON. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

O mighty mind, in whose deep stream this ageShakes like a reed in the unheeding storm, Why dost thou curb not thine own sacred rage?

***

FRAGMENT: APOSTROPHE TO SILENCE. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. A transcript byMrs. Shelley, given to Charles Cowden Clarke, presents one or twovariants. ]

Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and ThouThree brethren named, the guardians gloomy-wingedOf one abyss, where life, and truth, and joyAre swallowed up--yet spare me, Spirit, pity me, Until the sounds I hear become my soul, _5And it has left these faint and weary limbs, To track along the lapses of the airThis wandering melody until it restsAmong lone mountains in some... 

NOTES:_4 Spirit 1862; O Spirit C. C. C. Manuscript. _8 This wandering melody 1862; These wandering melodies... C. C. C. Manuscript. 

***

FRAGMENT: THE LAKE'S MARGIN. 

[Published by W. M. Rossetti, 1870. ]

The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernessesTrack not the steps of him who drinks of it;For the light breezes, which for ever fleetAround its margin, heap the sand thereon. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'MY HEAD IS WILD WITH WEEPING'. 

[Published by W. M. Rossetti, 1870. ]

My head is wild with weeping for a griefWhich is the shadow of a gentle mind. I walk into the air (but no reliefTo seek, --or haply, if I sought, to find;It came unsought);--to wonder that a chief _5Among men's spirits should be cold and blind. 

NOTE:_4 find cj. A. C. Bradley. 

***

FRAGMENT: THE VINE-SHROUD. 

[Published by W. M. Rossetti, 1870. ]

Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glowBeneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee;For thou dost shroud a ruin, and belowThe rotting bones of dead antiquity. 

***

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

We often hear of persons disappointed by a first visit to Italy. Thiswas not Shelley's case. The aspect of its nature, its sunny sky, itsmajestic storms, of the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and thenoble marble-built cities, enchanted him. The sight of the works of artwas full enjoyment and wonder. He had not studied pictures or statuesbefore; he now did so with the eye of taste, that referred not to therules of schools, but to those of Nature and truth. The first entranceto Rome opened to him a scene of remains of antique grandeur that farsurpassed his expectations; and the unspeakable beauty of Naples andits environs added to the impression he received of the transcendentand glorious beauty of Italy. 

Our winter was spent at Naples. Here he wrote the fragments of"Marenghi" and "The Woodman and the Nightingale", which he afterwardsthrew aside. At this time, Shelley suffered greatly in health. He puthimself under the care of a medical man, who promised great things, andmade him endure severe bodily pain, without any good results. Constantand poignant physical suffering exhausted him; and though he preservedthe appearance of cheerfulness, and often greatly enjoyed ourwanderings in the environs of Naples, and our excursions on its sunnysea, yet many hours were passed when his thoughts, shadowed by illness, became gloomy, --and then he escaped to solitude, and in verses, whichhe hid from fear of wounding me, poured forth morbid but too naturalbursts of discontent and sadness. One looks back with unspeakableregret and gnawing remorse to such periods; fancying that, had one beenmore alive to the nature of his feelings, and more attentive to soothethem, such would not have existed. And yet, enjoying as he appeared todo every sight or influence of earth or sky, it was difficult toimagine that any melancholy he showed was aught but the effect of theconstant pain to which he was a martyr. 

We lived in utter solitude. And such is often not the nurse ofcheerfulness; for then, at least with those who have been exposed toadversity, the mind broods over its sorrows too intently; while thesociety of the enlightened, the witty, and the wise, enables us toforget ourselves by making us the sharers of the thoughts of others, which is a portion of the philosophy of happiness. Shelley never likedsociety in numbers, --it harassed and wearied him; but neither did helike loneliness, and usually, when alone, sheltered himself againstmemory and reflection in a book. But, with one or two whom he loved, hegave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversationexpounded his opinions with vivacity and eloquence. If an argumentarose, no man ever argued better. He was clear, logical, and earnest, in supporting his own views; attentive, patient, and impartial, whilelistening to those on the adverse side. Had not a wall of prejudicebeen raised at this time between him and his countrymen, how many wouldhave sought the acquaintance of one whom to know was to love and torevere! How many of the more enlightened of his contemporaries havesince regretted that they did not seek him! how very few knew his worthwhile he lived! and, of those few, several were withheld by timidity orenvy from declaring their sense of it. But no man was ever moreenthusiastically loved--more looked up to, as one superior to hisfellows in intellectual endowments and moral worth, by the few who knewhim well, and had sufficient nobleness of soul to appreciate hissuperiority. His excellence is now acknowledged; but, even whileadmitted, not duly appreciated. For who, except those who wereacquainted with him, can imagine his unwearied benevolence, hisgenerosity, his systematic forbearance? And still less is his vastsuperiority in intellectual attainments sufficiently understood--hissagacity, his clear understanding, his learning, his prodigious memory. All these as displayed in conversation, were known to few while helived, and are now silent in the tomb:

'Ahi orbo mondo ingrato!Gran cagion hai di dever pianger meco;Che quel ben ch' era in te, perdut' hai seco. '

***

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819. 

LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION. 

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", December 8, 1832; reprinted, "Poetical Works", 1839. There is a transcript amongst the Harvardmanuscripts, and another in the possession of Mr. C. W. Frederickson ofBrooklyn. Variants from these two sources are given by ProfessorWoodberry, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", Centenary Edition, 1893, volume 3 pages 225, 226. The transcripts are referred to in ourfootnotes as Harvard and Fred. Respectively. ]

1. Corpses are cold in the tomb;Stones on the pavement are dumb;Abortions are dead in the womb, And their mothers look pale--like the death-white shoreOf Albion, free no more. _5

2. Her sons are as stones in the way--They are masses of senseless clay--They are trodden, and move not away, --The abortion with which SHE travailethIs Liberty, smitten to death. _10

3. Then trample and dance, thou Oppressor!For thy victim is no redresser;Thou art sole lord and possessorOf her corpses, and clods, and abortions--they paveThy path to the grave. _15

4. Hearest thou the festival dinOf Death, and Destruction, and Sin, And Wealth crying "Havoc!" within?'Tis the bacchanal triumph that makes Truth dumb, Thine Epithalamium. _20

5. Ay, marry thy ghastly wife!Let Fear and Disquiet and StrifeSpread thy couch in the chamber of Life!Marry Ruin, thou Tyrant! and Hell be thy guideTo the bed of the bride! _25

NOTES:_4 death-white Harvard, Fred. ; white 1832, 1839. _16 festival Harvard, Fred. , 1839; festal 1832. _19 that Fred. ; which Harvard 1832. _22 Disquiet Harvard, Fred. , 1839; Disgust 1832. _24 Hell Fred. ; God Harvard, 1832, 1839. _25 the bride Harvard, Fred. , 1839; thy bride 1832. 

***

SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

1. Men of England, wherefore ploughFor the lords who lay ye low?Wherefore weave with toil and careThe rich robes your tyrants wear?

2. Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, _5From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who wouldDrain your sweat--nay, drink your blood?

3. Wherefore, Bees of England, forgeMany a weapon, chain, and scourge, _10That these stingless drones may spoilThe forced produce of your toil?

4. Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?Or what is it ye buy so dear _15With your pain and with your fear?

5. The seed ye sow, another reaps;The wealth ye find, another keeps;The robes ye weave, another wears;The arms ye forge; another bears. _20

6. Sow seed, --but let no tyrant reap;Find wealth, --let no impostor heap;Weave robes, --let not the idle wear;Forge arms, --in your defence to bear. 

7. Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells; _25In halls ye deck another dwells. Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye seeThe steel ye tempered glance on ye. 

8. With plough and spade, and hoe and loom, Trace your grave, and build your tomb, _30And weave your winding-sheet, till fairEngland be your sepulchre. 

***

SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819. 

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", August 25, 1832; reprinted byMrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839. Our title is that of 1839, 2ndedition. The poem is found amongst the Harvard manuscripts, headed "ToS--th and O--gh". ]

1. As from an ancestral oakTwo empty ravens sound their clarion, Yell by yell, and croak by croak, When they scent the noonday smokeOf fresh human carrion:-- _5

2. As two gibbering night-birds flitFrom their bowers of deadly yewThrough the night to frighten it, When the moon is in a fit, And the stars are none, or few:-- _10

3. As a shark and dog-fish waitUnder an Atlantic isle, For the negro-ship, whose freightIs the theme of their debate, Wrinkling their red gills the while-- _15

4. Are ye, two vultures sick for battle, Two scorpions under one wet stone, Two bloodless wolves whose dry throats rattle, Two crows perched on the murrained cattle, Two vipers tangled into one. _20

NOTE:_7 yew 1832; hue 1839. 

**

FRAGMENT: TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

People of England, ye who toil and groan, Who reap the harvests which are not your own, Who weave the clothes which your oppressors wear, And for your own take the inclement air;Who build warm houses... _5And are like gods who give them all they have, And nurse them from the cradle to the grave... 

... 

***

FRAGMENT: 'WHAT MEN GAIN FAIRLY'. (Perhaps connected with that immediately preceding (Forman). --ED. )

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

What men gain fairly--that they should possess, And children may inherit idleness, From him who earns it--This is understood;Private injustice may be general good. But he who gains by base and armed wrong, _5Or guilty fraud, or base compliances, May be despoiled; even as a stolen dressIs stripped from a convicted thief; and heLeft in the nakedness of infamy. 

***

A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

1. God prosper, speed, and save, God raise from England's graveHer murdered Queen!Pave with swift victoryThe steps of Liberty, _5Whom Britons own to beImmortal Queen. 

2. See, she comes throned on high, On swift Eternity!God save the Queen! _10Millions on millions wait, Firm, rapid, and elate, On her majestic state!God save the Queen!

3. She is Thine own pure soul _15Moulding the mighty whole, --God save the Queen!She is Thine own deep loveRained down from Heaven above, --Wherever she rest or move, _20God save our Queen!

4. 'Wilder her enemiesIn their own dark disguise, --God save our Queen!All earthly things that dare _25Her sacred name to bear, Strip them, as kings are, bare;God save the Queen!

5. Be her eternal throneBuilt in our hearts alone-- _30God save the Queen!Let the oppressor holdCanopied seats of gold;She sits enthroned of oldO'er our hearts Queen. _35

6. Lips touched by seraphimBreathe out the choral hymn'God save the Queen!'Sweet as if angels sang, Loud as that trumpet's clang _40Wakening the world's dead gang, --God save the Queen!

***

SONNET: ENGLAND IN 1819. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king, --Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flowThrough public scorn, --mud from a muddy spring, --Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, But leech-like to their fainting country cling, _5Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow, --A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field, --An army, which liberticide and preyMakes as a two-edged sword to all who wield, --Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay; _10Religion Christless, Godless--a book sealed;A Senate, --Time's worst statute, unrepealed, --Are graves from which a glorious Phantom mayBurst, to illumine our tempestuous day. 

***

AN ODE, WRITTEN OCTOBER, 1819, BEFORE THE SPANIARDS HAD RECOVERED THEIR LIBERTY. 

[Published with "Prometheus Unbound", 1820. ]

Arise, arise, arise!There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread;Be your wounds like eyesTo weep for the dead, the dead, the dead. What other grief were it just to pay? _5Your sons, your wives, your brethren, were they;Who said they were slain on the battle day?

Awaken, awaken, awaken!The slave and the tyrant are twin-born foes;Be the cold chains shaken _10To the dust where your kindred repose, repose:Their bones in the grave will start and move, When they hear the voices of those they love, Most loud in the holy combat above. 

Wave, wave high the banner! _15When Freedom is riding to conquest by:Though the slaves that fan herBe Famine and Toil, giving sigh for sigh. And ye who attend her imperial car, Lift not your hands in the banded war, _20But in her defence whose children ye are. 

Glory, glory, glory, To those who have greatly suffered and done!Never name in storyWas greater than that which ye shall have won. _25Conquerors have conquered their foes alone, Whose revenge, pride, and power they have overthrownRide ye, more victorious, over your own. 

Bind, bind every browWith crownals of violet, ivy, and pine: _30Hide the blood-stains nowWith hues which sweet Nature has made divine:Green strength, azure hope, and eternity:But let not the pansy among them be;Ye were injured, and that means memory. _35

***

CANCELLED STANZA. 

[Published in "The Times" (Rossetti). ]

Gather, O gather, Foeman and friend in love and peace!Waves sleep togetherWhen the blasts that called them to battle, cease. For fangless Power grown tame and mild _5Is at play with Freedom's fearless child--The dove and the serpent reconciled!

***

ODE TO HEAVEN. 

[Published with "Prometheus Unbound", 1820. Dated 'Florence, December, 1819' in Harvard manuscript (Woodberry). A transcript exists amongstthe Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. C. D. Locock's"Examination", etc. , page 39. ]

CHORUS OF SPIRITS:

FIRST SPIRIT:Palace-roof of cloudless nights!Paradise of golden lights!Deep, immeasurable, vast, Which art now, and which wert thenOf the Present and the Past, _5Of the eternal Where and When, Presence-chamber, temple, home, Ever-canopying dome, Of acts and ages yet to come!

Glorious shapes have life in thee, _10Earth, and all earth's company;Living globes which ever throngThy deep chasms and wildernesses;And green worlds that glide along;And swift stars with flashing tresses; _15And icy moons most cold and bright, And mighty suns beyond the night, Atoms of intensest light. 

Even thy name is as a god, Heaven! for thou art the abode _20Of that Power which is the glassWherein man his nature sees. Generations as they passWorship thee with bended knees. Their unremaining gods and they _25Like a river roll away:Thou remainest such--alway!--

SECOND SPIRIT:Thou art but the mind's first chamber, Round which its young fancies clamber, Like weak insects in a cave, _30Lighted up by stalactites;But the portal of the grave, Where a world of new delightsWill make thy best glories seemBut a dim and noonday gleam _35From the shadow of a dream!

THIRD SPIRIT:Peace! the abyss is wreathed with scornAt your presumption, atom-born!What is Heaven? and what are yeWho its brief expanse inherit? _40What are suns and spheres which fleeWith the instinct of that SpiritOf which ye are but a part?Drops which Nature's mighty heartDrives through thinnest veins! Depart! _45

What is Heaven? a globe of dew, Filling in the morning newSome eyed flower whose young leaves wakenOn an unimagined world:Constellated suns unshaken, _50Orbits measureless, are furledIn that frail and fading sphere, With ten millions gathered there, To tremble, gleam, and disappear. 

***

CANCELLED FRAGMENTS OF THE ODE TO HEAVEN. 

[Published by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination", etc. , 1903. ]

The [living frame which sustains my soul]Is [sinking beneath the fierce control]Down through the lampless deep of songI am drawn and driven along--

When a Nation screams aloud _5Like an eagle from the cloudWhen a... 

... 

When the night... 

... 

Watch the look askance and old--See neglect, and falsehood fold... _10

***

ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 

(This poem was conceived and chiefly written in a wood that skirts theArno, near Florence, and on a day when that tempestuous wind, whosetemperature is at once mild and animating, was collecting the vapourswhich pour down the autumnal rains. They began, as I foresaw, at sunsetwith a violent tempest of hail and rain, attended by that magnificentthunder and lightning peculiar to the Cisalpine regions. 

The phenomenon alluded to at the conclusion of the third stanza is wellknown to naturalists. The vegetation at the bottom of the sea, ofrivers, and of lakes, sympathizes with that of the land in the changeof seasons, and is consequently influenced by the winds which announceit. --[SHELLEY'S NOTE. ])

[Published with "Prometheus Unbound", 1820. ]

1. O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves deadAre driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, _5Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, untilThine azure sister of the Spring shall blow

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill _10(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)With living hues and odours plain and hill:

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!

2. Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion, _15Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning: there are spreadOn the blue surface of thine aery surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head _20

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim vergeOf the horizon to the zenith's height, The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge

Of the dying year, to which this closing nightWill be the dome of a vast sepulchre, _25Vaulted with all thy congregated might

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphereBlack rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear!

3. Thou who didst waken from his summer dreamsThe blue Mediterranean, where he lay, _30Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towersQuivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers _35So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! ThouFor whose path the Atlantic's level powers

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far belowThe sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wearThe sapless foliage of the ocean, know _40

Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear!

4. If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share _45

The impulse of thy strength, only less freeThan thou, O uncontrollable! If evenI were as in my boyhood, and could be

The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed _50Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!

A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed _55One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. 

5. Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:What if my leaves are falling like its own!The tumult of thy mighty harmonies

Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, _60Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!

Drive my dead thoughts over the universeLike withered leaves to quicken a new birth!And, by the incantation of this verse, _65

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearthAshes and sparks, my words among mankind!Be through my lips to unawakened earth

The trumpet of a prophecy! O, Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? _70

***

AN EXHORTATION. 

[Published with "Prometheus Unbound", 1820. Dated 'Pisa, April, 1820'in Harvard manuscript (Woodberry), but assigned by Mrs. Shelley to1819. ]

Chameleons feed on light and air:Poets' food is love and fame:If in this wide world of carePoets could but find the sameWith as little toil as they, _5Would they ever change their hueAs the light chameleons do, Suiting it to every rayTwenty times a day?

Poets are on this cold earth, _10As chameleons might be, Hidden from their early birthin a cave beneath the sea;Where light is, chameleons change:Where love is not, poets do: _15Fame is love disguised: if fewFind either, never think it strangeThat poets range. 

Yet dare not stain with wealth or powerA poet's free and heavenly mind: _20If bright chameleons should devourAny food but beams and wind, They would grow as earthly soonAs their brother lizards are. Children of a sunnier star, _25Spirits from beyond the moon, Oh, refuse the boon!

***

THE INDIAN SERENADE. 

[Published, with the title, "Song written for an Indian Air", in "TheLiberal", 2, 1822. Reprinted ("Lines to an Indian Air") by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. The poem is included in the Harvardmanuscript book, and there is a description by Robert Browning of anautograph copy presenting some variations from the text of 1824. SeeLeigh Hunt's "Correspondence", 2, pages 264-8. ]

1. I arise from dreams of theeIn the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright:I arise from dreams of thee, _5And a spirit in my feetHath led me--who knows how?To thy chamber window, Sweet!

2. The wandering airs they faintOn the dark, the silent stream-- _10The Champak odours failLike sweet thoughts in a dream;The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart;--As I must on thine, _15Oh, beloved as thou art!

3. Oh lift me from the grass!I die! I faint! I fail!Let thy love in kisses rainOn my lips and eyelids pale. _20My cheek is cold and white, alas!My heart beats loud and fast;--Oh! press it to thine own again, Where it will break at last. 

NOTES:_3 Harvard manuscript omits When. _4 shining]burning Harvard manuscript, 1822. _7 Hath led Browning manuscript, 1822; Has borne Harvard manuscript; Has led 1824. _11 The Champak Harvard manuscript, 1822, 1824; And the Champak's Browning manuscript. _15 As I must on 1822, 1824; As I must die on Harvard manuscript, 1839, 1st edition. _16 Oh, beloved Browning manuscript, Harvard manuscript, 1839, 1st edition; Beloved 1822, 1824. _23 press it to thine own Browning manuscript; press it close to thine Harvard manuscript, 1824, 1839, 1st edition; press me to thine own, 1822. 

***

CANCELLED PASSAGE. 

[Published by W. M. Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works", 1870. ]

O pillow cold and wet with tears!Thou breathest sleep no more!

***

TO SOPHIA [MISS STACEY]. 

[Published by W. M. Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works", 1870. ]

1. Thou art fair, and few are fairerOf the Nymphs of earth or ocean;They are robes that fit the wearer--Those soft limbs of thine, whose motionEver falls and shifts and glances _5As the life within them dances. 

2. Thy deep eyes, a double Planet, Gaze the wisest into madnessWith soft clear fire, --the winds that fan itAre those thoughts of tender gladness _10Which, like zephyrs on the billow, Make thy gentle soul their pillow. 

3. If, whatever face thou paintestIn those eyes, grows pale with pleasure, If the fainting soul is faintest _15When it hears thy harp's wild measure, Wonder not that when thou speakestOf the weak my heart is weakest. 

4. As dew beneath the wind of morning, As the sea which whirlwinds waken, _20As the birds at thunder's warning, As aught mute yet deeply shaken, As one who feels an unseen spiritIs my heart when thine is near it. 

***

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. The fragment included in the Harvard manuscript book. ]

(With what truth may I say--Roma! Roma! Roma!Non e piu come era prima!)

1. My lost William, thou in whomSome bright spirit lived, and didThat decaying robe consumeWhich its lustre faintly hid, --Here its ashes find a tomb, _5But beneath this pyramidThou art not--if a thing divineLike thee can die, thy funeral shrineIs thy mother's grief and mine. 

2. Where art thou, my gentle child? _10Let me think thy spirit feeds, With its life intense and mild, The love of living leaves and weedsAmong these tombs and ruins wild;--Let me think that through low seeds _15Of sweet flowers and sunny grassInto their hues and scents may passA portion--

NOTE:

Motto _1 may I Harvard manuscript; I may 1824. _12 With Harvard manuscript, Mrs. Shelley, 1847; Within 1824, 1839. _16 Of sweet Harvard manuscript; Of the sweet 1824, 1839. 

***

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

Thy little footsteps on the sandsOf a remote and lonely shore;The twinkling of thine infant hands, Where now the worm will feed no more;Thy mingled look of love and glee _5When we returned to gaze on thee--

***

TO MARY SHELLEY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone, And left me in this dreary world alone?Thy form is here indeed--a lovely one--But thou art fled, gone down the dreary road, That leads to Sorrow's most obscure abode; _5Thou sittest on the hearth of pale despair, WhereFor thine own sake I cannot follow thee. 

***

TO MARY SHELLEY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

The world is dreary, And I am wearyOf wandering on without thee, Mary;A joy was erewhileIn thy voice and thy smile, _5And 'tis gone, when I should be gone too, Mary. 

***

ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI IN THE FLORENTINE GALLERY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky, Upon the cloudy mountain-peak supine;Below, far lands are seen tremblingly;Its horror and its beauty are divine. Upon its lips and eyelids seems to lie _5Loveliness like a shadow, from which shine, Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath, The agonies of anguish and of death. 

2. Yet it is less the horror than the graceWhich turns the gazer's spirit into stone, _10Whereon the lineaments of that dead faceAre graven, till the characters be grownInto itself, and thought no more can trace;'Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrownAthwart the darkness and the glare of pain, Which humanize and harmonize the strain. _15

3. And from its head as from one body grow, As ... Grass out of a watery rock, Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flowAnd their long tangles in each other lock, _20And with unending involutions showTheir mailed radiance, as it were to mockThe torture and the death within, and sawThe solid air with many a ragged jaw. 

4. And, from a stone beside, a poisonous eft _25Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes;Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereftOf sense, has flitted with a mad surpriseOut of the cave this hideous light had cleft, And he comes hastening like a moth that hies _30After a taper; and the midnight skyFlares, a light more dread than obscurity. 

5. 'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror;For from the serpents gleams a brazen glareKindled by that inextricable error, _35Which makes a thrilling vapour of the airBecome a ... And ever-shifting mirrorOf all the beauty and the terror there--A woman's countenance, with serpent-locks, Gazing in death on Heaven from those wet rocks. _40

NOTES:_5 seems 1839; seem 1824. _6 shine]shrine 1824, 1839. _26 those 1824; these 1839. 

***

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 

[Published by Leigh Hunt, "The Indicator", December 22, 1819. Reprintedby Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Included in the Harvardmanuscript book, where it is headed "An Anacreontic", and dated'January, 1820. ' Written by Shelley in a copy of Hunt's "LiteraryPocket-Book", 1819, and presented to Sophia Stacey, December 29, 1820. ]

1. The fountains mingle with the riverAnd the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for everWith a sweet emotion;Nothing in the world is single; _5All things by a law divineIn one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?--

2. See the mountains kiss high HeavenAnd the waves clasp one another; _10No sister-flower would be forgivenIf it disdained its brother;And the sunlight clasps the earthAnd the moonbeams kiss the sea:What is all this sweet work worth _15If thou kiss not me?

NOTES:_3 mix for ever 1819, Stacey manuscript; meet together, Harvard manuscript. _7 In one spirit meet and Stacey manuscript; In one another's being 1819, Harvard manuscript. _11 No sister 1824, Harvard and Stacey manuscripts; No leaf or 1819. _12 disdained its 1824, Harvard and Stacey manuscripts; disdained to kiss its 1819. _15 is all this sweet work Stacey manuscript; were these examples Harvard manuscript; are all these kissings 1819, 1824. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'FOLLOW TO THE DEEP WOOD'S WEEDS'. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

Follow to the deep wood's weeds, Follow to the wild-briar dingle, Where we seek to intermingle, And the violet tells her taleTo the odour-scented gale, _5For they two have enough to doOf such work as I and you. 

***

THE BIRTH OF PLEASURE. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

At the creation of the EarthPleasure, that divinest birth, From the soil of Heaven did rise, Wrapped in sweet wild melodies--Like an exhalation wreathing _5To the sound of air low-breathingThrough Aeolian pines, which makeA shade and shelter to the lakeWhence it rises soft and slow;Her life-breathing [limbs] did flow _10In the harmony divineOf an ever-lengthening lineWhich enwrapped her perfect formWith a beauty clear and warm. 

***

FRAGMENT: LOVE THE UNIVERSE TO-DAY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

And who feels discord now or sorrow?Love is the universe to-day--These are the slaves of dim to-morrow, Darkening Life's labyrinthine way. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'A GENTLE STORY OF TWO LOVERS YOUNG'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

A gentle story of two lovers young, Who met in innocence and died in sorrow, And of one selfish heart, whose rancour clungLike curses on them; are ye slow to borrowThe lore of truth from such a tale? _5Or in this world's deserted vale, Do ye not see a star of gladnessPierce the shadows of its sadness, --When ye are cold, that love is a light sentFrom Heaven, which none shall quench, to cheer the innocent? _10

NOTE:_9 cold]told cj. A. C. Bradley. For the metre cp. Fragment: To a Friend Released from Prison. 

***

FRAGMENT: LOVE'S TENDER ATMOSPHERE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

There is a warm and gentle atmosphereAbout the form of one we love, and thusAs in a tender mist our spirits areWrapped in the ... Of that which is to usThe health of life's own life-- _5

***

FRAGMENT: WEDDED SOULS. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

I am as a spirit who has dweltWithin his heart of hearts, and I have feltHis feelings, and have thought his thoughts, and knownThe inmost converse of his soul, the toneUnheard but in the silence of his blood, _5When all the pulses in their multitudeImage the trembling calm of summer seas. I have unlocked the golden melodiesOf his deep soul, as with a master-key, And loosened them and bathed myself therein-- _10Even as an eagle in a thunder-mistClothing his wings with lightning. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'IS IT THAT IN SOME BRIGHTER SPHERE'. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

Is it that in some brighter sphereWe part from friends we meet with here?Or do we see the Future passOver the Present's dusky glass?Or what is that that makes us seem _5To patch up fragments of a dream, Part of which comes true, and partBeats and trembles in the heart?

***

FRAGMENT: SUFFICIENT UNTO THE DAY. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

Is not to-day enough? Why do I peerInto the darkness of the day to come?Is not to-morrow even as yesterday?And will the day that follows change thy doom?Few flowers grow upon thy wintry way; _5And who waits for thee in that cheerless homeWhence thou hast fled, whither thou must returnCharged with the load that makes thee faint and mourn?

***

FRAGMENT: 'YE GENTLE VISITATIONS OF CALM THOUGHT'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

Ye gentle visitations of calm thought--Moods like the memories of happier earth, Which come arrayed in thoughts of little worth, Like stars in clouds by the weak winds enwrought, --But that the clouds depart and stars remain, _5While they remain, and ye, alas, depart!

***

FRAGMENT: MUSIC AND SWEET POETRY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

How sweet it is to sit and read the talesOf mighty poets and to hear the whileSweet music, which when the attention failsFills the dim pause--

***

FRAGMENT: THE SEPULCHRE OF MEMORY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

And where is truth? On tombs? for such to theeHas been my heart--and thy dead memoryHas lain from childhood, many a changeful year, Unchangingly preserved and buried there. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'WHEN A LOVER CLASPS HIS FAIREST'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

1. When a lover clasps his fairest, Then be our dread sport the rarest. Their caresses were like the chaffIn the tempest, and be our laughHis despair--her epitaph! _5

2. When a mother clasps her child, Watch till dusty Death has piledHis cold ashes on the clay;She has loved it many a day--She remains, --it fades away. _10

***

FRAGMENT: 'WAKE THE SERPENT NOT'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

Wake the serpent not--lest heShould not know the way to go, --Let him crawl which yet lies sleepingThrough the deep grass of the meadow!Not a bee shall hear him creeping, _5Not a may-fly shall awakenFrom its cradling blue-bell shaken, Not the starlight as he's slidingThrough the grass with silent gliding. 

***

FRAGMENT: RAIN. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

The fitful alternations of the rain, When the chill wind, languid as with painOf its own heavy moisture, here and thereDrives through the gray and beamless atmosphere. 

***

FRAGMENT: A TALE UNTOLD. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

One sung of thee who left the tale untold, Like the false dawns which perish in the bursting;Like empty cups of wrought and daedal gold, Which mock the lips with air, when they are thirsting. 

***

FRAGMENT: TO ITALY. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

As the sunrise to the night, As the north wind to the clouds, As the earthquake's fiery flight, Ruining mountain solitudes, Everlasting Italy, _5Be those hopes and fears on thee. 

***

FRAGMENT: WINE OF THE FAIRIES. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

I am drunk with the honey wineOf the moon-unfolded eglantine, Which fairies catch in hyacinth bowls. The bats, the dormice, and the molesSleep in the walls or under the sward _5Of the desolate castle yard;And when 'tis spilt on the summer earthOr its fumes arise among the dew, Their jocund dreams are full of mirth, They gibber their joy in sleep; for few _10Of the fairies bear those bowls so new!

***

FRAGMENT: A ROMAN'S CHAMBER. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

1. In the cave which wild weeds coverWait for thine aethereal lover;For the pallid moon is waning, O'er the spiral cypress hangingAnd the moon no cloud is staining. _5

2. It was once a Roman's chamber, Where he kept his darkest revels, And the wild weeds twine and clamber;It was then a chasm for devils. 

***

FRAGMENT: ROME AND NATURE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

Rome has fallen, ye see it lyingHeaped in undistinguished ruin:Nature is alone undying. 

***

VARIATION OF THE SONG OF THE MOON. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

("PROMETHEUS UNBOUND", ACT 4. )

As a violet's gentle eyeGazes on the azure skyUntil its hue grows like what it beholds;As a gray and empty mistLies like solid amethyst _5Over the western mountain it enfolds, When the sunset sleepsUpon its snow;As a strain of sweetest soundWraps itself the wind around _10Until the voiceless wind be music too;As aught dark, vain, and dull, Basking in what is beautiful, Is full of light and love--

***

CANCELLED STANZA OF THE MASK OF ANARCHY. 

[Published by H. Buxton Forman, "The Mask of Anarchy" ("Facsimile ofShelley's manuscript"), 1887. ]

(FOR WHICH STANZAS 68, 69 HAVE BEEN SUBSTITUTED. )

From the cities where from caves, Like the dead from putrid graves, Troops of starvelings gliding come, Living Tenants of a tomb. 

***

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1819, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

Shelley loved the People; and respected them as often more virtuous, asalways more suffering, and therefore more deserving of sympathy, thanthe great. He believed that a clash between the two classes of societywas inevitable, and he eagerly ranged himself on the people's side. Hehad an idea of publishing a series of poems adapted expressly tocommemorate their circumstances and wrongs. He wrote a few; but, inthose days of prosecution for libel, they could not be printed. Theyare not among the best of his productions, a writer being alwaysshackled when he endeavours to write down to the comprehension of thosewho could not understand or feel a highly imaginative style; but theyshow his earnestness, and with what heart-felt compassion he went hometo the direct point of injury--that oppression is detestable as beingthe parent of starvation, nakedness, and ignorance. Besides theseoutpourings of compassion and indignation, he had meant to adorn thecause he loved with loftier poetry of glory and triumph: such is thescope of the "Ode to the Assertors of Liberty". He sketched also a newversion of our national anthem, as addressed to Liberty. 

***

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820. 

THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 

[Composed at Pisa, early in 1820 (dated 'March, 1820, ' in Harvardmanuscript), and published, with "Prometheus Unbound", the same year:included in the Harvard College manuscript book. Reprinted in the"Poetical Works", 1839, both editions. ]

PART 1. 

A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light. And closed them beneath the kisses of Night. 

And the Spring arose on the garden fair, _5Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breastRose from the dreams of its wintry rest. 

But none ever trembled and panted with blissIn the garden, the field, or the wilderness, _10Like a doe in the noontide with love's sweet want, As the companionless Sensitive Plant. 

The snowdrop, and then the violet, Arose from the ground with warm rain wet, And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent _15From the turf, like the voice and the instrument. 

Then the pied wind-flowers and the tulip tall, And narcissi, the fairest among them all, Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess, Till they die of their own dear loveliness; _20

And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, Whom youth makes so fair and passion so paleThat the light of its tremulous bells is seenThrough their pavilions of tender green;

And the hyacinth purple, and white, and blue, _25Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anewOf music so delicate, soft, and intense, It was felt like an odour within the sense;

And the rose like a nymph to the bath addressed, Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast, _30Till, fold after fold, to the fainting airThe soul of her beauty and love lay bare:

And the wand-like lily, which lifted up, As a Maenad, its moonlight-coloured cup, Till the fiery star, which is its eye, Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky; _35

And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose, The sweetest flower for scent that blows;And all rare blossoms from every climeGrew in that garden in perfect prime. _40

And on the stream whose inconstant bosomWas pranked, under boughs of embowering blossom, With golden and green light, slanting throughTheir heaven of many a tangled hue, Broad water-lilies lay tremulously, _45And starry river-buds glimmered by, And around them the soft stream did glide and danceWith a motion of sweet sound and radiance. 

And the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss, Which led through the garden along and across, _50Some open at once to the sun and the breeze, Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees, Were all paved with daisies and delicate bellsAs fair as the fabulous asphodels, And flow'rets which, drooping as day drooped too, _55Fell into pavilions, white, purple, and blue, To roof the glow-worm from the evening dew. 

And from this undefiled ParadiseThe flowers (as an infant's awakening eyesSmile on its mother, whose singing sweet _60Can first lull, and at last must awaken it), When Heaven's blithe winds had unfolded them, As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem, Shone smiling to Heaven, and every one _65Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun;

For each one was interpenetratedWith the light and the odour its neighbour shed, Like young lovers whom youth and love make dearWrapped and filled by their mutual atmosphere. 

But the Sensitive Plant which could give small fruit _70Of the love which it felt from the leaf to the root, Received more than all, it loved more than ever, Where none wanted but it, could belong to the giver, --

For the Sensitive Plant has no bright flower;Radiance and odour are not its dower; _75It loves, even like Love, its deep heart is full, It desires what it has not, the Beautiful!

The light winds which from unsustaining wingsShed the music of many murmurings;The beams which dart from many a star _80Of the flowers whose hues they bear afar;

The plumed insects swift and free, Like golden boats on a sunny sea, Laden with light and odour, which passOver the gleam of the living grass; _85

The unseen clouds of the dew, which lieLike fire in the flowers till the sun rides high, Then wander like spirits among the spheres, Each cloud faint with the fragrance it bears;

The quivering vapours of dim noontide, _90Which like a sea o'er the warm earth glide, In which every sound, and odour, and beam, Move, as reeds in a single stream;

Each and all like ministering angels wereFor the Sensitive Plant sweet joy to bear, _95Whilst the lagging hours of the day went byLike windless clouds o'er a tender sky. 

And when evening descended from Heaven above, And the Earth was all rest, and the air was all love, And delight, though less bright, was far more deep, _100And the day's veil fell from the world of sleep, And the beasts, and the birds, and the insects were drownedIn an ocean of dreams without a sound;Whose waves never mark, though they ever impressThe light sand which paves it, consciousness; _105

(Only overhead the sweet nightingaleEver sang more sweet as the day might fail, And snatches of its Elysian chantWere mixed with the dreams of the Sensitive Plant);--

The Sensitive Plant was the earliest _110Upgathered into the bosom of rest;A sweet child weary of its delight, The feeblest and yet the favourite, Cradled within the embrace of Night. 

NOTES:_6 Like the Spirit of Love felt 1820; And the Spirit of Love felt 1839, 1st edition; And the Spirit of Love fell 1839, 2nd edition. _49 and of moss]and moss Harvard manuscript. _82 The]And the Harvard manuscript. 

PART 2. 

There was a Power in this sweet place, An Eve in this Eden; a ruling GraceWhich to the flowers, did they waken or dream, Was as God is to the starry scheme. 

A Lady, the wonder of her kind, _5Whose form was upborne by a lovely mindWhich, dilating, had moulded her mien and motionLike a sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean, Tended the garden from morn to even:And the meteors of that sublunar Heaven, _10Like the lamps of the air when Night walks forth, Laughed round her footsteps up from the Earth!

She had no companion of mortal race, But her tremulous breath and her flushing faceTold, whilst the morn kissed the sleep from her eyes, _15That her dreams were less slumber than Paradise:

As if some bright Spirit for her sweet sakeHad deserted Heaven while the stars were awake, As if yet around her he lingering were, Though the veil of daylight concealed him from her. _20

Her step seemed to pity the grass it pressed;You might hear by the heaving of her breast, That the coming and going of the windBrought pleasure there and left passion behind. 

And wherever her aery footstep trod, _25Her trailing hair from the grassy sodErased its light vestige, with shadowy sweep, Like a sunny storm o'er the dark green deep. 

I doubt not the flowers of that garden sweetRejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet; _30I doubt not they felt the spirit that cameFrom her glowing fingers through all their frame. 

She sprinkled bright water from the streamOn those that were faint with the sunny beam;And out of the cups of the heavy flowers _35She emptied the rain of the thunder-showers. 

She lifted their heads with her tender hands, And sustained them with rods and osier-bands;If the flowers had been her own infants, sheCould never have nursed them more tenderly. _40

And all killing insects and gnawing worms, And things of obscene and unlovely forms, She bore, in a basket of Indian woof, Into the rough woods far aloof, --

In a basket, of grasses and wild-flowers full, _45The freshest her gentle hands could pullFor the poor banished insects, whose intent, Although they did ill, was innocent. 

But the bee and the beamlike ephemerisWhose path is the lightning's, and soft moths that kiss _50The sweet lips of the flowers, and harm not, did sheMake her attendant angels be. 

And many an antenatal tomb, Where butterflies dream of the life to come, She left clinging round the smooth and dark _55Edge of the odorous cedar bark. 

This fairest creature from earliest SpringThus moved through the garden ministeringMi the sweet season of Summertide, And ere the first leaf looked brown--she died! _60

NOTES:_15 morn Harvard manuscript, 1839; moon 1820. _23 and going 1820; and the going Harvard manuscript, 1839. _59 All 1820, 1839; Through all Harvard manuscript. 

PART 3. 

Three days the flowers of the garden fair, Like stars when the moon is awakened, were, Or the waves of Baiae, ere luminousShe floats up through the smoke of Vesuvius. 

And on the fourth, the Sensitive Plant _5Felt the sound of the funeral chant, And the steps of the bearers, heavy and slow, And the sobs of the mourners, deep and low;

The weary sound and the heavy breath, And the silent motions of passing death, _10And the smell, cold, oppressive, and dank, Sent through the pores of the coffin-plank;

The dark grass, and the flowers among the grass, Were bright with tears as the crowd did pass;From their sighs the wind caught a mournful tone, _15And sate in the pines, and gave groan for groan. 

The garden, once fair, became cold and foul, Like the corpse of her who had been its soul, Which at first was lovely as if in sleep, Then slowly changed, till it grew a heap _20To make men tremble who never weep. 

Swift Summer into the Autumn flowed, And frost in the mist of the morning rode, Though the noonday sun looked clear and bright, Mocking the spoil of the secret night. _25

The rose-leaves, like flakes of crimson snow, Paved the turf and the moss below. The lilies were drooping, and white, and wan, Like the head and the skin of a dying man. 

And Indian plants, of scent and hue _30The sweetest that ever were fed on dew, Leaf by leaf, day after day, Were massed into the common clay. 

And the leaves, brown, yellow, and gray, and red, And white with the whiteness of what is dead, _35Like troops of ghosts on the dry wind passed;Their whistling noise made the birds aghast. 

And the gusty winds waked the winged seeds, Out of their birthplace of ugly weeds, Till they clung round many a sweet flower's stem, _40Which rotted into the earth with them. 

The water-blooms under the rivuletFell from the stalks on which they were set;And the eddies drove them here and there, As the winds did those of the upper air. _45

Then the rain came down, and the broken stalksWere bent and tangled across the walks;And the leafless network of parasite bowersMassed into ruin; and all sweet flowers. 

Between the time of the wind and the snow _50All loathliest weeds began to grow, Whose coarse leaves were splashed with many a speck, Like the water-snake's belly and the toad's back. 

And thistles, and nettles, and darnels rank, And the dock, and henbane, and hemlock dank, _55Stretched out its long and hollow shank, And stifled the air till the dead wind stank. 

And plants, at whose names the verse feels loath, Filled the place with a monstrous undergrowth, Prickly, and pulpous, and blistering, and blue, _60Livid, and starred with a lurid dew. 

And agarics, and fungi, with mildew and mouldStarted like mist from the wet ground cold;Pale, fleshy, as if the decaying deadWith a spirit of growth had been animated! _65

Spawn, weeds, and filth, a leprous scum, Made the running rivulet thick and dumb, And at its outlet flags huge as stakesDammed it up with roots knotted like water-snakes. 

And hour by hour, when the air was still, _70The vapours arose which have strength to kill;At morn they were seen, at noon they were felt, At night they were darkness no star could melt. 

And unctuous meteors from spray to sprayCrept and flitted in broad noonday _75Unseen; every branch on which they alitBy a venomous blight was burned and bit. 

The Sensitive Plant, like one forbid, Wept, and the tears within each lidOf its folded leaves, which together grew, _80Were changed to a blight of frozen glue. 

For the leaves soon fell, and the branches soonBy the heavy axe of the blast were hewn;The sap shrank to the root through every poreAs blood to a heart that will beat no more. _85

For Winter came: the wind was his whip:One choppy finger was on his lip:He had torn the cataracts from the hillsAnd they clanked at his girdle like manacles;

His breath was a chain which without a sound _90The earth, and the air, and the water bound;He came, fiercely driven, in his chariot-throneBy the tenfold blasts of the Arctic zone. 

Then the weeds which were forms of living deathFled from the frost to the earth beneath. _95Their decay and sudden flight from frostWas but like the vanishing of a ghost!

And under the roots of the Sensitive PlantThe moles and the dormice died for want:The birds dropped stiff from the frozen air _100And were caught in the branches naked and bare. 

First there came down a thawing rainAnd its dull drops froze on the boughs again;Then there steamed up a freezing dewWhich to the drops of the thaw-rain grew; _105

And a northern whirlwind, wandering aboutLike a wolf that had smelt a dead child out, Shook the boughs thus laden, and heavy, and stiff, And snapped them off with his rigid griff. 

When Winter had gone and Spring came back _110The Sensitive Plant was a leafless wreck;But the mandrakes, and toadstools, and docks, and darnels, Rose like the dead from their ruined charnels. 

CONCLUSION. 

Whether the Sensitive Plant, or thatWhich within its boughs like a Spirit sat, _115Ere its outward form had known decay, Now felt this change, I cannot say. 

Whether that Lady's gentle mind, No longer with the form combinedWhich scattered love, as stars do light, _120Found sadness, where it left delight, I dare not guess; but in this lifeOf error, ignorance, and strife, Where nothing is, but all things seem, And we the shadows of the dream, _125

It is a modest creed, and yetPleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery. 

That garden sweet, that lady fair, _130And all sweet shapes and odours there, In truth have never passed away:'Tis we, 'tis ours, are changed; not they. 

For love, and beauty, and delight, There is no death nor change: their might _135Exceeds our organs, which endureNo light, being themselves obscure. 

NOTES:_19 lovely Harvard manuscript, 1839; lively 1820. _23 of the morning 1820, 1839; of morning Harvard manuscript. _26 snow Harvard manuscript, 1839; now 1820. _28 And lilies were drooping, white and wan Harvard manuscript. _32 Leaf by leaf, day after day Harvard manuscript; Leaf after leaf, day after day 1820; Leaf after leaf, day by day 1839. _63 mist]mists Harvard manuscript. _96 and sudden flight]and their sudden flight the Harvard manuscript. _98 And under]Under Harvard manuscript. _114 Whether]And if Harvard manuscript. _118 Whether]Or if Harvard manuscript. 

***

CANCELLED PASSAGE. 

[This stanza followed 3, 62-65 in the editio princeps, 1820, but wasomitted by Mrs. Shelley from all editions from 1839 onwards. It iscancelled in the Harvard manuscript. ]

Their moss rotted off them, flake by flake, Till the thick stalk stuck like a murderer's stake, Where rags of loose flesh yet tremble on high, Infecting the winds that wander by. 

***

A VISION OF THE SEA. 

[Composed at Pisa early in 1820, and published with "PrometheusUnbound" in the same year. A transcript in Mrs. Shelley's handwritingis included in the Harvard manuscript book, where it is dated 'April, 1820. ']

'Tis the terror of tempest. The rags of the sailAre flickering in ribbons within the fierce gale:From the stark night of vapours the dim rain is driven, And when lightning is loosed, like a deluge from Heaven, She sees the black trunks of the waterspouts spin _5And bend, as if Heaven was ruining in, Which they seemed to sustain with their terrible massAs if ocean had sunk from beneath them: they passTo their graves in the deep with an earthquake of sound, And the waves and the thunders, made silent around, _10Leave the wind to its echo. The vessel, now tossedThrough the low-trailing rack of the tempest, is lostIn the skirts of the thunder-cloud: now down the sweepOf the wind-cloven wave to the chasm of the deepIt sinks, and the walls of the watery vale _15Whose depths of dread calm are unmoved by the gale, Dim mirrors of ruin, hang gleaming about;While the surf, like a chaos of stars, like a routOf death-flames, like whirlpools of fire-flowing iron, With splendour and terror the black ship environ, _20Or like sulphur-flakes hurled from a mine of pale fireIn fountains spout o'er it. In many a spireThe pyramid-billows with white points of brineIn the cope of the lightning inconstantly shine, As piercing the sky from the floor of the sea. _25The great ship seems splitting! it cracks as a tree, While an earthquake is splintering its root, ere the blastOf the whirlwind that stripped it of branches has passed. The intense thunder-balls which are raining from HeavenHave shattered its mast, and it stands black and riven. _30The chinks suck destruction. The heavy dead hulkOn the living sea rolls an inanimate bulk, Like a corpse on the clay which is hungering to foldIts corruption around it. Meanwhile, from the hold, One deck is burst up by the waters below, _35And it splits like the ice when the thaw-breezes blowO'er the lakes of the desert! Who sit on the other?Is that all the crew that lie burying each other, Like the dead in a breach, round the foremast? Are thoseTwin tigers, who burst, when the waters arose, _40In the agony of terror, their chains in the hold;(What now makes them tame, is what then made them bold;)Who crouch, side by side, and have driven, like a crank, The deep grip of their claws through the vibrating plankAre these all? Nine weeks the tall vessel had lain _45On the windless expanse of the watery plain, Where the death-darting sun cast no shadow at noon, And there seemed to be fire in the beams of the moon, Till a lead-coloured fog gathered up from the deep, Whose breath was quick pestilence; then, the cold sleep _50Crept, like blight through the ears of a thick field of corn, O'er the populous vessel. And even and morn, With their hammocks for coffins the seamen aghastLike dead men the dead limbs of their comrades castDown the deep, which closed on them above and around, _55And the sharks and the dogfish their grave-clothes unbound, And were glutted like Jews with this manna rained downFrom God on their wilderness. One after oneThe mariners died; on the eve of this day, When the tempest was gathering in cloudy array, _60But seven remained. Six the thunder has smitten, And they lie black as mummies on which Time has writtenHis scorn of the embalmer; the seventh, from the deckAn oak-splinter pierced through his breast and his back, And hung out to the tempest, a wreck on the wreck. _65No more? At the helm sits a woman more fairThan Heaven, when, unbinding its star-braided hair, It sinks with the sun on the earth and the sea. She clasps a bright child on her upgathered knee;It laughs at the lightning, it mocks the mixed thunder _70Of the air and the sea, with desire and with wonderIt is beckoning the tigers to rise and come near, It would play with those eyes where the radiance of fearIs outshining the meteors; its bosom beats high, The heart-fire of pleasure has kindled its eye, _75While its mother's is lustreless. 'Smile not, my child, But sleep deeply and sweetly, and so be beguiledOf the pang that awaits us, whatever that be, So dreadful since thou must divide it with me!Dream, sleep! This pale bosom, thy cradle and bed, _80Will it rock thee not, infant? 'Tis beating with dread!Alas! what is life, what is death, what are we, That when the ship sinks we no longer may be?What! to see thee no more, and to feel thee no more?To be after life what we have been before? _85Not to touch those sweet hands? Not to look on those eyes, Those lips, and that hair, --all the smiling disguiseThou yet wearest, sweet Spirit, which I, day by day, Have so long called my child, but which now fades awayLike a rainbow, and I the fallen shower?'--Lo! the ship _90Is settling, it topples, the leeward ports dip;The tigers leap up when they feel the slow brineCrawling inch by inch on them; hair, ears, limbs, and eyne, Stand rigid with horror; a loud, long, hoarse cryBursts at once from their vitals tremendously, _95And 'tis borne down the mountainous vale of the wave, Rebounding, like thunder, from crag to cave, Mixed with the clash of the lashing rain, Hurried on by the might of the hurricane:The hurricane came from the west, and passed on _100By the path of the gate of the eastern sun, Transversely dividing the stream of the storm;As an arrowy serpent, pursuing the formOf an elephant, bursts through the brakes of the waste. Black as a cormorant the screaming blast, _105Between Ocean and Heaven, like an ocean, passed, Till it came to the clouds on the verge of the worldWhich, based on the sea and to Heaven upcurled, Like columns and walls did surround and sustainThe dome of the tempest; it rent them in twain, _110As a flood rends its barriers of mountainous crag:And the dense clouds in many a ruin and rag, Like the stones of a temple ere earthquake has passed, Like the dust of its fall. On the whirlwind are cast;They are scattered like foam on the torrent; and where _115The wind has burst out through the chasm, from the airOf clear morning the beams of the sunrise flow in, Unimpeded, keen, golden, and crystalline, Banded armies of light and of air; at one gateThey encounter, but interpenetrate. _120And that breach in the tempest is widening away, And the caverns of cloud are torn up by the day, And the fierce winds are sinking with weary wings, Lulled by the motion and murmuringsAnd the long glassy heave of the rocking sea, _125And overhead glorious, but dreadful to see, The wrecks of the tempest, like vapours of gold, Are consuming in sunrise. The heaped waves beholdThe deep calm of blue Heaven dilating above, And, like passions made still by the presence of Love, _130Beneath the clear surface reflecting it slideTremulous with soft influence; extending its tideFrom the Andes to Atlas, round mountain and isle, Round sea-birds and wrecks, paved with Heaven's azure smile, The wide world of waters is vibrating. Where _135Is the ship? On the verge of the wave where it layOne tiger is mingled in ghastly affrayWith a sea-snake. The foam and the smoke of the battleStain the clear air with sunbows; the jar, and the rattleOf solid bones crushed by the infinite stress _140Of the snake's adamantine voluminousness;And the hum of the hot blood that spouts and rainsWhere the gripe of the tiger has wounded the veinsSwollen with rage, strength, and effort; the whirl and the splashAs of some hideous engine whose brazen teeth smash _145The thin winds and soft waves into thunder; the screamsAnd hissings crawl fast o'er the smooth ocean-streams, Each sound like a centipede. Near this commotion, A blue shark is hanging within the blue ocean, The fin-winged tomb of the victor. The other _150Is winning his way from the fate of his brotherTo his own with the speed of despair. Lo! a boatAdvances; twelve rowers with the impulse of thoughtUrge on the keen keel, --the brine foams. At the sternThree marksmen stand levelling. Hot bullets burn _155In the breast of the tiger, which yet bears him onTo his refuge and ruin. One fragment alone, --'Tis dwindling and sinking, 'tis now almost gone, --Of the wreck of the vessel peers out of the sea. With her left hand she grasps it impetuously. _160With her right she sustains her fair infant. Death, Fear, Love, Beauty, are mixed in the atmosphere, Which trembles and burns with the fervour of dreadAround her wild eyes, her bright hand, and her head, Like a meteor of light o'er the waters! her child _165Is yet smiling, and playing, and murmuring; so smiledThe false deep ere the storm. Like a sister and brotherThe child and the ocean still smile on each other, Whilst--

NOTES:_6 ruining Harvard manuscript, 1839; raining 1820. _8 sunk Harvard manuscript, 1839; sank 1820. _35 by Harvard manuscript; from 1820, 1839. _61 has 1820; had 1839. _87 all the Harvard manuscript; all that 1820, 1839. _116 through Harvard manuscript; from 1820, 1839. _121 away]alway cj. A. C. Bradley. _122 cloud Harvard manuscript, 1839; clouds 1820. _160 impetuously 1820, 1839; convulsively Harvard manuscript. 

***

THE CLOUD. 

[Published with "Prometheus Unbound", 1820. ]

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams;I bear light shade for the leaves when laidIn their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken _5The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, _10And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. 

I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast;And all the night 'tis my pillow white, _15While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, Lightning my pilot sits;In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits; _20Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that moveIn the depths of the purple sea;Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills. _25Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The Spirit he loves remains;And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. _30

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, When the morning star shines dead;As on the jag of a mountain crag, _35Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sitIn the light of its golden wings. And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardours of rest and of love, _40And the crimson pall of eve may fallFrom the depth of Heaven above. With wings folded I rest, on mine aery nest, As still as a brooding dove. 

That orbed maiden with white fire laden, _45Whom mortals call the Moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn;And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, _50May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof. The stars peep behind her and peer;And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees. When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, _55Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, Are each paved with the moon and these. 

I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone, And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl; _60The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam-proof, I hand like a roof, -- _65The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I marchWith hurricane, fire, and snow, When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; _70The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist Earth was laughing below. 

I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky;I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; _75I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stainThe pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleamsBuild up the blue dome of air, _80I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. 

NOTES:_3 shade 1820; shades 1839. _6 buds 1839; birds 1820. _59 with a 1820; with the 1830. 

***

TO A SKYLARK. 

[Composed at Leghorn, 1820, and published with "Prometheus Unbound" inthe same year. There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript. ]

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heartIn profuse strains of unpremeditated art. _5

Higher still and higherFrom the earth thou springestLike a cloud of fire;The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. _10

In the golden lightningOf the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are bright'ning. Thou dost float and run;Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. _15

The pale purple evenMelts around thy flight;Like a star of Heaven, In the broad daylightThou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, _20

Keen as are the arrowsOf that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrowsIn the white dawn clearUntil we hardly see--we feel that it is there. _25

All the earth and airWith thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloudThe moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed. _30

What thou art we know not;What is most like thee?From rainbow clouds there flow notDrops so bright to seeAs from thy presence showers a rain of melody. _35

Like a Poet hiddenIn the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wroughtTo sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: _40

Like a high-born maidenIn a palace-tower, Soothing her love-ladenSoul in secret hourWith music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: _45

Like a glow-worm goldenIn a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholdenIts aereal hueAmong the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view! _50

Like a rose emboweredIn its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it givesMakes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged thieves: _55

Sound of vernal showersOn the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever wasJoyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass: _60

Teach us, Sprite or Bird, What sweet thoughts are thine:I have never heardPraise of love or wineThat panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. _65

Chorus Hymeneal, Or triumphal chant, Matched with thine would be allBut an empty vaunt, A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. _70

What objects are the fountainsOf thy happy strain?What fields, or waves, or mountains?What shapes of sky or plain?What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? _75

With thy clear keen joyanceLanguor cannot be:Shadow of annoyanceNever came near thee:Thou lovest--but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. _80

Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deemThings more true and deepThan we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? _85

We look before and after, And pine for what is not:Our sincerest laughterWith some pain is fraught;Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. _90

Yet if we could scornHate, and pride, and fear;If we were things bornNot to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. _95

Better than all measuresOf delightful sound, Better than all treasuresThat in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! _100

Teach me half the gladnessThat thy brain must know, Such harmonious madnessFrom my lips would flowThe world should listen then--as I am listening now. _105

NOTE:_55 those Harvard manuscript: these 1820, 1839. 

***

ODE TO LIBERTY. 

[Composed early in 1820, and published, with "Prometheus Unbound", inthe same year. A transcript in Shelley's hand of lines 1-21 is includedin the Harvard manuscript book, and amongst the Boscombe manuscriptsthere is a fragment of a rough draft (Garnett). For further particularsconcerning the text see Editor's Notes. ]

Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying, Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind. --BYRON. 

1. A glorious people vibrated againThe lightning of the nations: LibertyFrom heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er Spain, Scattering contagious fire into the sky, Gleamed. My soul spurned the chains of its dismay, _5And in the rapid plumes of songClothed itself, sublime and strong;As a young eagle soars the morning clouds among, Hovering inverse o'er its accustomed prey;Till from its station in the Heaven of fame _10The Spirit's whirlwind rapped it, and the rayOf the remotest sphere of living flameWhich paves the void was from behind it flung, As foam from a ship's swiftness, when there cameA voice out of the deep: I will record the same. _15

2. The Sun and the serenest Moon sprang forth:The burning stars of the abyss were hurledInto the depths of Heaven. The daedal earth, That island in the ocean of the world, Hung in its cloud of all-sustaining air: _20But this divinest universeWas yet a chaos and a curse, For thou wert not: but, power from worst producing worse, The spirit of the beasts was kindled there, And of the birds, and of the watery forms, _25And there was war among them, and despairWithin them, raging without truce or terms:The bosom of their violated nurseGroaned, for beasts warred on beasts, and worms on worms, And men on men; each heart was as a hell of storms. _30

3. Man, the imperial shape, then multipliedHis generations under the pavilionOf the Sun's throne: palace and pyramid, Temple and prison, to many a swarming millionWere, as to mountain-wolves their ragged caves. _35This human living multitudeWas savage, cunning, blind, and rude, For thou wert not; but o'er the populous solitude, Like one fierce cloud over a waste of waves, Hung Tyranny; beneath, sate deified _40The sister-pest, congregator of slaves;Into the shadow of her pinions wideAnarchs and priests, who feed on gold and bloodTill with the stain their inmost souls are dyed, Drove the astonished herds of men from every side. _45

4. The nodding promontories, and blue isles, And cloud-like mountains, and dividuous wavesOf Greece, basked glorious in the open smilesOf favouring Heaven: from their enchanted cavesProphetic echoes flung dim melody. _50On the unapprehensive wildThe vine, the corn, the olive mild, Grew savage yet, to human use unreconciled;And, like unfolded flowers beneath the sea, Like the man's thought dark in the infant's brain, _55Like aught that is which wraps what is to be, Art's deathless dreams lay veiled by many a veinOf Parian stone; and, yet a speechless child, Verse murmured, and Philosophy did strainHer lidless eyes for thee; when o'er the Aegean main _60

5. Athens arose: a city such as visionBuilds from the purple crags and silver towersOf battlemented cloud, as in derisionOf kingliest masonry: the ocean-floorsPave it; the evening sky pavilions it; _65Its portals are inhabitedBy thunder-zoned winds, each headWithin its cloudy wings with sun-fire garlanded, --A divine work! Athens, diviner yet, Gleamed with its crest of columns, on the will _70Of man, as on a mount of diamond, set;For thou wert, and thine all-creative skillPeopled, with forms that mock the eternal deadIn marble immortality, that hillWhich was thine earliest throne and latest oracle. _75

6. Within the surface of Time's fleeting riverIts wrinkled image lies, as then it layImmovably unquiet, and for everIt trembles, but it cannot pass away!The voices of thy bards and sages thunder _80With an earth-awakening blastThrough the caverns of the past:(Religion veils her eyes; Oppression shrinks aghast:)A winged sound of joy, and love, and wonder, Which soars where Expectation never flew, _85Rending the veil of space and time asunder!One ocean feeds the clouds, and streams, and dew;One Sun illumines Heaven; one Spirit vastWith life and love makes chaos ever new, As Athens doth the world with thy delight renew. _90

7. Then Rome was, and from thy deep bosom fairest, Like a wolf-cub from a Cadmaean Maenad, She drew the milk of greatness, though thy dearestFrom that Elysian food was yet unweaned;And many a deed of terrible uprightness _95By thy sweet love was sanctified;And in thy smile, and by thy side, Saintly Camillus lived, and firm Atilius died. But when tears stained thy robe of vestal-whiteness, And gold profaned thy Capitolian throne, _100Thou didst desert, with spirit-winged lightness, The senate of the tyrants: they sunk proneSlaves of one tyrant: Palatinus sighedFaint echoes of Ionian song; that toneThou didst delay to hear, lamenting to disown _105

8. From what Hyrcanian glen or frozen hill, Or piny promontory of the Arctic main, Or utmost islet inaccessible, Didst thou lament the ruin of thy reign, Teaching the woods and waves, and desert rocks, _110And every Naiad's ice-cold urn, To talk in echoes sad and sternOf that sublimest lore which man had dared unlearn?For neither didst thou watch the wizard flocksOf the Scald's dreams, nor haunt the Druid's sleep. _115What if the tears rained through thy shattered locksWere quickly dried? for thou didst groan, not weep, When from its sea of death, to kill and burn, The Galilean serpent forth did creep, And made thy world an undistinguishable heap. _120

9. A thousand years the Earth cried, 'Where art thou?'And then the shadow of thy coming fellOn Saxon Alfred's olive-cinctured brow:And many a warrior-peopled citadel. Like rocks which fire lifts out of the flat deep, _125Arose in sacred Italy, Frowning o'er the tempestuous seaOf kings, and priests, and slaves, in tower-crowned majesty;That multitudinous anarchy did sweepAnd burst around their walls, like idle foam, _130Whilst from the human spirit's deepest deepStrange melody with love and awe struck dumbDissonant arms; and Art, which cannot die, With divine wand traced on our earthly homeFit imagery to pave Heaven's everlasting dome. _135

10. Thou huntress swifter than the Moon! thou terrorOf the world's wolves! thou bearer of the quiver, Whose sunlike shafts pierce tempest-winged Error, As light may pierce the clouds when they disseverIn the calm regions of the orient day! _140Luther caught thy wakening glance;Like lightning, from his leaden lanceReflected, it dissolved the visions of the tranceIn which, as in a tomb, the nations lay;And England's prophets hailed thee as their queen, _145In songs whose music cannot pass away, Though it must flow forever: not unseenBefore the spirit-sighted countenanceOf Milton didst thou pass, from the sad sceneBeyond whose night he saw, with a dejected mien. _150

11. The eager hours and unreluctant yearsAs on a dawn-illumined mountain stood. Trampling to silence their loud hopes and fears, Darkening each other with their multitude, And cried aloud, 'Liberty!' Indignation _155Answered Pity from her cave;Death grew pale within the grave, And Desolation howled to the destroyer, Save!When like Heaven's Sun girt by the exhalationOf its own glorious light, thou didst arise. _160Chasing thy foes from nation unto nationLike shadows: as if day had cloven the skiesAt dreaming midnight o'er the western wave, Men started, staggering with a glad surprise, Under the lightnings of thine unfamiliar eyes. _165

12. Thou Heaven of earth! what spells could pall thee thenIn ominous eclipse? a thousand yearsBred from the slime of deep Oppression's den. Dyed all thy liquid light with blood and tears. Till thy sweet stars could weep the stain away; _170How like Bacchanals of bloodRound France, the ghastly vintage, stoodDestruction's sceptred slaves, and Folly's mitred brood!When one, like them, but mightier far than they, The Anarch of thine own bewildered powers, _175Rose: armies mingled in obscure array, Like clouds with clouds, darkening the sacred bowersOf serene Heaven. He, by the past pursued, Rests with those dead, but unforgotten hours, Whose ghosts scare victor kings in their ancestral towers. _180

13. England yet sleeps: was she not called of old?Spain calls her now, as with its thrilling thunderVesuvius wakens Aetna, and the coldSnow-crags by its reply are cloven in sunder:O'er the lit waves every Aeolian isle _185From Pithecusa to PelorusHowls, and leaps, and glares in chorus:They cry, 'Be dim; ye lamps of Heaven suspended o'er us!'Her chains are threads of gold, she need but smileAnd they dissolve; but Spain's were links of steel, _190Till bit to dust by virtue's keenest file. Twins of a single destiny! appealTo the eternal years enthroned before usIn the dim West; impress us from a seal, All ye have thought and done! Time cannot dare conceal. _195

14. Tomb of Arminius! render up thy deadTill, like a standard from a watch-tower's staff, His soul may stream over the tyrant's head;Thy victory shall be his epitaph, Wild Bacchanal of truth's mysterious wine, _200King-deluded Germany, His dead spirit lives in thee. Why do we fear or hope? thou art already free!And thou, lost Paradise of this divineAnd glorious world! thou flowery wilderness! _205Thou island of eternity! thou shrineWhere Desolation, clothed with loveliness, Worships the thing thou wert! O Italy, Gather thy blood into thy heart; repressThe beasts who make their dens thy sacred palaces. _210

15. Oh, that the free would stamp the impious nameOf KING into the dust! or write it there, So that this blot upon the page of fameWere as a serpent's path, which the light airErases, and the flat sands close behind! _215Ye the oracle have heard:Lift the victory-flashing sword. And cut the snaky knots of this foul gordian word, Which, weak itself as stubble, yet can bindInto a mass, irrefragably firm, _220The axes and the rods which awe mankind;The sound has poison in it, 'tis the spermOf what makes life foul, cankerous, and abhorred;Disdain not thou, at thine appointed term, To set thine armed heel on this reluctant worm. _225

16. Oh, that the wise from their bright minds would kindleSuch lamps within the dome of this dim world, That the pale name of PRIEST might shrink and dwindleInto the hell from which it first was hurled, A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure; _230Till human thoughts might kneel alone, Each before the judgement-throneOf its own aweless soul, or of the Power unknown!Oh, that the words which make the thoughts obscureFrom which they spring, as clouds of glimmering dew _235From a white lake blot Heaven's blue portraiture, Were stripped of their thin masks and various hueAnd frowns and smiles and splendours not their own, Till in the nakedness of false and trueThey stand before their Lord, each to receive its due! _240

17. He who taught man to vanquish whatsoeverCan be between the cradle and the graveCrowned him the King of Life. Oh, vain endeavour!If on his own high will, a willing slave, He has enthroned the oppression and the oppressor _245What if earth can clothe and feedAmplest millions at their need, And power in thought be as the tree within the seed?Or what if Art, an ardent intercessor, Driving on fiery wings to Nature's throne, _250Checks the great mother stooping to caress her, And cries: 'Give me, thy child, dominionOver all height and depth'? if Life can breedNew wants, and wealth from those who toil and groan, Rend of thy gifts and hers a thousandfold for one! _255

18. Come thou, but lead out of the inmost caveOf man's deep spirit, as the morning-starBeckons the Sun from the Eoan wave, Wisdom. I hear the pennons of her carSelf-moving, like cloud charioted by flame; _260Comes she not, and come ye not, Rulers of eternal thought, To judge, with solemn truth, life's ill-apportioned lot?Blind Love, and equal Justice, and the FameOf what has been, the Hope of what will be? _265O Liberty! if such could be thy nameWert thou disjoined from these, or they from thee:If thine or theirs were treasures to be boughtBy blood or tears, have not the wise and freeWept tears, and blood like tears?--The solemn harmony _270

19. Paused, and the Spirit of that mighty singingTo its abyss was suddenly withdrawn;Then, as a wild swan, when sublimely wingingIts path athwart the thunder-smoke of dawn, Sinks headlong through the aereal golden light _275On the heavy-sounding plain, When the bolt has pierced its brain;As summer clouds dissolve, unburthened of their rain;As a far taper fades with fading night, As a brief insect dies with dying day, -- _280My song, its pinions disarrayed of might, Drooped; o'er it closed the echoes far awayOf the great voice which did its flight sustain, As waves which lately paved his watery wayHiss round a drowner's head in their tempestuous play. _285

NOTES:_4 into]unto Harvard manuscript. _9 inverse cj. Rossetti; in verse 1820. _92 See the Bacchae of Euripides--[SHELLEY'S NOTE]. _113 lore 1839; love 1820. _116 shattered]scattered cj. Rossetti. _134 wand 1820; want 1830. _194 us]as cj. Forman. _212 KING Boscombe manuscript; **** 1820, 1839; CHRIST cj. Swinburne. _249 Or 1839; O, 1820. _250 Driving 1820; Diving 1839. 

***

CANCELLED PASSAGE OF THE ODE TO LIBERTY. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

Within a cavern of man's trackless spiritIs throned an Image, so intensely fairThat the adventurous thoughts that wander near itWorship, and as they kneel, tremble and wearThe splendour of its presence, and the light _5Penetrates their dreamlike frameTill they become charged with the strength of flame. 

***

TO --. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, Thou needest not fear mine;My spirit is too deeply ladenEver to burthen thine. 

2. I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion, _5Thou needest not fear mine;Innocent is the heart's devotionWith which I worship thine. 

***

ARETHUSA. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and dated by her'Pisa, 1820. ' There is a fair draft amongst the Shelley manuscripts atthe Bodleian Library. See Mr. C. D. Locock's "Examination", etc. , 1903, page 24. ]

1. Arethusa aroseFrom her couch of snowsIn the Acroceraunian mountains, --From cloud and from crag, With many a jag, _5Shepherding her bright fountains. She leapt down the rocks, With her rainbow locksStreaming among the streams;--Her steps paved with green _10The downward ravineWhich slopes to the western gleams;And gliding and springingShe went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep; _15The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep. 

2. Then Alpheus bold, On his glacier cold, _20With his trident the mountains strook;And opened a chasmIn the rocks--with the spasmAll Erymanthus shook. And the black south wind _25It unsealed behindThe urns of the silent snow, And earthquake and thunderDid rend in sunderThe bars of the springs below. _30And the beard and the hairOf the River-god wereSeen through the torrent's sweep, As he followed the lightOf the fleet nymph's flight _35To the brink of the Dorian deep. 

3. 'Oh, save me! Oh, guide me!And bid the deep hide me, For he grasps me now by the hair!'The loud Ocean heard, _40To its blue depth stirred, And divided at her prayer;And under the waterThe Earth's white daughterFled like a sunny beam; _45Behind her descendedHer billows, unblendedWith the brackish Dorian stream:--Like a gloomy stainOn the emerald main _50Alpheus rushed behind, --As an eagle pursuingA dove to its ruinDown the streams of the cloudy wind. 

4. Under the bowers _55Where the Ocean PowersSit on their pearled thrones;Through the coral woodsOf the weltering floods, Over heaps of unvalued stones; _60Through the dim beamsWhich amid the streamsWeave a network of coloured light;And under the caves, Where the shadowy waves _65Are as green as the forest's night:--Outspeeding the shark, And the sword-fish dark, Under the Ocean's foam, And up through the rifts _70Of the mountain cliftsThey passed to their Dorian home. 

5. And now from their fountainsIn Enna's mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks, _75Like friends once partedGrown single-hearted, They ply their watery tasks. At sunrise they leapFrom their cradles steep _80In the cave of the shelving hill;At noontide they flowThrough the woods belowAnd the meadows of asphodel;And at night they sleep _85In the rocking deepBeneath the Ortygian shore;--Like spirits that lieIn the azure skyWhen they love but live no more. _90

NOTES:_6 unsealed B. ; concealed 1824. _31 And the B. ; The 1824. _69 Ocean's B. ; ocean 1824. 

***

SONG OF PROSERPINE WHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF ENNA. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. Thereis a fair draft amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the BodleianLibrary. See Mr. C. D. Locock's "Examination, " etc. , 1903, page 24. ]

1. Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosomGods, and men, and beasts have birth, Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine _5On thine own child, Proserpine. 

2. If with mists of evening dewThou dost nourish these young flowersTill they grow, in scent and hue, Fairest children of the Hours, _10Breathe thine influence most divineOn thine own child, Proserpine. 

***

HYMN OF APOLLO. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a fairdraft amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian. See Mr. C. D. Locock's "Examination", etc. , 1903, page 25. ]

1. The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie, Curtained with star-inwoven tapestriesFrom the broad moonlight of the sky, Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes, --Waken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn, _5Tells them that dreams and that the moon is gone. 

2. Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome, I walk over the mountains and the waves, Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam;My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the caves _10Are filled with my bright presence, and the airLeaves the green Earth to my embraces bare. 

3. The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I killDeceit, that loves the night and fears the day;All men who do or even imagine ill _15Fly me, and from the glory of my rayGood minds and open actions take new might, Until diminished by the reign of Night. 

4. I feed the clouds, the rainbows and the flowersWith their aethereal colours; the moon's globe _20And the pure stars in their eternal bowersAre cinctured with my power as with a robe;Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shineAre portions of one power, which is mine. 

5. I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven, _25Then with unwilling steps I wander downInto the clouds of the Atlantic even;For grief that I depart they weep and frown:What look is more delightful than the smileWith which I soothe them from the western isle? _30

6. I am the eye with which the UniverseBeholds itself and knows itself divine;All harmony of instrument or verse, All prophecy, all medicine is mine, All light of art or nature;--to my song _35Victory and praise in its own right belong. 

NOTES:_32 itself divine]it is divine B. _34 is B. ; are 1824. _36 its cj. Rossetti, 1870, B. ; their 1824. 

***

HYMN OF PAN. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a fairdraft amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian. See Mr. C. D. Locock's "Examination", etc. , 1903, page 25. ]

1. From the forests and highlandsWe come, we come;From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumbListening to my sweet pipings. _5The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes, The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, _10Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, Listening to my sweet pipings. 

2. Liquid Peneus was flowing, And all dark Tempe layIn Pelion's shadow, outgrowing _15The light of the dying day, Speeded by my sweet pipings. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, And the Nymphs of the woods and the waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns, _20And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, With envy of my sweet pipings. 

3. I sang of the dancing stars, _25I sang of the daedal Earth, And of Heaven--and the giant wars, And Love, and Death, and Birth, --And then I changed my pipings, --Singing how down the vale of Maenalus _30I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed. Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!It breaks in our bosom and then we bleed:All wept, as I think both ye now would, If envy or age had not frozen your blood, _35At the sorrow of my sweet pipings. 

NOTE:_5, _12 Listening to]Listening B. 

***

THE QUESTION. 

[Published by Leigh Hunt (with the signature Sigma) in "The LiteraryPocket-Book", 1822. Reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Copies exist in the Harvard manuscript book, amongst the Boscombemanuscripts, and amongst Ollier manuscripts. ]

1. I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way, Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, And gentle odours led my steps astray, Mixed with a sound of waters murmuringAlong a shelving bank of turf, which lay _5Under a copse, and hardly dared to flingIts green arms round the bosom of the stream, But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in dream. 

2. There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth, _10The constellated flower that never sets;Faint oxslips; tender bluebells, at whose birthThe sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets--Like a child, half in tenderness and mirth--Its mother's face with Heaven's collected tears, _15When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. 

3. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, Green cowbind and the moonlight-coloured may, And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wineWas the bright dew, yet drained not by the day; _20And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray;And flowers azure, black, and streaked with gold, Fairer than any wakened eyes behold. 

4. And nearer to the river's trembling edge _25There grew broad flag-flowers, purple pranked with white. And starry river buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedgeWith moonlight beams of their own watery light; _30And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep greenAs soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 

5. Methought that of these visionary flowersI made a nosegay, bound in such a wayThat the same hues, which in their natural bowers _35Were mingled or opposed, the like arrayKept these imprisoned children of the HoursWithin my hand, --and then, elate and gay, I hastened to the spot whence I had come, That I might there present it!--Oh! to whom? _40

NOTES:_14 Like... Mirth Harvard manuscript, Boscombe manuscript; wanting in Ollier manuscript, 1822, 1824, 1839. _15 Heaven's collected Harvard manuscript, Ollier manuscript, 1822; Heaven-collected 1824, 1839. 

***

THE TWO SPIRITS: AN ALLEGORY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

FIRST SPIRIT:O thou, who plumed with strong desireWouldst float above the earth, beware!A Shadow tracks thy flight of fire--Night is coming!Bright are the regions of the air, _5And among the winds and beamsIt were delight to wander there--Night is coming!

SECOND SPIRIT:The deathless stars are bright above;If I would cross the shade of night, _10Within my heart is the lamp of love, And that is day!And the moon will smile with gentle lightOn my golden plumes where'er they move;The meteors will linger round my flight, _15And make night day. 

FIRST SPIRIT:But if the whirlwinds of darkness wakenHail, and lightning, and stormy rain;See, the bounds of the air are shaken--Night is coming! _20The red swift clouds of the hurricaneYon declining sun have overtaken, The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain--Night is coming!

SECOND SPIRIT:I see the light, and I hear the sound; _25I'll sail on the flood of the tempest darkWith the calm within and the light aroundWhich makes night day:And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark, Look from thy dull earth, slumber-bound, _30My moon-like flight thou then mayst markOn high, far away. 

... 

Some say there is a precipiceWhere one vast pine is frozen to ruinO'er piles of snow and chasms of ice _35Mid Alpine mountains;And that the languid storm pursuingThat winged shape, for ever fliesRound those hoar branches, aye renewingIts aery fountains. _40

Some say when nights are dry and clear, And the death-dews sleep on the morass, Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller, Which make night day:And a silver shape like his early love doth pass _45Upborne by her wild and glittering hair, And when he awakes on the fragrant grass, He finds night day. 

NOTES:_2 Wouldst 1839; Would 1824. _31 moon-like 1824; moonlight 1839. _44 make]makes 1824, 1839. 

***

ODE TO NAPLES. 

(The Author has connected many recollections of his visit to Pompeiiand Baiae with the enthusiasm excited by the intelligence of theproclamation of a Constitutional Government at Naples. This has given atinge of picturesque and descriptive imagery to the introductory Epodeswhich depicture these scenes, and some of the majestic feelingspermanently connected with the scene of this animatingevent. --[SHELLEY'S NOTE. ])

[Composed at San Juliano di Pisa, August 17-25, 1820; published in"Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a copy, 'for the most part neat andlegible, ' amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. SeeMr. C. D. Locock's "Examination", etc. , 1903, pages 14-18. ]

EPODE 1a. 

I stood within the City disinterred;And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfallsOf spirits passing through the streets; and heardThe Mountain's slumberous voice at intervalsThrill through those roofless halls; _5The oracular thunder penetrating shookThe listening soul in my suspended blood;I felt that Earth out of her deep heart spoke--I felt, but heard not:--through white columns glowedThe isle-sustaining ocean-flood, _10A plane of light between two heavens of azure!Around me gleamed many a bright sepulchreOf whose pure beauty, Time, as if his pleasureWere to spare Death, had never made erasure;But every living lineament was clear _15As in the sculptor's thought; and thereThe wreaths of stony myrtle, ivy, and pine, Like winter leaves o'ergrown by moulded snow, Seemed only not to move and growBecause the crystal silence of the air _20Weighed on their life; even as the Power divineWhich then lulled all things, brooded upon mine. 

NOTE:_1 Pompeii. --[SHELLEY'S NOTE. ]

EPODE 2a. 

Then gentle winds aroseWith many a mingled closeOf wild Aeolian sound, and mountain-odours keen; _25And where the Baian oceanWelters with airlike motion, Within, above, around its bowers of starry green, Moving the sea-flowers in those purple caves, Even as the ever stormless atmosphere _30Floats o'er the Elysian realm, It bore me, like an Angel, o'er the wavesOf sunlight, whose swift pinnace of dewy airNo storm can overwhelm. I sailed, where ever flows _35Under the calm SereneA spirit of deep emotionFrom the unknown gravesOf the dead Kings of Melody. Shadowy Aornos darkened o'er the helm _40The horizontal aether; Heaven stripped bareIts depth over Elysium, where the prowMade the invisible water white as snow;From that Typhaean mount, Inarime, There streamed a sunbright vapour, like the standard _45Of some aethereal host;Whilst from all the coast, Louder and louder, gathering round, there wanderedOver the oracular woods and divine seaProphesyings which grew articulate--They seize me--I must speak them!--be they fate! _50

NOTES:_25 odours B. ; odour 1824. _42 depth B. ; depths 1824. _45 sun-bright B. ; sunlit 1824. _39 Homer and Virgil. --[SHELLEY'S NOTE. ]

STROPHE 1. 

Naples! thou Heart of men which ever pantestNaked, beneath the lidless eye of Heaven!Elysian City, which to calm enchantestThe mutinous air and sea! they round thee, even _55As sleep round Love, are driven!Metropolis of a ruined ParadiseLong lost, late won, and yet but half regained!Bright Altar of the bloodless sacrificeWhich armed Victory offers up unstained _60To Love, the flower-enchained!Thou which wert once, and then didst cease to be, Now art, and henceforth ever shalt be, free, If Hope, and Truth, and Justice can avail, --Hail, hail, all hail! _65

STROPHE 2. 

Thou youngest giant birthWhich from the groaning earthLeap'st, clothed in armour of impenetrable scale!Last of the Intercessors!Who 'gainst the Crowned Transgressors _70Pleadest before God's love! Arrayed in Wisdom's mail, Wave thy lightning lance in mirthNor let thy high heart fail, Though from their hundred gates the leagued OppressorsWith hurried legions move! _75Hail, hail, all hail!

ANTISTROPHE 1a. 

What though Cimmerian Anarchs dare blasphemeFreedom and thee? thy shield is as a mirrorTo make their blind slaves see, and with fierce gleamTo turn his hungry sword upon the wearer; _80A new Actaeon's errorShall theirs have been--devoured by their own hounds!Be thou like the imperial BasiliskKilling thy foe with unapparent wounds!Gaze on Oppression, till at that dread risk _85Aghast she pass from the Earth's disk:Fear not, but gaze--for freemen mightier grow, And slaves more feeble, gazing on their foe:--If Hope, and Truth, and Justice may avail, Thou shalt be great--All hail! _90

ANTISTROPHE 2a. 

From Freedom's form divine, From Nature's inmost shrine, Strip every impious gawd, rendError veil by veil;O'er Ruin desolate, O'er Falsehood's fallen state, _95Sit thou sublime, unawed; be the Destroyer pale!And equal laws be thine, And winged words let sail, Freighted with truth even from the throne of God:That wealth, surviving fate, _100Be thine. --All hail!

NOTE:_100 wealth-surviving cj. A. C. Bradley. 

ANTISTROPHE 1b. 

Didst thou not start to hear Spain's thrilling paeanFrom land to land re-echoed solemnly, Till silence became music? From the AeaeanTo the cold Alps, eternal Italy _105Starts to hear thine! The SeaWhich paves the desert streets of Venice laughsIn light, and music; widowed Genoa wanBy moonlight spells ancestral epitaphs, Murmuring, 'Where is Doria?' fair Milan, _110Within whose veins long ranThe viper's palsying venom, lifts her heelTo bruise his head. The signal and the seal(If Hope and Truth and Justice can avail)Art thou of all these hopes. --O hail! _115

NOTES:_104 Aeaea, the island of Circe. --[SHELLEY'S NOTE. ]_112 The viper was the armorial device of the Visconti, tyrants of Milan. --[SHELLEY'S NOTE. ]

ANTISTROPHE 2b. 

Florence! beneath the sun, Of cities fairest one, Blushes within her bower for Freedom's expectation:From eyes of quenchless hopeRome tears the priestly cope, _120As ruling once by power, so now by admiration, --An athlete stripped to runFrom a remoter stationFor the high prize lost on Philippi's shore:--As then Hope, Truth, and Justice did avail, _125So now may Fraud and Wrong! O hail!

EPODE 1b. 

Hear ye the march as of the Earth-born FormsArrayed against the ever-living Gods?The crash and darkness of a thousand stormsBursting their inaccessible abodes _130Of crags and thunder-clouds?See ye the banners blazoned to the day, Inwrought with emblems of barbaric pride?Dissonant threats kill Silence far away, The serene Heaven which wraps our Eden wide _135With iron light is dyed;The Anarchs of the North lead forth their legionsLike Chaos o'er creation, uncreating;An hundred tribes nourished on strange religionsAnd lawless slaveries, --down the aereal regions _140Of the white Alps, desolating, Famished wolves that bide no waiting, Blotting the glowing footsteps of old glory, Trampling our columned cities into dust, Their dull and savage lust _145On Beauty's corse to sickness satiating--They come! The fields they tread look black and hoaryWith fire--from their red feet the streams run gory!

EPODE 2b. 

Great Spirit, deepest Love!Which rulest and dost move _150All things which live and are, within the Italian shore;Who spreadest Heaven around it, Whose woods, rocks, waves, surround it;Who sittest in thy star, o'er Ocean's western floor;Spirit of beauty! at whose soft command _155The sunbeams and the showers distil its foisonFrom the Earth's bosom chill;Oh, bid those beams be each a blinding brandOf lightning! bid those showers be dews of poison!Bid the Earth's plenty kill! _160Bid thy bright Heaven above, Whilst light and darkness bound it, Be their tomb who plannedTo make it ours and thine!Or, with thine harmonizing ardours fill _165And raise thy sons, as o'er the prone horizonThy lamp feeds every twilight wave with fire--Be man's high hope and unextinct desireThe instrument to work thy will divine!Then clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from leopards, _170And frowns and fears from thee, Would not more swiftly fleeThan Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shepherds. --Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrineThou yieldest or withholdest, oh, let be _175This city of thy worship ever free!

NOTES:_143 old 1824; lost B. _147 black 1824; blue B. 

***

AUTUMN: A DIRGE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. _5Come, Months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year, _10And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. 

2. The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone _15To his dwelling;Come, Months, come away;Put on white, black, and gray;Let your light sisters play--Ye, follow the bier _20Of the dead cold Year, And make her grave green with tear on tear. 

***

THE WANING MOON. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

And like a dying lady, lean and pale, Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil, Out of her chamber, led by the insaneAnd feeble wanderings of her fading brain, The moon arose up in the murky East, _5A white and shapeless mass--

***

TO THE MOON. 

[Published (1) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, (2) by W. M. Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works", 1870. ]

1. Art thou pale for wearinessOf climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionlessAmong the stars that have a different birth, --And ever changing, like a joyless eye _5That finds no object worth its constancy?

2. Thou chosen sister of the Spirit, That grazes on thee till in thee it pities... 

***

DEATH. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. Death is here and death is there, Death is busy everywhere, All around, within, beneath, Above is death--and we are death. 

2. Death has set his mark and seal _5On all we are and all we feel, On all we know and all we fear, ... 

3. First our pleasures die--and thenOur hopes, and then our fears--and whenThese are dead, the debt is due, _10Dust claims dust--and we die too. 

4. All things that we love and cherish, Like ourselves must fade and perish;Such is our rude mortal lot--Love itself would, did they not. _15

***

LIBERTY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. The fiery mountains answer each other;Their thunderings are echoed from zone to zone;The tempestuous oceans awake one another, And the ice-rocks are shaken round Winter's throne, When the clarion of the Typhoon is blown. _5

2. From a single cloud the lightening flashes, Whilst a thousand isles are illumined around, Earthquake is trampling one city to ashes, An hundred are shuddering and tottering; the soundIs bellowing underground. _10

3. But keener thy gaze than the lightening's glare, And swifter thy step than the earthquake's tramp;Thou deafenest the rage of the ocean; thy stareMakes blind the volcanoes; the sun's bright lampTo thine is a fen-fire damp. _15

4. From billow and mountain and exhalationThe sunlight is darted through vapour and blast;From spirit to spirit, from nation to nation, From city to hamlet thy dawning is cast, --And tyrants and slaves are like shadows of night _20In the van of the morning light. 

NOTE:_4 zone editions 1824, 1839; throne later editions. 

***

SUMMER AND WINTER. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley in "The Keepsake", 1829. Mr. C. W. Frederickson of Brooklyn possesses a transcript in Mrs. Shelley'shandwriting. ]

It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Towards the end of the sunny month of June, When the north wind congregates in crowdsThe floating mountains of the silver cloudsFrom the horizon--and the stainless sky _5Opens beyond them like eternity. All things rejoiced beneath the sun; the weeds, The river, and the corn-fields, and the reeds;The willow leaves that glanced in the light breeze, And the firm foliage of the larger trees. _10

It was a winter such as when birds dieIn the deep forests; and the fishes lieStiffened in the translucent ice, which makesEven the mud and slime of the warm lakesA wrinkled clod as hard as brick; and when, _15Among their children, comfortable menGather about great fires, and yet feel cold:Alas, then, for the homeless beggar old!

NOTE:_11 birds die 1839; birds do die 1829. 

***

THE TOWER OF FAMINE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley in "The Keepsake", 1829. Mr. C. W. Frederickson of Brooklyn possesses a transcript in Mrs. Shelley'shandwriting. ]

Amid the desolation of a city, Which was the cradle, and is now the graveOf an extinguished people, --so that Pity

Weeps o'er the shipwrecks of Oblivion's wave, There stands the Tower of Famine. It is built _5Upon some prison-homes, whose dwellers rave

For bread, and gold, and blood: Pain, linked to Guilt, Agitates the light flame of their hours, Until its vital oil is spent or spilt. 

There stands the pile, a tower amid the towers _10And sacred domes; each marble-ribbed roof, The brazen-gated temples, and the bowers

Of solitary wealth, --the tempest-proofPavilions of the dark Italian air, --Are by its presence dimmed--they stand aloof, _15

And are withdrawn--so that the world is bare;As if a spectre wrapped in shapeless terrorAmid a company of ladies fair

Should glide and glow, till it became a mirrorOf all their beauty, and their hair and hue, _20The life of their sweet eyes, with all its error, Should be absorbed, till they to marble grew. 

NOTE:_7 For]With 1829. 

***

AN ALLEGORY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. A portal as of shadowy adamantStands yawning on the highway of the lifeWhich we all tread, a cavern huge and gaunt;Around it rages an unceasing strifeOf shadows, like the restless clouds that haunt _5The gap of some cleft mountain, lifted highInto the whirlwinds of the upper sky. 

2. And many pass it by with careless tread, Not knowing that a shadowy ... Tracks every traveller even to where the dead _10Wait peacefully for their companion new;But others, by more curious humour led, Pause to examine;--these are very few, And they learn little there, except to knowThat shadows follow them where'er they go. _15

NOTE:_8 pass Rossetti; passed editions 1824, 1839. 

***

THE WORLD'S WANDERERS. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of lightSpeed thee in thy fiery flight, In what cavern of the nightWill thy pinions close now?

2. Tell me, Moon, thou pale and gray _5Pilgrim of Heaven's homeless way, In what depth of night or daySeekest thou repose now?

3. Weary Wind, who wanderestLike the world's rejected guest, _10Hast thou still some secret nestOn the tree or billow?

***

SONNET. 

[Published by Leigh Hunt, "The Literary Pocket-Book", 1823. There is atranscript amongst the Ollier manuscripts, and another in the Harvardmanuscript book. ]

Ye hasten to the grave! What seek ye there, Ye restless thoughts and busy purposesOf the idle brain, which the world's livery wear?O thou quick heart, which pantest to possessAll that pale Expectation feigneth fair! _5Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guessWhence thou didst come, and whither thou must go, And all that never yet was known would know--Oh, whither hasten ye, that thus ye press, With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path, _10Seeking, alike from happiness and woe, A refuge in the cavern of gray death?O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do youHope to inherit in the grave below?

NOTE:_1 grave Ollier manuscript; dead Harvard manuscript, 1823, editions 1824, 1839. _5 pale Expectation Ollier manuscript; anticipation Harvard manuscript, 1823, editions 1824, 1839. _7 must Harvard manuscript, 1823; mayst 1824; mayest editions 1839. _8 all that Harvard manuscript, 1823; that which editions 1824, 1839. Would Harvard manuscript, 1823; wouldst editions 1839. 

***

LINES TO A REVIEWER. 

[Published by Leigh Hunt, "The Literary Pocket-Book", 1823. Theselines, and the "Sonnet" immediately preceding, are signed Sigma in the"Literary Pocket-Book". ]

Alas, good friend, what profit can you seeIn hating such a hateless thing as me?There is no sport in hate where all the rageIs on one side: in vain would you assuageYour frowns upon an unresisting smile, _5In which not even contempt lurks to beguileYour heart, by some faint sympathy of hate. Oh, conquer what you cannot satiate!For to your passion I am far more coyThan ever yet was coldest maid or boy _10In winter noon. Of your antipathyIf I am the Narcissus, you are freeTo pine into a sound with hating me. 

NOTE:_3 where editions 1824, 1839; when 1823. 

***

FRAGMENT OF A SATIRE ON SATIRE. 

[Published by Edward Dowden, "Correspondence of Robert Southey andCaroline Bowles", 1880. ]

If gibbets, axes, confiscations, chains, And racks of subtle torture, if the painsOf shame, of fiery Hell's tempestuous wave, Seen through the caverns of the shadowy grave, Hurling the damned into the murky air _5While the meek blest sit smiling; if DespairAnd Hate, the rapid bloodhounds with which TerrorHunts through the world the homeless steps of Error, Are the true secrets of the commonwealTo make men wise and just;... _10And not the sophisms of revenge and fear, Bloodier than is revenge... Then send the priests to every hearth and homeTo preach the burning wrath which is to come, In words like flakes of sulphur, such as thaw _15The frozen tears... If Satire's scourge could wake the slumbering houndsOf Conscience, or erase the deeper wounds, The leprous scars of callous Infamy;If it could make the present not to be, _20Or charm the dark past never to have been, Or turn regret to hope; who that has seenWhat Southey is and was, would not exclaim, 'Lash on!' ... Be the keen verse dipped in flame;Follow his flight with winged words, and urge _25The strokes of the inexorable scourgeUntil the heart be naked, till his soulSee the contagion's spots ... Foul;And from the mirror of Truth's sunlike shield, From which his Parthian arrow... _30Flash on his sight the spectres of the past, Until his mind's eye paint thereon--Let scorn like ... Yawn below, And rain on him like flakes of fiery snow. This cannot be, it ought not, evil still-- _35Suffering makes suffering, ill must follow ill. Rough words beget sad thoughts, ... And, beside, Men take a sullen and a stupid prideIn being all they hate in others' shame, By a perverse antipathy of fame. _40'Tis not worth while to prove, as I could, howFrom the sweet fountains of our Nature flowThese bitter waters; I will only say, If any friend would take Southey some day, And tell him, in a country walk alone, _45Softening harsh words with friendship's gentle tone, How incorrect his public conduct is, And what men think of it, 'twere not amiss. Far better than to make innocent ink--

***

GOOD-NIGHT. 

[Published by Leigh Hunt over the signature Sigma, "The LiteraryPocket-Book", 1822. It is included in the Harvard manuscript book, andthere is a transcript by Shelley in a copy of "The LiteraryPocket-Book", 1819, presented by him to Miss Sophia Stacey, December29, 1820. (See "Love's Philosophy" and "Time Long Past". ) Our text isthat of the editio princeps, 1822, with which the Harvard manuscriptand "Posthumous Poems", 1824, agree. The variants of the Staceymanuscript, 1820, are given in the footnotes. ]

1. Good-night? ah! no; the hour is illWhich severs those it should unite;Let us remain together still, Then it will be GOOD night. 

2. How can I call the lone night good, _5Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?Be it not said, thought, understood--Then it will be--GOOD night. 

3. To hearts which near each other moveFrom evening close to morning light, _10The night is good; because, my love, They never SAY good-night. 

NOTES:_1 Good-night? no, love! the night is ill Stacey manuscript. _5 How were the night without thee good Stacey manuscript. _9 The hearts that on each other beat Stacey manuscript. _11 Have nights as good as they are sweet Stacey manuscript. _12 But never SAY good night Stacey manuscript. 

***

BUONA NOTTE. 

[Published by Medwin, "The Angler in Wales, or Days and Nights ofSportsmen", 1834. The text is revised by Rossetti from the Boscombemanuscript. ]

1. 'Buona notte, buona notte!'--Come maiLa notte sara buona senza te?Non dirmi buona notte, --che tu sai, La notte sa star buona da per se. 

2. Solinga, scura, cupa, senza speme, _5La notte quando Lilla m'abbandona;Pei cuori chi si batton insiemeOgni notte, senza dirla, sara buona. 

3. Come male buona notte ci suonaCon sospiri e parole interrotte!-- _10Il modo di aver la notte buonaE mai non di dir la buona notte. 

NOTES:_2 sara]sia 1834. _4 buona]bene 1834. _9 Come]Quanto 1834. 

***

ORPHEUS. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862; revised andenlarged by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

A:Not far from hence. From yonder pointed hill, Crowned with a ring of oaks, you may beholdA dark and barren field, through which there flows, Sluggish and black, a deep but narrow stream, Which the wind ripples not, and the fair moon _5Gazes in vain, and finds no mirror there. Follow the herbless banks of that strange brookUntil you pause beside a darksome pond, The fountain of this rivulet, whose gushCannot be seen, hid by a rayless night _10That lives beneath the overhanging rockThat shades the pool--an endless spring of gloom, Upon whose edge hovers the tender light, Trembling to mingle with its paramour, --But, as Syrinx fled Pan, so night flies day, _15Or, with most sullen and regardless hate, Refuses stern her heaven-born embrace. On one side of this jagged and shapeless hillThere is a cave, from which there eddies upA pale mist, like aereal gossamer, _20Whose breath destroys all life--awhile it veilsThe rock--then, scattered by the wind, it fliesAlong the stream, or lingers on the clefts, Killing the sleepy worms, if aught bide there. Upon the beetling edge of that dark rock _25There stands a group of cypresses; not suchAs, with a graceful spire and stirring life, Pierce the pure heaven of your native vale, Whose branches the air plays among, but notDisturbs, fearing to spoil their solemn grace; _30But blasted and all wearily they stand, One to another clinging; their weak boughsSigh as the wind buffets them, and they shakeBeneath its blasts--a weatherbeaten crew!

CHORUS:What wondrous sound is that, mournful and faint, _35But more melodious than the murmuring windWhich through the columns of a temple glides?

A:It is the wandering voice of Orpheus' lyre, Borne by the winds, who sigh that their rude kingHurries them fast from these air-feeding notes; _40But in their speed they bear along with themThe waning sound, scattering it like dewUpon the startled sense. 

CHORUS:Does he still sing?Methought he rashly cast away his harpWhen he had lost Eurydice. 

A:Ah, no! _45Awhile he paused. As a poor hunted stagA moment shudders on the fearful brinkOf a swift stream--the cruel hounds press onWith deafening yell, the arrows glance and wound, --He plunges in: so Orpheus, seized and torn _50By the sharp fangs of an insatiate grief, Maenad-like waved his lyre in the bright air, And wildly shrieked 'Where she is, it is dark!'And then he struck from forth the strings a soundOf deep and fearful melody. Alas! _55In times long past, when fair EurydiceWith her bright eyes sat listening by his side, He gently sang of high and heavenly themes. As in a brook, fretted with little wavesBy the light airs of spring--each riplet makes _60A many-sided mirror for the sun, While it flows musically through green banks, Ceaseless and pauseless, ever clear and fresh, So flowed his song, reflecting the deep joyAnd tender love that fed those sweetest notes, _65The heavenly offspring of ambrosial food. But that is past. Returning from drear Hell, He chose a lonely seat of unhewn stone, Blackened with lichens, on a herbless plain. Then from the deep and overflowing spring _70Of his eternal ever-moving griefThere rose to Heaven a sound of angry song. 'Tis as a mighty cataract that partsTwo sister rocks with waters swift and strong, _75And casts itself with horrid roar and dinAdown a steep; from a perennial sourceIt ever flows and falls, and breaks the airWith loud and fierce, but most harmonious roar, And as it falls casts up a vaporous sprayWhich the sun clothes in hues of Iris light. _80Thus the tempestuous torrent of his griefIs clothed in sweetest sounds and varying wordsOf poesy. Unlike all human works, It never slackens, and through every changeWisdom and beauty and the power divine _85Of mighty poesy together dwell, Mingling in sweet accord. As I have seenA fierce south blast tear through the darkened sky, Driving along a rack of winged clouds, Which may not pause, but ever hurry on, _90As their wild shepherd wills them, while the stars, Twinkling and dim, peep from between the plumes. Anon the sky is cleared, and the high domeOf serene Heaven, starred with fiery flowers, Shuts in the shaken earth; or the still moon _95Swiftly, yet gracefully, begins her walk, Rising all bright behind the eastern hills. I talk of moon, and wind, and stars, and notOf song; but, would I echo his high song, Nature must lend me words ne'er used before, _100Or I must borrow from her perfect works, To picture forth his perfect attributes. He does no longer sit upon his throneOf rock upon a desert herbless plain, For the evergreen and knotted ilexes, _105And cypresses that seldom wave their boughs, And sea-green olives with their grateful fruit, And elms dragging along the twisted vines, Which drop their berries as they follow fast, And blackthorn bushes with their infant race _110Of blushing rose-blooms; beeches, to lovers dear, And weeping willow trees; all swift or slow, As their huge boughs or lighter dress permit, Have circled in his throne, and Earth herselfHas sent from her maternal breast a growth _115Of starlike flowers and herbs of odour sweet, To pave the temple that his poesyHas framed, while near his feet grim lions couch, And kids, fearless from love, creep near his lair. Even the blind worms seem to feel the sound. _120The birds are silent, hanging down their heads, Perched on the lowest branches of the trees;Not even the nightingale intrudes a noteIn rivalry, but all entranced she listens. 

NOTES:_16, _17, _24 1870 only. _45-_55 Ah, no!... Melody 1870 only. _66 1870 only. _112 trees 1870; too 1862. _113 huge 1870; long 1862. _116 starlike 1870; starry 1862. Odour 1862; odours 1870. 

***

FIORDISPINA. 

[Published in part (lines 11-30) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824; in full (from the Boscombe manuscript) by Dr. Garnett, "Relics ofShelley", 1862. ]

The season was the childhood of sweet June, Whose sunny hours from morning until noonWent creeping through the day with silent feet, Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet;Like the long years of blest Eternity _5Never to be developed. Joy to thee, Fiordispina and thy Cosimo, For thou the wonders of the depth canst knowOf this unfathomable flood of hours, Sparkling beneath the heaven which embowers-- _10

... 

They were two cousins, almost like to twins, Except that from the catalogue of sinsNature had rased their love--which could not beBut by dissevering their nativity. And so they grew together like two flowers _15Upon one stem, which the same beams and showersLull or awaken in their purple prime, Which the same hand will gather--the same climeShake with decay. This fair day smiles to seeAll those who love--and who e'er loved like thee, _20Fiordispina? Scarcely Cosimo, Within whose bosom and whose brain now glowThe ardours of a vision which obscureThe very idol of its portraiture. He faints, dissolved into a sea of love; _25But thou art as a planet sphered above;But thou art Love itself--ruling the motionOf his subjected spirit: such emotionMust end in sin and sorrow, if sweet MayHad not brought forth this morn--your wedding-day. _30

... 

'Lie there; sleep awhile in your own dew, Ye faint-eyed children of the ... Hours, 'Fiordispina said, and threw the flowersWhich she had from the breathing--

... 

A table near of polished porphyry. _35They seemed to wear a beauty from the eyeThat looked on them--a fragrance from the touchWhose warmth ... Checked their life; a light suchAs sleepers wear, lulled by the voice they love, which did reprove _40The childish pity that she felt for them, And a ... Remorse that from their stemShe had divided such fair shapes ... MadeA feeling in the ... Which was a shadeOf gentle beauty on the flowers: there lay _45All gems that make the earth's dark bosom gay.... Rods of myrtle-buds and lemon-blooms, And that leaf tinted lightly which assumesThe livery of unremembered snow--Violets whose eyes have drunk-- _50

... 

Fiordispina and her nurse are nowUpon the steps of the high portico, Under the withered arm of MediaShe flings her glowing arm

... 

... Step by step and stair by stair, _55That withered woman, gray and white and brown--More like a trunk by lichens overgrownThan anything which once could have been human. And ever as she goes the palsied woman

... 

'How slow and painfully you seem to walk, _60Poor Media! you tire yourself with talk. ''And well it may, Fiordispina, dearest--well-a-day!You are hastening to a marriage-bed;I to the grave!'--'And if my love were dead, _65Unless my heart deceives me, I would lieBeside him in my shroud as willinglyAs now in the gay night-dress Lilla wrought. ''Fie, child! Let that unseasonable thoughtNot be remembered till it snows in June; _70Such fancies are a music out of tuneWith the sweet dance your heart must keep to-night. What! would you take all beauty and delightBack to the Paradise from which you sprung, And leave to grosser mortals?-- _75And say, sweet lamb, would you not learn the sweetAnd subtle mystery by which spirits meet?Who knows whether the loving game is played, When, once of mortal [vesture] disarrayed, The naked soul goes wandering here and there _80Through the wide deserts of Elysian air?The violet dies not till it'--

NOTES:_11 to 1824; two editions 1839. _20 e'er 1862; ever editions 1824, 1839. _25 sea edition 1862; sense editions 1824, 1839. 

***

TIME LONG PAST. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. This is one of three poems (cf. "Love's Philosophy" and "Good-Night")transcribed by Shelley in a copy of Leigh Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book"for 1819 presented by him to Miss Sophia Stacey, December 29, 1820. ]

1. Like the ghost of a dear friend deadIs Time long past. A tone which is now forever fled, A hope which is now forever past, A love so sweet it could not last, _5Was Time long past. 

2. There were sweet dreams in the nightOf Time long past:And, was it sadness or delight, Each day a shadow onward cast _10Which made us wish it yet might last--That Time long past. 

3. There is regret, almost remorse, For Time long past. 'Tis like a child's beloved corse _15A father watches, till at lastBeauty is like remembrance, castFrom Time long past. 

***

FRAGMENT: THE DESERTS OF DIM SLEEP. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

I went into the deserts of dim sleep--That world which, like an unknown wilderness, Bounds this with its recesses wide and deep--

***

FRAGMENT: 'THE VIEWLESS AND INVISIBLE CONSEQUENCE'. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

The viewless and invisible ConsequenceWatches thy goings-out, and comings-in, And... Hovers o'er thy guilty sleep, Unveiling every new-born deed, and thoughtsMore ghastly than those deeds-- _5

***

FRAGMENT: A SERPENT-FACE. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

His face was like a snake's--wrinkled and looseAnd withered--

***

FRAGMENT: DEATH IN LIFE. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

My head is heavy, my limbs are weary, And it is not life that makes me move. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'SUCH HOPE, AS IS THE SICK DESPAIR OF GOOD'. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

Such hope, as is the sick despair of good, Such fear, as is the certainty of ill, Such doubt, as is pale Expectation's foodTurned while she tastes to poison, when the willIs powerless, and the spirit... _5

***

FRAGMENT: 'ALAS! THIS IS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT LIFE WAS'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. Thisfragment is joined by Forman with that immediately preceding. ]

Alas! this is not what I thought life was. I knew that there were crimes and evil men, Misery and hate; nor did I hope to passUntouched by suffering, through the rugged glen. In mine own heart I saw as in a glass _5The hearts of others ... And whenI went among my kind, with triple brassOf calm endurance my weak breast I armed, To bear scorn, fear, and hate, a woful mass!

***

FRAGMENT: MILTON'S SPIRIT. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

I dreamed that Milton's spirit rose, and tookFrom life's green tree his Uranian lute;And from his touch sweet thunder flowed, and shookAll human things built in contempt of man, --And sanguine thrones and impious altars quaked, _5Prisons and citadels... 

NOTE:_2 lute Uranian cj. A. C. Bradley. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'UNRISEN SPLENDOUR OF THE BRIGHTEST SUN'. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun, To rise upon our darkness, if the starNow beckoning thee out of thy misty throneCould thaw the clouds which wage an obscure warWith thy young brightness! _5

***

FRAGMENT: PATER OMNIPOTENS. 

[Edited from manuscript Shelley E 4 in the Bodleian Library, andpublished by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination" etc. , Oxford, ClarendonPress, 1903. Here placed conjecturally amongst the compositions of1820, but of uncertain date, and belonging possibly to 1819 or a stillearlier year. ]

Serene in his unconquerable mightEndued[, ] the Almighty King, his steadfast throneEncompassed unapproachably with powerAnd darkness and deep solitude an aweStood like a black cloud on some aery cliff _5Embosoming its lightning--in his sightUnnumbered glorious spirits trembling stoodLike slaves before their Lord--prostrate aroundHeaven's multitudes hymned everlasting praise. 

***

FRAGMENT: TO THE MIND OF MAN. 

[Edited, published and here placed as the preceding. ]

Thou living light that in thy rainbow huesClothest this naked world; and over SeaAnd Earth and air, and all the shapes that beIn peopled darkness of this wondrous worldThe Spirit of thy glory dost diffuse _5... Truth ... Thou Vital FlameMysterious thought that in this mortal frameOf things, with unextinguished lustre burnestNow pale and faint now high to Heaven upcurledThat eer as thou dost languish still returnest _10And everBefore the ... Before the Pyramids

So soon as from the Earth formless and rudeOne living step had chased drear SolitudeThou wert, Thought; thy brightness charmed the lids _15Of the vast snake Eternity, who keptThe tree of good and evil. --

***

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

We spent the latter part of the year 1819 in Florence, where Shelleypassed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes onits ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up alsoby the project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, toply between Leghorn and Marseilles, for which he supplied a sum ofmoney. This was a sort of plan to delight Shelley, and he was greatlydisappointed when it was thrown aside. 

There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with hishealth, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that weleft it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had somefriends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca asto the cause of Shelley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man, could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; heenjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leavehis complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of thehighest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt thisadvice. Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residenceat Pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequencewe remained. 

In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the houseof some friends who were absent on a journey to England. It was on abeautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whosemyrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard thecarolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful ofhis poems. He addressed the letter to Mrs. Gisborne from this house, which was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, whowas an engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in heryounger days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charmingfrom her frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense loveof knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preservedfreshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As afavourite friend of my father, we had sought her with eagerness; andthe most open and cordial friendship was established between us. 

Our stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. Atthe foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between theSerchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breakingits bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country isbelow the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it wasspeedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, inthe lower part of which our house was situated. The canal overflowed inthe garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst openthe doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet. It was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving thecattle from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire waskept up to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and theanimals showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, whichwas reflected again in the waters that filled the Square. 

We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter. The extreme mildness of the climate suited Shelley, and his solitudewas enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chancecast us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but itsvery peace suited Shelley. Its river, the near mountains, and notdistant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of manydelightful excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotterclimate, on account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring uswith terror. We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards;often, indeed, entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy, but still delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, Ibelieve we should have wandered over the world, both being passionatelyfond of travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterablenecessities, is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle atthe time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for theirinfluence over our destiny. 

***

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821. 

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and datedJanuary 1, 1821. ]

1. Orphan Hours, the Year is dead, Come and sigh, come and weep!Merry Hours, smile instead, For the Year is but asleep. See, it smiles as it is sleeping, _5Mocking your untimely weeping. 

2. As an earthquake rocks a corseIn its coffin in the clay, So White Winter, that rough nurse, Rocks the death-cold Year to-day; _10Solemn Hours! wail aloudFor your mother in her shroud. 

3. As the wild air stirs and swaysThe tree-swung cradle of a child, So the breath of these rude days _15Rocks the Year:--be calm and mild, Trembling Hours, she will ariseWith new love within her eyes. 

4. January gray is here, Like a sexton by her grave; _20February bears the bier, March with grief doth howl and rave, And April weeps--but, O ye Hours!Follow with May's fairest flowers. 

***

TO NIGHT. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book. ]

1. Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night!Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, _5'Which make thee terrible and dear, --Swift be thy flight!

2. Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, Star-inwrought!Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; _10Kiss her until she be wearied out, Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thine opiate wand--Come, long-sought!

3. When I arose and saw the dawn, _15I sighed for thee;When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. _20

4. Thy brother Death came, and cried, Wouldst thou me?Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, _25Shall I nestle near thy side?Wouldst thou me?--And I replied, No, not thee!

5. Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon-- _30Sleep will come when thou art fled;Of neither would I ask the boonI ask of thee, beloved Night--Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon! _35

NOTE:_1 o'er Harvard manuscript; over editions 1824, 1839. 

***

TIME. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woeAre brackish with the salt of human tears!Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flowClaspest the limits of mortality, _5And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, Who shall put forth on thee, Unfathomable Sea? _10

***

LINES. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. Far, far away, O yeHalcyons of Memory, Seek some far calmer nestThan this abandoned breast!No news of your false spring _5To my heart's winter bring, Once having gone, in vainYe come again. 

2. Vultures, who build your bowersHigh in the Future's towers, _10Withered hopes on hopes are spread!Dying joys, choked by the dead, Will serve your beaks for preyMany a day. 

***

FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is anintermediate draft amongst the Bodleian manuscripts. See Locock, "Examination", etc. , 1903, page 13. ]

1. My faint spirit was sitting in the lightOf thy looks, my love;It panted for thee like the hind at noonFor the brooks, my love. Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight _5Bore thee far from me;My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon, Did companion thee. 

2. Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steedOr the death they bear, _10The heart which tender thought clothes like a doveWith the wings of care;In the battle, in the darkness, in the need, Shall mine cling to thee, Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, _15It may bring to thee. 

NOTES:_3 hoofs]feet B. _7 were]grew B. _9 Ah!]O B. 

***

TO EMILIA VIVIANI. 

[Published, (1) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824; (2, 1) byDr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862; (2, 2 and 3) by H. BuxtonForman, "Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1876. ]

1. Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to meSweet-basil and mignonette?Embleming love and health, which never yetIn the same wreath might be. Alas, and they are wet! _5Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?For never rain or dewSuch fragrance drewFrom plant or flower--the very doubt endearsMy sadness ever new, _10The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee. 

2. Send the stars light, but send not love to me, In whom love ever madeHealth like a heap of embers soon to fade--

***

THE FUGITIVES. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems". 1824. ]

1. The waters are flashing, The white hail is dashing, The lightnings are glancing, The hoar-spray is dancing--Away! _5

The whirlwind is rolling, The thunder is tolling, The forest is swinging, The minster bells ringing--Come away! _10

The Earth is like Ocean, Wreck-strewn and in motion:Bird, beast, man and wormHave crept out of the storm--Come away! _15

2. 'Our boat has one sailAnd the helmsman is pale;--A bold pilot I trow, Who should follow us now, '--Shouted he-- _20

And she cried: 'Ply the oar!Put off gaily from shore!'--As she spoke, bolts of deathMixed with hail, specked their pathO'er the sea. _25

And from isle, tower and rock, The blue beacon-cloud broke, And though dumb in the blast, The red cannon flashed fastFrom the lee. _30

3. And 'Fear'st thou?' and 'Fear'st thou?'And Seest thou?' and 'Hear'st thou?'And 'Drive we not freeO'er the terrible sea, I and thou?' _35

One boat-cloak did coverThe loved and the lover--Their blood beats one measure, They murmur proud pleasureSoft and low;-- _40

While around the lashed Ocean, Like mountains in motion, Is withdrawn and uplifted, Sunk, shattered and shiftedTo and fro. _45

4. In the court of the fortressBeside the pale portress, Like a bloodhound well beatenThe bridegroom stands, eatenBy shame; _50

On the topmost watch-turret, As a death-boding spiritStands the gray tyrant father, To his voice the mad weatherSeems tame; _55

And with curses as wildAs e'er clung to child, He devotes to the blast, The best, loveliest and lastOf his name! _60

NOTES:_28 And though]Though editions 1839. _57 clung]cling editions 1839. 

***

TO --. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory--Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. 

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, _5Are heaped for the beloved's bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on. 

***

SONG. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book. ]

1. Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight!Wherefore hast thou left me nowMany a day and night?Many a weary night and day _5'Tis since thou art fled away. 

2. How shall ever one like meWin thee back again?With the joyous and the freeThou wilt scoff at pain. _10Spirit false! thou hast forgotAll but those who need thee not. 

3. As a lizard with the shadeOf a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismayed; _15Even the sighs of griefReproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear. 

4. Let me set my mournful dittyTo a merry measure; _20Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure;Pity then will cut awayThose cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. 

5. I love all that thou lovest, _25Spirit of Delight!The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed, And the starry night;Autumn evening, and the mornWhen the golden mists are born. _30

6. I love snow, and all the formsOf the radiant frost;I love waves, and winds, and storms, Everything almostWhich is Nature's, and may be _35Untainted by man's misery. 

7. I love tranquil solitude, And such societyAs is quiet, wise, and goodBetween thee and me _40What difference? but thou dost possessThe things I seek, not love them less. 

8. I love Love--though he has wings, And like light can flee, But above all other things, _45Spirit, I love thee--Thou art love and life! Oh, come, Make once more my heart thy home. 

***

MUTABILITY. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a fair draft amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. ]

1. The flower that smiles to-dayTo-morrow dies;All that we wish to stayTempts and then flies. What is this world's delight? _5Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. 

2. Virtue, how frail it is!Friendship how rare!Love, how it sells poor bliss _10For proud despair!But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy, and allWhich ours we call. 

3. Whilst skies are blue and bright, _15Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere nightMake glad the day;Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou--and from thy sleep _20Then wake to weep. 

NOTES:_9 how Boscombe manuscript; too editions 1824, 1839. _12 though soon they fall]though soon we or so soon they cj. Rossetti. 

***

LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON. 

[Published with "Hellas", 1821. ]

What! alive and so bold, O Earth?Art thou not overbold?What! leapest thou forth as of oldIn the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starry fold? _5Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled, And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?

How! is not thy quick heart cold?What spark is alive on thy hearth? _10How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?Thou wert warming thy fingers oldO'er the embers covered and coldOf that most fiery spirit, when it fled-- _15What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?

'Who has known me of old, ' replied Earth, 'Or who has my story told?It is thou who art overbold. 'And the lightning of scorn laughed forth _20As she sung, 'To my bosom I foldAll my sons when their knell is knolled, And so with living motion all are fed, And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead. 

'Still alive and still bold, ' shouted Earth, _25'I grow bolder and still more bold. The dead fill me ten thousandfoldFuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth. I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold, Like a frozen chaos uprolled, _30Till by the spirit of the mighty deadMy heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed. 

'Ay, alive and still bold. ' muttered Earth, 'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled, In terror and blood and gold, _35A torrent of ruin to death from his birth. Leave the millions who follow to mouldThe metal before it be cold;And weave into his shame, which like the deadShrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled. ' _40

***

SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is atranscript, headed "Sonnet to the Republic of Benevento", in theHarvard manuscript book. ]

Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame, Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts, Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts, History is but the shadow of their shame, _5Art veils her glass, or from the pageant startsAs to oblivion their blind millions fleet, Staining that Heaven with obscene imageryOf their own likeness. What are numbers knitBy force or custom? Man who man would be, _10Must rule the empire of himself; in itMust be supreme, establishing his throneOn vanquished will, quelling the anarchyOf hopes and fears, being himself alone. 

***

THE AZIOLA. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley in "The Keepsake", 1829. ]

1. 'Do you not hear the Aziola cry?Methinks she must be nigh, 'Said Mary, as we sateIn dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought;And I, who thought _5This Aziola was some tedious woman, Asked, 'Who is Aziola?' How elateI felt to know that it was nothing human, No mockery of myself to fear or hate:And Mary saw my soul, _10And laughed, and said, 'Disquiet yourself not;'Tis nothing but a little downy owl. '

2. Sad Aziola! many an eventideThy music I had heardBy wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side, _15And fields and marshes wide, --Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird, The soul ever stirred;Unlike and far sweeter than them all. Sad Aziola! from that moment I _20Loved thee and thy sad cry. 

NOTES:_4 ere stars]ere the stars editions 1839. _9 or]and editions 1839. _19 them]they editions 1839. 

***

A LAMENT. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. O world! O life! O time!On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before;When will return the glory of your prime?No more--Oh, never more! _5

2. Out of the day and nightA joy has taken flight;Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delightNo more--Oh, never more! _10

***

REMEMBRANCE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, where it isentitled "A Lament". Three manuscript copies are extant: The Trelawnymanuscript ("Remembrance"), the Harvard manuscript ("Song") and theHoughton manuscript--the last written by Shelley on a flyleaf of a copyof "Adonais". ]

1. Swifter far than summer's flight--Swifter far than youth's delight--Swifter far than happy night, Art thou come and gone--As the earth when leaves are dead, _5As the night when sleep is sped, As the heart when joy is fled, I am left lone, alone. 

2. The swallow summer comes again--The owlet night resumes her reign-- _10But the wild-swan youth is fainTo fly with thee, false as thou. --My heart each day desires the morrow;Sleep itself is turned to sorrow;Vainly would my winter borrow _15Sunny leaves from any bough. 

3. Lilies for a bridal bed--Roses for a matron's head--Violets for a maiden dead--Pansies let MY flowers be: _20On the living grave I bearScatter them without a tear--Let no friend, however dear, Waste one hope, one fear for me. 

NOTES:_5-_7 So editions 1824, 1839, Trelawny manuscript, Harvard manuscript; As the wood when leaves are shed, As the night when sleep is fled, As the heart when joy is dead Houghton manuscript. _13 So editions 1824, 1839, Harvard manuscript, Houghton manuscript. My heart to-day desires to-morrow Trelawny manuscript. _20 So editions 1824, 1839, Harvard manuscript, Houghton manuscript. Sadder flowers find for me Trelawny manuscript. _24 one hope, one fear]a hope, a fear Trelawny manuscript. 

***

TO EDWARD WILLIAMS. 

[Published in Ascham's edition of the "Poems", 1834. There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]

1. The serpent is shut out from Paradise. The wounded deer must seek the herb no moreIn which its heart-cure lies:The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bowerLike that from which its mate with feigned sighs _5Fled in the April hour. I too must seldom seek againNear happy friends a mitigated pain. 

2. Of hatred I am proud, --with scorn content;Indifference, that once hurt me, now is grown _10Itself indifferent;But, not to speak of love, pity aloneCan break a spirit already more than bent. The miserable oneTurns the mind's poison into food, -- _15Its medicine is tears, --its evil good. 

3. Therefore, if now I see you seldomer, Dear friends, dear FRIEND! know that I only flyYour looks, because they stirGriefs that should sleep, and hopes that cannot die: _20The very comfort that they ministerI scarce can bear, yet I, So deeply is the arrow gone, Should quickly perish if it were withdrawn. 

4. When I return to my cold home, you ask _25Why I am not as I have ever been. YOU spoil me for the taskOf acting a forced part in life's dull scene, --Of wearing on my brow the idle maskOf author, great or mean, _30In the world's carnival. I soughtPeace thus, and but in you I found it not. 

5. Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lotWith various flowers, and every one still said, 'She loves me--loves me not. ' _35And if this meant a vision long since fled--If it meant fortune, fame, or peace of thought--If it meant, --but I dreadTo speak what you may know too well:Still there was truth in the sad oracle. _40

6. The crane o'er seas and forests seeks her home;No bird so wild but has its quiet nest, When it no more would roam;The sleepless billows on the ocean's breastBreak like a bursting heart, and die in foam, _45And thus at length find rest:Doubtless there is a place of peaceWhere MY weak heart and all its throbs will cease. 

7. I asked her, yesterday, if she believedThat I had resolution. One who HAD _50Would ne'er have thus relievedHis heart with words, --but what his judgement badeWould do, and leave the scorner unrelieved. These verses are too sadTo send to you, but that I know, _55Happy yourself, you feel another's woe. 

NOTES:_10 Indifference, which once hurt me, is now grown Trelawny manuscript. _18 Dear friends, dear friend Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition; Dear gentle friend 1834, 1839, 1st edition. _26 ever]lately Trelawny manuscript. _28 in Trelawny manuscript; on 1834, editions 1839, _43 When 1839, 2nd edition; Whence 1834, 1839, 1st edition. _48 will 1839, 2nd edition; shall 1834, 1839, 1st edition. _53 unrelieved Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd. Edition; unreprieved 1834, 1839, 1st edition. _54 are]were Trelawny manuscript. 

***

TO --. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. One word is too often profanedFor me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdainedFor thee to disdain it;One hope is too like despair _5For prudence to smother, And pity from thee more dearThan that from another. 

2. I can give not what men call love, But wilt thou accept not _10The worship the heart lifts aboveAnd the Heavens reject not, --The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar _15From the sphere of our sorrow?

***

TO --. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a Boscombe manuscript. ]

1. When passion's trance is overpast, If tenderness and truth could last, Or live, whilst all wild feelings keepSome mortal slumber, dark and deep, I should not weep, I should not weep! _5

2. It were enough to feel, to see, Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly, And dream the rest--and burn and beThe secret food of fires unseen, Couldst thou but be as thou hast been, _10

3. After the slumber of the yearThe woodland violets reappear;All things revive in field or grove, And sky and sea, but two, which moveAnd form all others, life and love. _15

NOTE:_15 form Boscombe manuscript; for editions 1824, 1839. 

***

A BRIDAL SONG. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. The golden gates of Sleep unbarWhere Strength and Beauty, met together, Kindle their image like a starIn a sea of glassy weather!Night, with all thy stars look down, -- _5Darkness, weep thy holiest dew, --Never smiled the inconstant moonOn a pair so true. Let eyes not see their own delight;--Haste, swift Hour, and thy flight _10Oft renew. 

2. Fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her!Holy stars, permit no wrong!And return to wake the sleeper, Dawn, --ere it be long! _15O joy! O fear! what will be doneIn the absence of the sun!Come along!

***

EPITHALAMIUM. 

ANOTHER VERSION OF THE PRECEDING. 

[Published by Medwin, "Life of Shelley", 1847. ]

Night, with all thine eyes look down!Darkness shed its holiest dew!When ever smiled the inconstant moonOn a pair so true?Hence, coy hour! and quench thy light, _5Lest eyes see their own delight!Hence, swift hour! and thy loved flightOft renew. 

BOYS:O joy! O fear! what may be doneIn the absence of the sun? _10Come along!The golden gates of sleep unbar!When strength and beauty meet together, Kindles their image like a starIn a sea of glassy weather. _15Hence, coy hour! and quench thy light, Lest eyes see their own delight!Hence, swift hour! and thy loved flightOft renew. 

GIRLS:O joy! O fear! what may be done _20In the absence of the sun?Come along!Fairies! sprites! and angels, keep her!Holiest powers, permit no wrong!And return, to wake the sleeper, _25Dawn, ere it be long. Hence, swift hour! and quench thy light, Lest eyes see their own delight!Hence, coy hour! and thy loved flightOft renew. _30

BOYS AND GIRLS:O joy! O fear! what will be doneIn the absence of the sun?Come along!

NOTE:_17 Lest]Let 1847. 

***

ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870, from the Trelawny manuscript of Edward Williams's play, "The Promise:or, A Year, a Month, and a Day". ]

BOYS SING:Night! with all thine eyes look down!Darkness! weep thy holiest dew!Never smiled the inconstant moonOn a pair so true. Haste, coy hour! and quench all light, _5Lest eyes see their own delight!Haste, swift hour! and thy loved flightOft renew!

GIRLS SING:Fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her!Holy stars! permit no wrong! _10And return, to wake the sleeper, Dawn, ere it be long!O joy! O fear! there is not oneOf us can guess what may be doneIn the absence of the sun:-- _15Come along!

BOYS:Oh! linger long, thou envious eastern lampIn the dampCaves of the deep!

GIRLS:Nay, return, Vesper! urge thy lazy car! _20Swift unbarThe gates of Sleep!

CHORUS:The golden gate of Sleep unbar, When Strength and Beauty, met together, Kindle their image, like a star _25In a sea of glassy weather. May the purple mist of loveRound them rise, and with them move, Nourishing each tender gemWhich, like flowers, will burst from them. _30As the fruit is to the treeMay their children ever be!

***

LOVE, HOPE, DESIRE, AND FEAR. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. 'A very freetranslation of Brunetto Latini's "Tesoretto", lines 81-154. '--A. C. Bradley. ]

... 

And many there were hurt by that strong boy, His name, they said, was Pleasure, And near him stood, glorious beyond measureFour Ladies who possess all emperyIn earth and air and sea, _5Nothing that lives from their award is free. Their names will I declare to thee, Love, Hope, Desire, and Fear, And they the regents areOf the four elements that frame the heart, _10And each diversely exercised her artBy force or circumstance or sleightTo prove her dreadful mightUpon that poor domain. Desire presented her [false] glass, and then _15The spirit dwelling thereWas spellbound to embrace what seemed so fairWithin that magic mirror, And dazed by that bright error, It would have scorned the [shafts] of the avenger _20And death, and penitence, and danger, Had not then silent FearTouched with her palsying spear, So that as if a frozen torrentThe blood was curdled in its current; _25It dared not speak, even in look or motion, But chained within itself its proud devotion. Between Desire and Fear thou wertA wretched thing, poor heart!Sad was his life who bore thee in his breast, _30Wild bird for that weak nest. Till Love even from fierce Desire it bought, And from the very wound of tender thoughtDrew solace, and the pity of sweet eyesGave strength to bear those gentle agonies, _35Surmount the loss, the terror, and the sorrow. Then Hope approached, she who can borrowFor poor to-day, from rich tomorrow, And Fear withdrew, as night when dayDescends upon the orient ray, _40And after long and vain enduranceThe poor heart woke to her assurance. --At one birth these four were bornWith the world's forgotten morn, And from Pleasure still they hold _45All it circles, as of old. When, as summer lures the swallow, Pleasure lures the heart to follow--O weak heart of little wit!The fair hand that wounded it, _50Seeking, like a panting hare, Refuge in the lynx's lair, Love, Desire, Hope, and Fear, Ever will be near. 

***

FRAGMENTS WRITTEN FOR HELLAS. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

1. Fairest of the Destinies, Disarray thy dazzling eyes:Keener far thy lightnings areThan the winged [bolts] thou bearest, And the smile thou wearest _5Wraps thee as a starIs wrapped in light. 

2. Could Arethuse to her forsaken urnFrom Alpheus and the bitter Doris run, Or could the morning shafts of purest light _10Again into the quivers of the SunBe gathered--could one thought from its wild flightReturn into the temple of the brainWithout a change, without a stain, --Could aught that is, ever again _15Be what it once has ceased to be, Greece might again be free!

3. A star has fallen upon the earthMid the benighted nations, A quenchless atom of immortal light, _20A living spark of Night, A cresset shaken from the constellations. Swifter than the thunder fellTo the heart of Earth, the wellWhere its pulses flow and beat, _25And unextinct in that cold sourceBurns, and on ... CourseGuides the sphere which is its prison, Like an angelic spirit pentIn a form of mortal birth, _30Till, as a spirit half-arisenShatters its charnel, it has rent, In the rapture of its mirth, The thin and painted garment of the Earth, Ruining its chaos--a fierce breath _35Consuming all its forms of living death. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'I WOULD NOT BE A KING'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

I would not be a king--enoughOf woe it is to love;The path to power is steep and rough, And tempests reign above. I would not climb the imperial throne; _5'Tis built on ice which fortune's sunThaws in the height of noon. Then farewell, king, yet were I one, Care would not come so soon. Would he and I were far away _10Keeping flocks on Himalay!

***

GINEVRA. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and dated 'Pisa, 1821. ']

Wild, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as oneWho staggers forth into the air and sunFrom the dark chamber of a mortal fever, Bewildered, and incapable, and everFancying strange comments in her dizzy brain _5Of usual shapes, till the familiar trainOf objects and of persons passed like thingsStrange as a dreamer's mad imaginings, Ginevra from the nuptial altar went;The vows to which her lips had sworn assent _10Rung in her brain still with a jarring din, Deafening the lost intelligence within. 

And so she moved under the bridal veil, Which made the paleness of her cheek more pale, And deepened the faint crimson of her mouth, _15And darkened her dark locks, as moonlight doth, --And of the gold and jewels glittering thereShe scarce felt conscious, --but the weary glareLay like a chaos of unwelcome light, Vexing the sense with gorgeous undelight, _20A moonbeam in the shadow of a cloudWas less heavenly fair--her face was bowed, And as she passed, the diamonds in her hairWere mirrored in the polished marble stairWhich led from the cathedral to the street; _25And ever as she went her light fair feetErased these images. 

The bride-maidens who round her thronging came, Some with a sense of self-rebuke and shame, Envying the unenviable; and othersMaking the joy which should have been another's _30Their own by gentle sympathy; and someSighing to think of an unhappy home:Some few admiring what can ever lureMaidens to leave the heaven serene and pureOf parents' smiles for life's great cheat; a thing _35Bitter to taste, sweet in imagining. 

But they are all dispersed--and, lo! she standsLooking in idle grief on her white hands, Alone within the garden now her own; _40And through the sunny air, with jangling tone, The music of the merry marriage-bells, Killing the azure silence, sinks and swells;--Absorbed like one within a dream who dreamsThat he is dreaming, until slumber seems _45A mockery of itself--when suddenlyAntonio stood before her, pale as she. With agony, with sorrow, and with pride, He lifted his wan eyes upon the bride, And said--'Is this thy faith?' and then as one _50Whose sleeping face is stricken by the sunWith light like a harsh voice, which bids him riseAnd look upon his day of life with eyesWhich weep in vain that they can dream no more, Ginevra saw her lover, and forbore _55To shriek or faint, and checked the stifling bloodRushing upon her heart, and unsubduedSaid--'Friend, if earthly violence or ill, Suspicion, doubt, or the tyrannic willOf parents, chance or custom, time or change, _60Or circumstance, or terror, or revenge, Or wildered looks, or words, or evil speech, With all their stings and venom can impeachOur love, --we love not:--if the grave which hidesThe victim from the tyrant, and divides _65The cheek that whitens from the eyes that dartImperious inquisition to the heartThat is another's, could dissever ours, We love not. '--'What! do not the silent hoursBeckon thee to Gherardi's bridal bed? _70Is not that ring'--a pledge, he would have said, Of broken vows, but she with patient lookThe golden circle from her finger took, And said--'Accept this token of my faith, The pledge of vows to be absolved by death; _75And I am dead or shall be soon--my knellWill mix its music with that merry bell, Does it not sound as if they sweetly said"We toll a corpse out of the marriage-bed"?The flowers upon my bridal chamber strewn _80Will serve unfaded for my bier--so soonThat even the dying violet will not dieBefore Ginevra. ' The strong fantasyHad made her accents weaker and more weak, And quenched the crimson life upon her cheek, _85And glazed her eyes, and spread an atmosphereRound her, which chilled the burning noon with fear, Making her but an image of the thoughtWhich, like a prophet or a shadow, broughtNews of the terrors of the coming time. _90Like an accuser branded with the crimeHe would have cast on a beloved friend, Whose dying eyes reproach not to the endThe pale betrayer--he then with vain repentanceWould share, he cannot now avert, the sentence-- _95Antonio stood and would have spoken, whenThe compound voice of women and of menWas heard approaching; he retired, while sheWas led amid the admiring companyBack to the palace, --and her maidens soon _100Changed her attire for the afternoon, And left her at her own request to keepAn hour of quiet rest:--like one asleepWith open eyes and folded hands she lay, Pale in the light of the declining day. _105

Meanwhile the day sinks fast, the sun is set, And in the lighted hall the guests are met;The beautiful looked lovelier in the lightOf love, and admiration, and delightReflected from a thousand hearts and eyes, _110Kindling a momentary Paradise. This crowd is safer than the silent wood, Where love's own doubts disturb the solitude;On frozen hearts the fiery rain of wineFalls, and the dew of music more divine _115Tempers the deep emotions of the timeTo spirits cradled in a sunny clime:--How many meet, who never yet have met, To part too soon, but never to forget. How many saw the beauty, power and wit _120Of looks and words which ne'er enchanted yet;But life's familiar veil was now withdrawn, As the world leaps before an earthquake's dawn, And unprophetic of the coming hours, The matin winds from the expanded flowers _125Scatter their hoarded incense, and awakenThe earth, until the dewy sleep is shakenFrom every living heart which it possesses, Through seas and winds, cities and wildernesses, As if the future and the past were all _130Treasured i' the instant;--so Gherardi's hallLaughed in the mirth of its lord's festival, Till some one asked--'Where is the Bride?' And thenA bridesmaid went, --and ere she came againA silence fell upon the guests--a pause _135Of expectation, as when beauty awesAll hearts with its approach, though unbeheld;Then wonder, and then fear that wonder quelled;--For whispers passed from mouth to ear which drewThe colour from the hearer's cheeks, and flew _140Louder and swifter round the company;And then Gherardi entered with an eyeOf ostentatious trouble, and a crowdSurrounded him, and some were weeping loud. 

They found Ginevra dead! if it be death _145To lie without motion, or pulse, or breath, With waxen cheeks, and limbs cold, stiff, and white, And open eyes, whose fixed and glassy lightMocked at the speculation they had owned. If it be death, when there is felt around _150A smell of clay, a pale and icy glare, And silence, and a sense that lifts the hairFrom the scalp to the ankles, as it wereCorruption from the spirit passing forth, And giving all it shrouded to the earth, _155And leaving as swift lightning in its flightAshes, and smoke, and darkness: in our nightOf thought we know thus much of death, --no moreThan the unborn dream of our life beforeTheir barks are wrecked on its inhospitable shore. _160The marriage feast and its solemnityWas turned to funeral pomp--the company, With heavy hearts and looks, broke up; nor theyWho loved the dead went weeping on their wayAlone, but sorrow mixed with sad surprise _165Loosened the springs of pity in all eyes, On which that form, whose fate they weep in vain, Will never, thought they, kindle smiles again. The lamps which, half extinguished in their haste, Gleamed few and faint o'er the abandoned feast, _170Showed as it were within the vaulted roomA cloud of sorrow hanging, as if gloomHad passed out of men's minds into the air. Some few yet stood around Gherardi there, Friends and relations of the dead, --and he, _175A loveless man, accepted torpidlyThe consolation that he wanted not;Awe in the place of grief within him wrought. Their whispers made the solemn silence seemMore still--some wept, ... _180Some melted into tears without a sob, And some with hearts that might be heard to throbLeaned on the table and at intervalsShuddered to hear through the deserted hallsAnd corridors the thrilling shrieks which came _185Upon the breeze of night, that shook the flameOf every torch and taper as it sweptFrom out the chamber where the women kept;--Their tears fell on the dear companion coldOf pleasures now departed; then was knolled _190The bell of death, and soon the priests arrived, And finding Death their penitent had shrived, Returned like ravens from a corpse whereonA vulture has just feasted to the bone. And then the mourning women came. -- _195

... 

THE DIRGE. 

Old winter was goneIn his weakness back to the mountains hoar, And the spring came downFrom the planet that hovers upon the shore

Where the sea of sunlight encroaches _200On the limits of wintry night;--If the land, and the air, and the sea, Rejoice not when spring approaches, We did not rejoice in thee, Ginevra! _205

She is still, she is coldOn the bridal couch, One step to the white deathbed, And one to the bier, And one to the charnel--and one, oh where? _210The dark arrow fledIn the noon. 

Ere the sun through heaven once more has rolled, The rats in her heartWill have made their nest, _215And the worms be alive in her golden hair, While the Spirit that guides the sun, Sits throned in his flaming chair, She shall sleep. 

NOTES:22 Was]Were cj. Rossetti. Old26 ever 1824; even editions 1839. _37 Bitter editions 1839; Better 1824. _63 wanting in 1824. _103 quiet rest cj. A. C. Bradley; quiet and rest 1824. _129 winds]lands cj. Forman; waves, sands or strands cj. Rossetti. _167 On]In cj. Rossetti. 

***

EVENING: PONTE AL MARE, PISA

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a draft amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. ]

1. 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 thereOver the quivering surface of the stream, _5Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream. 

2. There is no dew on the dry grass to-night, Nor damp within the shadow of the trees;The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;And in the inconstant motion of the breeze _10The dust and straws are driven up and down, And whirled about the pavement of the town. 

3. Within the surface of the fleeting riverThe wrinkled image of the city lay, Immovably unquiet, and forever _15It trembles, but it never fades away;Go to the... You, being changed, will find it then as now. 

4. The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shutBy darkest barriers of cinereous cloud, _20Like mountain over mountain huddled--butGrowing and moving upwards in a crowd, And over it a space of watery blue, Which the keen evening star is shining through.. 

NOTES:_6 summer 1839, 2nd edition; silent 1824, 1839, 1st edition. _20 cinereous Boscombe manuscript; enormous editions 1824, 1839. 

***

THE BOAT ON THE SERCHIO. 

[Published in part (lines 1-61, 88-118) by Mrs. Shelley, "PosthumousPoems", 1824; revised and enlarged by Rossetti, "Complete PoeticalWorks of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream, Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream, The helm sways idly, hither and thither;Dominic, the boatman, has brought the mast, And the oars, and the sails; but 'tis sleeping fast, _5Like a beast, unconscious of its tether. 

The stars burnt out in the pale blue air, And the thin white moon lay withering there;To tower, and cavern, and rift, and tree, The owl and the bat fled drowsily. _10Day had kindled the dewy woods, And the rocks above and the stream below, And the vapours in their multitudes, And the Apennine's shroud of summer snow, And clothed with light of aery gold _15The mists in their eastern caves uprolled. 

Day had awakened all things that be, The lark and the thrush and the swallow free, And the milkmaid's song and the mower's scytheAnd the matin-bell and the mountain bee: _20Fireflies were quenched on the dewy corn, Glow-worms went out on the river's brim, Like lamps which a student forgets to trim:The beetle forgot to wind his horn, The crickets were still in the meadow and hill: _25Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gunNight's dreams and terrors, every one, Fled from the brains which are their preyFrom the lamp's death to the morning ray. 

All rose to do the task He set to each, _30Who shaped us to His ends and not our own;The million rose to learn, and one to teachWhat none yet ever knew or can be known. And many roseWhose woe was such that fear became desire;-- _35Melchior and Lionel were not among those;They from the throng of men had stepped aside, And made their home under the green hill-side. It was that hill, whose intervening browScreens Lucca from the Pisan's envious eye, _40Which the circumfluous plain waving below, Like a wide lake of green fertility, With streams and fields and marshes bare, Divides from the far Apennines--which lieIslanded in the immeasurable air. _45

'What think you, as she lies in her green cove, Our little sleeping boat is dreaming of?''If morning dreams are true, why I should guessThat she was dreaming of our idleness, And of the miles of watery way _50We should have led her by this time of day. '-

'Never mind, ' said Lionel, 'Give care to the winds, they can bear it wellAbout yon poplar-tops; and seeThe white clouds are driving merrily, _55And the stars we miss this morn will lightMore willingly our return to-night. --How it whistles, Dominic's long black hair!List, my dear fellow; the breeze blows fair:Hear how it sings into the air--' _60

--'Of us and of our lazy motions, 'Impatiently said Melchior, 'If I can guess a boat's emotions;And how we ought, two hours before, To have been the devil knows where. ' _65And then, in such transalpine TuscanAs would have killed a Della-Cruscan, ... 

So, Lionel according to his artWeaving his idle words, Melchior said:'She dreams that we are not yet out of bed; _70We'll put a soul into her, and a heartWhich like a dove chased by a dove shall beat. '

... 

'Ay, heave the ballast overboard, And stow the eatables in the aft locker. ''Would not this keg be best a little lowered?' _75'No, now all's right. ' 'Those bottles of warm tea--(Give me some straw)--must be stowed tenderly;Such as we used, in summer after six, To cram in greatcoat pockets, and to mixHard eggs and radishes and rolls at Eton, _80And, couched on stolen hay in those green harboursFarmers called gaps, and we schoolboys called arbours, Would feast till eight. '

... 

With a bottle in one hand, As if his very soul were at a stand _85Lionel stood--when Melchior brought him steady:--'Sit at the helm--fasten this sheet--all ready!'

The chain is loosed, the sails are spread, The living breath is fresh behind, As with dews and sunrise fed, _90Comes the laughing morning wind;--The sails are full, the boat makes headAgainst the Serchio's torrent fierce, Then flags with intermitting course, And hangs upon the wave, and stems _95The tempest of the... Which fervid from its mountain sourceShallow, smooth and strong doth come, --Swift as fire, tempestuouslyIt sweeps into the affrighted sea; _100In morning's smile its eddies coil, Its billows sparkle, toss and boil, Torturing all its quiet lightInto columns fierce and bright. 

The Serchio, twisting forth _105Between the marble barriers which it cloveAt Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasmThe wave that died the death which lovers love, Living in what it sought; as if this spasmHad not yet passed, the toppling mountains cling, _110But the clear stream in full enthusiasmPours itself on the plain, then wanderingDown one clear path of effluence crystallineSends its superfluous waves, that they may flingAt Arno's feet tribute of corn and wine;Then, through the pestilential deserts wildOf tangled marsh and woods of stunted pine, It rushes to the Ocean. 

NOTES:_58-_61 List, my dear fellow, the breeze blows fair;How it scatters Dominic's long black hair!Singing of us, and our lazy motions, If I can guess a boat's emotions. '--editions 1824, 1839. _61-_67 Rossetti places these lines conjecturally between lines 51 and 52. _61-_65 'are evidently an alternative version of 48-51' (A. C. Bradley). _95, _96 and stems The tempest of the wanting in editions 1824, 1839. _112 then Boscombe manuscript; until editions 1824, 1839_114 superfluous Boscombe manuscript; clear editions 1824, 1839. _117 pine Boscombe manuscript; fir editions 1824, 1839. 

***

MUSIC. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1. I pant for the music which is divine, My heart in its thirst is a dying flower;Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine, Loosen the notes in a silver shower;Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain, _5I gasp, I faint, till they wake again. 

2. Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound, More, oh more, --I am thirsting yet;It loosens the serpent which care has boundUpon my heart to stifle it; _10The dissolving strain, through every vein, Passes into my heart and brain. 

3. As the scent of a violet withered up, Which grew by the brink of a silver lake, When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup, _15And mist there was none its thirst to slake--And the violet lay dead while the odour flewOn the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue--

4. As one who drinks from a charmed cupOf foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine, _20Whom, a mighty Enchantress filling up, Invites to love with her kiss divine... 

NOTES:_16 mist 1824; tank 1839, 2nd edition. 

***

SONNET TO BYRON. 

[Published by Medwin, "The Shelley Papers", 1832 (lines 1-7), and "Lifeof Shelley", 1847 (lines 1-9, 12-14). Revised and completed from theBoscombe manuscript by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

[I am afraid these verses will not please you, but]If I esteemed you less, Envy would killPleasure, and leave to Wonder and DespairThe ministration of the thoughts that fillThe mind which, like a worm whose life may shareA portion of the unapproachable, _5Marks your creations rise as fast and fairAs perfect worlds at the Creator's will. 

But such is my regard that nor your powerTo soar above the heights where others [climb], Nor fame, that shadow of the unborn hour _10Cast from the envious future on the time, Move one regret for his unhonoured nameWho dares these words:--the worm beneath the sodMay lift itself in homage of the God. 

NOTES:_1 you edition 1870; him 1832; thee 1847. _4 So edition 1870; My soul which as a worm may haply share 1832; My soul which even as a worm may share 1847. _6 your edition 1870; his 1832; thy 1847. _8, _9 So edition 1870 wanting 1832 - But not the blessings of thy happier lot, Nor thy well-won prosperity, and fame 1847. _10, _11 So edition 1870; wanting 1832, 1847. _12-_14 So 1847, edition 1870; wanting 1832. 

***

FRAGMENT ON KEATS. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition--ED. ]

ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED--

'Here lieth One whose name was writ on water. But, ere the breath that could erase it blew, Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter, Death, the immortalizing winter, flewAthwart the stream, --and time's printless torrent grew _5A scroll of crystal, blazoning the nameOf Adonais!

***

FRAGMENT: 'METHOUGHT I WAS A BILLOW IN THE CROWD'. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Methought I was a billow in the crowdOf common men, that stream without a shore, That ocean which at once is deaf and loud;That I, a man, stood amid many moreBy a wayside... , which the aspect bore _5Of some imperial metropolis, Where mighty shapes--pyramid, dome, and tower--Gleamed like a pile of crags--

***

TO-MORROW. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

Where art thou, beloved To-morrow?When young and old, and strong and weak, Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow, Thy sweet smiles we ever seek, --In thy place--ah! well-a-day! _5We find the thing we fled--To-day. 

***

STANZA. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. Connected by Dowden with the preceding. ]

If I walk in Autumn's evenWhile the dead leaves pass, If I look on Spring's soft heaven, --Something is not there which wasWinter's wondrous frost and snow, _5Summer's clouds, where are they now?

***

FRAGMENT: A WANDERER. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

He wanders, like a day-appearing dream, Through the dim wildernesses of the mind;Through desert woods and tracts, which seemLike ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined. 

***

FRAGMENT: LIFE ROUNDED WITH SLEEP. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

The babe is at peace within the womb;The corpse is at rest within the tomb:We begin in what we end. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'I FAINT, I PERISH WITH MY LOVE!'. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

I faint, I perish with my love! I growFrail as a cloud whose [splendours] paleUnder the evening's ever-changing glow:I die like mist upon the gale, And like a wave under the calm I fail. _5

***

FRAGMENT: THE LADY OF THE SOUTH. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Faint with love, the Lady of the SouthLay in the paradise of LebanonUnder a heaven of cedar boughs: the drouthOf love was on her lips; the light was goneOut of her eyes-- _5

***

FRAGMENT: ZEPHYRUS THE AWAKENER. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Come, thou awakener of the spirit's ocean, Zephyr, whom to thy cloud or caveNo thought can trace! speed with thy gentle motion!

***

FRAGMENT: RAIN. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

The gentleness of rain was in the wind. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'WHEN SOFT WINDS AND SUNNY SKIES'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

When soft winds and sunny skiesWith the green earth harmonize, And the young and dewy dawn, Bold as an unhunted fawn, Up the windless heaven is gone, -- _5Laugh--for ambushed in the day, --Clouds and whirlwinds watch their prey. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'AND THAT I WALK THUS PROUDLY CROWNED'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

And that I walk thus proudly crowned withalIs that 'tis my distinction; if I fall, I shall not weep out of the vital day, To-morrow dust, nor wear a dull decay. 

NOTE:_2 'Tis that is or In that is cj. A. C. Bradley. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'THE RUDE WIND IS SINGING'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

The rude wind is singingThe dirge of the music dead;The cold worms are clingingWhere kisses were lately fed. 

***

FRAGMENT: 'GREAT SPIRIT'. 

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thoughtNurtures within its unimagined caves, In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind, Giving a voice to its mysterious waves--

***

FRAGMENT: 'O THOU IMMORTAL DEITY'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

O thou immortal deityWhose throne is in the depth of human thought, I do adjure thy power and theeBy all that man may be, by all that he is not, By all that he has been and yet must be! _5

***

FRAGMENT: THE FALSE LAUREL AND THE TRUE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanestThe wreath to mighty poets only due, Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?Touch not those leaves which for the eternal fewWho wander o'er the Paradise of fame, _5In sacred dedication ever grew:One of the crowd thou art without a name. ''Ah, friend, 'tis the false laurel that I wear;Bright though it seem, it is not the sameAs that which bound Milton's immortal hair; _10Its dew is poison; and the hopes that quickenUnder its chilling shade, though seeming fair, Are flowers which die almost before they sicken. '

***

FRAGMENT: MAY THE LIMNER. 

[This and the three following Fragments were edited from manuscriptShelley D1 at the Bodleian Library and published by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination", etc. , Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1903. They are printedhere as belonging probably to the year 1821. ]

When May is painting with her colours gayThe landscape sketched by April her sweet twin... 

***

FRAGMENT: BEAUTY'S HALO. 

[Published by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination", etc, 1903. ]

Thy beauty hangs around thee likeSplendour around the moon--Thy voice, as silver bells that strikeUpon

***

FRAGMENT: 'THE DEATH KNELL IS RINGING'. 

('This reads like a study for "Autumn, A Dirge"' (Locock). Might it notbe part of a projected Fit v. Of "The Fugitives"?--ED. )

[Published by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination", etc. , 1903. ]

The death knell is ringingThe raven is singingThe earth worm is creepingThe mourners are weepingDing dong, bell-- _5

***

FRAGMENT: 'I STOOD UPON A HEAVEN-CLEAVING TURRET'. 

I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turretWhich overlooked a wide Metropolis--And in the temple of my heart my SpiritLay prostrate, and with parted lips did kissThe dust of Desolations [altar] hearth-- _5And with a voice too faint to falterIt shook that trembling fane with its weak prayer'Twas noon, --the sleeping skies were blueThe city

***

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1821, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

My task becomes inexpressibly painful as the year draws near that whichsealed our earthly fate, and each poem, and each event it records, hasa real or mysterious connection with the fatal catastrophe. I feel thatI am incapable of putting on paper the history of those times. Theheart of the man, abhorred of the poet, who could

 'peep and botanize Upon his mother's grave, '

does not appear to me more inexplicably framed than that of one who candissect and probe past woes, and repeat to the public ear the groansdrawn from them in the throes of their agony. 

The year 1821 was spent in Pisa, or at the Baths of San Giuliano. Wewere not, as our wont had been, alone; friends had gathered round us. Nearly all are dead, and, when Memory recurs to the past, she wandersamong tombs. The genius, with all his blighting errors and mightypowers; the companion of Shelley's ocean-wanderings, and the sharer ofhis fate, than whom no man ever existed more gentle, generous, andfearless; and others, who found in Shelley's society, and in his greatknowledge and warm sympathy, delight, instruction, and solace; havejoined him beyond the grave. A few survive who have felt life a desertsince he left it. What misfortune can equal death? Change can convertevery other into a blessing, or heal its sting--death alone has nocure. It shakes the foundations of the earth on which we tread; itdestroys its beauty; it casts down our shelter; it exposes us bare todesolation. When those we love have passed into eternity, 'life is thedesert and the solitude' in which we are forced to linger--but neverfind comfort more. 

There is much in the "Adonais" which seems now more applicable toShelley himself than to the young and gifted poet whom he mourned. Thepoetic view he takes of death, and the lofty scorn he displays towardshis calumniators, are as a prophecy on his own destiny when receivedamong immortal names, and the poisonous breath of critics has vanishedinto emptiness before the fame he inherits. 

Shelley's favourite taste was boating; when living near the Thames orby the Lake of Geneva, much of his life was spent on the water. On theshore of every lake or stream or sea near which he dwelt, he had a boatmoored. He had latterly enjoyed this pleasure again. There are nopleasure-boats on the Arno; and the shallowness of its waters (exceptin winter-time, when the stream is too turbid and impetuous forboating) rendered it difficult to get any skiff light enough to float. Shelley, however, overcame the difficulty; he, together with a friend, contrived a boat such as the huntsmen carry about with them in theMaremma, to cross the sluggish but deep streams that intersect theforests, --a boat of laths and pitched canvas. It held three persons;and he was often seen on the Arno in it, to the horror of the Italians, who remonstrated on the danger, and could not understand how anyonecould take pleasure in an exercise that risked life. 'Ma va per lavita!' they exclaimed. I little thought how true their words wouldprove. He once ventured, with a friend, on the glassy sea of a calmday, down the Arno and round the coast to Leghorn, which, by keepingclose in shore, was very practicable. They returned to Pisa by thecanal, when, missing the direct cut, they got entangled among weeds, and the boat upset; a wetting was all the harm done, except that theintense cold of his drenched clothes made Shelley faint. Once I wentdown with him to the mouth of the Arno, where the stream, then high andswift, met the tideless sea, and disturbed its sluggish waters. It wasa waste and dreary scene; the desert sand stretched into a pointsurrounded by waves that broke idly though perpetually around; it was ascene very similar to Lido, of which he had said--

 'I love all waste And solitary places; where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be: And such was this wide ocean, and this shore More barren than its billows. '

Our little boat was of greater use, unaccompanied by any danger, whenwe removed to the Baths. Some friends lived at the village of Pugnano, four miles off, and we went to and fro to see them, in our boat, by thecanal; which, fed by the Serchio, was, though an artificial, a full andpicturesque stream, making its way under verdant banks, sheltered bytrees that dipped their boughs into the murmuring waters. By day, multitudes of Ephemera darted to and fro on the surface; at night, thefireflies came out among the shrubs on the banks; the cicale atnoon-day kept up their hum; the aziola cooed in the quiet evening. Itwas a pleasant summer, bright in all but Shelley's health andinconstant spirits; yet he enjoyed himself greatly, and became more andmore attached to the part of the country were chance appeared to castus. Sometimes he projected taking a farm situated on the height of oneof the near hills, surrounded by chestnut and pine woods, andoverlooking a wide extent of country: or settling still farther in themaritime Apennines, at Massa. Several of his slighter and unfinishedpoems were inspired by these scenes, and by the companions around us. It is the nature of that poetry, however, which overflows from the souloftener to express sorrow and regret than joy; for it is when oppressedby the weight of life, and away from those he loves, that the poet hasrecourse to the solace of expression in verse. 

Still, Shelley's passion was the ocean; and he wished that our summers, instead of being passed among the hills near Pisa, should be spent onthe shores of the sea. It was very difficult to find a spot. We shrankfrom Naples from a fear that the heats would disagree with Percy:Leghorn had lost its only attraction, since our friends who had residedthere were returned to England; and, Monte Nero being the resort ofmany English, we did not wish to find ourselves in the midst of acolony of chance travellers. No one then thought it possible to resideat Via Reggio, which latterly has become a summer resort. The low landsand bad air of Maremma stretch the whole length of the western shoresof the Mediterranean, till broken by the rocks and hills of Spezia. Itwas a vague idea, but Shelley suggested an excursion to Spezia, to seewhether it would be feasible to spend a summer there. The beauty of thebay enchanted him. We saw no house to suit us; but the notion tookroot, and many circumstances, enchained as by fatality, occurred tourge him to execute it. 

He looked forward this autumn with great pleasure to the prospect of avisit from Leigh Hunt. When Shelley visited Lord Byron at Ravenna, thelatter had suggested his coming out, together with the plan of aperiodical work in which they should all join. Shelley saw a prospectof good for the fortunes of his friend, and pleasure in his society;and instantly exerted himself to have the plan executed. He did notintend himself joining in the work: partly from pride, not wishing tohave the air of acquiring readers for his poetry by associating it withthe compositions of more popular writers; and also because he mightfeel shackled in the free expression of his opinions, if any friendswere to be compromised. By those opinions, carried even to theiroutermost extent, he wished to live and die, as being in his convictionnot only true, but such as alone would conduce to the moral improvementand happiness of mankind. The sale of the work might meanwhile, eitherreally or supposedly, be injured by the free expression of histhoughts; and this evil he resolved to avoid. 

***

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1822. 

THE ZUCCA. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and dated'January, 1822. ' There is a copy amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. ]

1. Summer was dead and Autumn was expiring, And infant Winter laughed upon the landAll cloudlessly and cold;--when I, desiringMore in this world than any understand, Wept o'er the beauty, which, like sea retiring, _5Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sandOf my lorn heart, and o'er the grass and flowersPale for the falsehood of the flattering Hours. 

2. Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weepThe instability of all but weeping; _10And on the Earth lulled in her winter sleepI woke, and envied her as she was sleeping. Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creepThe wakening vernal airs, until thou, leapingFrom unremembered dreams, shalt ... See _15No death divide thy immortality. 

3. I loved--oh, no, I mean not one of ye, Or any earthly one, though ye are dearAs human heart to human heart may be;--I loved, I know not what--but this low sphere _20And all that it contains, contains not thee, Thou, whom, seen nowhere, I feel everywhere. From Heaven and Earth, and all that in them are, Veiled art thou, like a ... Star. 

4. By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest, _25Neither to be contained, delayed, nor hidden;Making divine the loftiest and the lowest, When for a moment thou art not forbiddenTo live within the life which thou bestowest;And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden, _30Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flightBlank as the sun after the birth of night. 

5. In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common, In music and the sweet unconscious toneOf animals, and voices which are human, _35Meant to express some feelings of their own;In the soft motions and rare smile of woman, In flowers and leaves, and in the grass fresh-shown, Or dying in the autumn, I the mostAdore thee present or lament thee lost. _40

6. And thus I went lamenting, when I sawA plant upon the river's margin lieLike one who loved beyond his nature's law, And in despair had cast him down to die;Its leaves, which had outlived the frost, the thaw _45Had blighted; like a heart which hatred's eyeCan blast not, but which pity kills; the dewLay on its spotted leaves like tears too true. 

7. The Heavens had wept upon it, but the EarthHad crushed it on her maternal breast _50

... 

8. I bore it to my chamber, and I plantedIt in a vase full of the lightest mould;The winter beams which out of Heaven slantedFell through the window-panes, disrobed of cold, Upon its leaves and flowers; the stars which panted _55In evening for the Day, whose car has rolledOver the horizon's wave, with looks of lightSmiled on it from the threshold of the night. 

9. The mitigated influences of airAnd light revived the plant, and from it grew _60Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair, Full as a cup with the vine's burning dew, O'erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphereOf vital warmth enfolded it anew, And every impulse sent to every partThe unbeheld pulsations of its heart. _65

10. Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong, Even if the air and sun had smiled not on it;For one wept o'er it all the winter longTears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon it _70Hour after hour; for sounds of softest songMixed with the stringed melodies that won itTo leave the gentle lips on which it slept, Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept. 

11. Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers _75On which he wept, the while the savage stormWaked by the darkest of December's hoursWas raving round the chamber hushed and warm;The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers, The fish were frozen in the pools, the form _80Of every summer plant was deadWhilst this.... 

... 

NOTES:_7 lorn Boscombe manuscript; poor edition 1824. _23 So Boscombe manuscript; Dim object of soul's idolatry edition 1824. _24 star Boscombe manuscript; wanting edition 1824. _38 grass fresh Boscombe manuscript; fresh grass edition 1824. _46 like Boscombe manuscript; as edition 1824. _68 air and sun Boscombe manuscript; sun and air edition 1824. 

***

THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER PATIENT. 

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", August 11, 1832. There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]

1. 'Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain;My hand is on thy brow, My spirit on thy brain;My pity on thy heart, poor friend;And from my fingers flow _5The powers of life, and like a sign, Seal thee from thine hour of woe;And brood on thee, but may not blendWith thine. 

2. 'Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not; _10But when I think that heWho made and makes my lotAs full of flowers as thine of weeds, Might have been lost like thee;And that a hand which was not mine _15Might then have charmed his agonyAs I another's--my heart bleedsFor thine. 

3. 'Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber ofThe dead and the unborn _20Forget thy life and love;Forget that thou must wake forever;Forget the world's dull scorn;Forget lost health, and the divineFeelings which died in youth's brief morn; _25And forget me, for I can neverBe thine. 

4. 'Like a cloud big with a May shower, My soul weeps healing rainOn thee, thou withered flower! _30It breathes mute music on thy sleepIts odour calms thy brain!Its light within thy gloomy breastSpreads like a second youth again. By mine thy being is to its deep _35Possessed. 

5. 'The spell is done. How feel you now?''Better--Quite well, ' repliedThe sleeper. --'What would do _39You good when suffering and awake?What cure your head and side?--''What would cure, that would kill me, Jane:And as I must on earth abideAwhile, yet tempt me not to breakMy chain. ' _45

NOTES;_1, _10 Sleep Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition; Sleep on 1832, 1839, 1st edition. _16 charmed Trelawny manuscript; chased 1832, editions 1839. _21 love]woe 1832. _42 so Trelawny manuscript 'Twould kill me what would cure my pain 1832, editions 1839. _44 Awhile yet, cj. A. C. Bradley. 

***

LINES: 'WHEN THE LAMP IS SHATTERED'. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]

1. When the lamp is shatteredThe light in the dust lies dead--When the cloud is scatteredThe rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, _5Sweet tones are remembered not;When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. 

2. As music and splendourSurvive not the lamp and the lute, _10The heart's echoes renderNo song when the spirit is mute:--No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges _15That ring the dead seaman's knell. 

3. When hearts have once mingledLove first leaves the well-built nest;The weak one is singledTo endure what it once possessed. _20O Love! who bewailestThe frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailestFor your cradle, your home, and your bier?

4. Its passions will rock thee _25As the storms rock the ravens on high;Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafterWill rot, and thine eagle home _30Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come. 

NOTES:_6 tones edition 1824; notes Trelawny manuscript. _14 through edition 1824; in Trelawny manuscript. _16 dead edition 1824; lost Trelawny manuscript. _23 choose edition 1824; chose Trelawny manuscript. _25-_32 wanting Trelawny manuscript. 

***

TO JANE: THE INVITATION. 

[This and the following poem were published together in their originalform as one piece under the title, "The Pine Forest of the Cascine nearPisa", by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824; reprinted in the sameshape, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition; republished separately intheir present form, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. There is acopy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]

Best and brightest, come away!Fairer far than this fair Day, Which, like thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrowTo the rough Year just awake _5In its cradle on the brake. The brightest hour of unborn Spring, Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon MornTo hoar February born, _10Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kissed the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, _15And breathed upon the frozen mountains, And like a prophetess of MayStrewed flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appearLike one on whom thou smilest, dear. _20

Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs--To the silent wildernessWhere the soul need not repressIts music lest it should not find _25An echo in another's mind, While the touch of Nature's artHarmonizes heart to heart. I leave this notice on my doorFor each accustomed visitor:-- _30'I am gone into the fieldsTo take what this sweet hour yields;--Reflection, you may come to-morrow, Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. --You with the unpaid bill, Despair, --You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care, -- _35I will pay you in the grave, --Death will listen to your stave. Expectation too, be off!To-day is for itself enough; _40Hope, in pity mock not WoeWith smiles, nor follow where I go;Long having lived on thy sweet food, At length I find one moment's goodAfter long pain--with all your love, _45This you never told me of. '

Radiant Sister of the Day, Awake! arise! and come away!To the wild woods and the plains, And the pools where winter rains _50. Image all their roof of leaves, Where the pine its garland weavesOf sapless green and ivy dunRound stems that never kiss the sun;Where the lawns and pastures be, _55And the sandhills of the sea;--Where the melting hoar-frost wetsThe daisy-star that never sets, And wind-flowers, and violets, Which yet join not scent to hue, _60Crown the pale year weak and new;When the night is left behindIn the deep east, dun and blind, And the blue noon is over us, And the multitudinous _65Billows murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet, And all things seem only oneIn the universal sun. 

NOTES:_34 with Trelawny manuscript; of 1839, 2nd edition. _44 moment's Trelawny manuscript; moment 1839, 2nd edition. _50 And Trelawny manuscript; To 1839, 2nd edition. _53 dun Trelawny manuscript; dim 1839, 2nd edition. 

***

TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. See the Editor's prefatory note to the preceding. ]

1. Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memory, and write its praise!Up, --to thy wonted work! come, trace _5The epitaph of glory fled, --For now the Earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow. 

2. We wandered to the Pine ForestThat skirts the Ocean's foam, _10The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep, The clouds were gone to play, And on the bosom of the deep _15The smile of Heaven lay;It seemed as if the hour were oneSent from beyond the skies, Which scattered from above the sunA light of Paradise. _20

3. We paused amid the pines that stoodThe giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rudeAs serpents interlaced;And, soothed by every azure breath, _25That under Heaven is blown, To harmonies and hues beneath, As tender as its own, Now all the tree-tops lay asleep, Like green waves on the sea, _30As still as in the silent deepThe ocean woods may be. 

4. How calm it was!--the silence thereBy such a chain was boundThat even the busy woodpecker _35Made stiller by her soundThe inviolable quietness;The breath of peace we drewWith its soft motion made not lessThe calm that round us grew. _40There seemed from the remotest seatOf the white mountain waste, To the soft flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced, --A spirit interfused around _45A thrilling, silent life, --To momentary peace it boundOur mortal nature's strife;And still I felt the centre ofThe magic circle there _50Was one fair form that filled with loveThe lifeless atmosphere. 

5. We paused beside the pools that lieUnder the forest bough, --Each seemed as 'twere a little sky _55Gulfed in a world below;A firmament of purple lightWhich in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of night, And purer than the day-- _60In which the lovely forests grew, As in the upper air, More perfect both in shape and hueThan any spreading there. There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, _65And through the dark green woodThe white sun twinkling like the dawnOut of a speckled cloud. Sweet views which in our world aboveCan never well be seen, _70Were imaged by the water's loveOf that fair forest green. And all was interfused beneathWith an Elysian glow, An atmosphere without a breath, _75A softer day below. Like one beloved the scene had lentTo the dark water's breast, Its every leaf and lineamentWith more than truth expressed; _80Until an envious wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought, Which from the mind's too faithful eyeBlots one dear image out. Though thou art ever fair and kind, _85The forests ever green, Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind, Than calm in waters, seen. 

NOTES:_6 fled edition. 1824; dead Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition. _10 Ocean's]Ocean 1839, 2nd edition. _24 Interlaced, 1839; interlaced; cj. A. C. Bradley. _28 own; 1839 own, cj. A. C. Bradley. _42 white Trelawny manuscript; wide 1839, 2nd edition_87 Shelley's Trelawny manuscript; S--'s 1839, 2nd edition. ]

***

THE PINE FOREST OF THE CASCINE NEAR PISA. 

[This, the first draft of "To Jane: The Invitation, The Recollection", was published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and reprinted, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. See Editor's Prefatory Note to"The Invitation", above. ]

Dearest, best and brightest, Come away, To the woods and to the fields!Dearer than this fairest dayWhich, like thee to those in sorrow, _5Comes to bid a sweet good-morrowTo the rough Year just awakeIn its cradle in the brake. The eldest of the Hours of Spring, Into the Winter wandering, _10Looks upon the leafless wood, And the banks all bare and rude;Found, it seems, this halcyon MornIn February's bosom born, Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, _15Kissed the cold forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free;And waked to music all the fountains, And breathed upon the rigid mountains, _20And made the wintry world appearLike one on whom thou smilest, Dear. 

Radiant Sister of the Day, Awake! arise! and come away!To the wild woods and the plains, _25To the pools where winter rainsImage all the roof of leaves, Where the pine its garland weavesSapless, gray, and ivy dunRound stems that never kiss the sun-- _30To the sandhills of the sea, Where the earliest violets be. 

Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, _35Rise, Memory, and write its praise!And do thy wonted work and traceThe epitaph of glory fled;For now the Earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow. _40

We wandered to the Pine ForestThat skirts the Ocean's foam, The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home. 

The whispering waves were half asleep, _45The clouds were gone to play, And on the woods, and on the deepThe smile of Heaven lay. 

It seemed as if the day were oneSent from beyond the skies, _50Which shed to earth above the sunA light of Paradise. 

We paused amid the pines that stood, The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude _55With stems like serpents interlaced. 

How calm it was--the silence thereBy such a chain was bound, That even the busy woodpeckerMade stiller by her sound _60

The inviolable quietness;The breath of peace we drewWith its soft motion made not lessThe calm that round us grew. 

It seemed that from the remotest seat _65Of the white mountain's wasteTo the bright flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced;--

A spirit interfused around, A thinking, silent life; _70To momentary peace it boundOur mortal nature's strife;--

And still, it seemed, the centre ofThe magic circle there, Was one whose being filled with love _75The breathless atmosphere. 

Were not the crocuses that grewUnder that ilex-treeAs beautiful in scent and hueAs ever fed the bee? _80

We stood beneath the pools that lieUnder the forest bough, And each seemed like a skyGulfed in a world below;

A purple firmament of light _85Which in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of night, And clearer than the day--

In which the massy forests grewAs in the upper air, _90More perfect both in shape and hueThan any waving there. 

Like one beloved the scene had lentTo the dark water's breastIts every leaf and lineament _95With that clear truth expressed;

There lay far glades and neighbouring lawn, And through the dark green crowdThe white sun twinkling like the dawnUnder a speckled cloud. _100

Sweet views, which in our world aboveCan never well be seen, Were imaged by the water's loveOf that fair forest green. 

And all was interfused beneath _105With an Elysian air, An atmosphere without a breath, A silence sleeping there. 

Until a wandering wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought, _110Which from my mind's too faithful eyeBlots thy bright image out. 

For thou art good and dear and kind, The forest ever green, But less of peace in S--'s mind, Than calm in waters, seen. _116. 

***

WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE. 

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", October 20, 1832; "Frazer'sMagazine", January 1833. There is a copy amongst the Trelawnymanuscripts. ]

Ariel to Miranda:--TakeThis slave of Music, for the sakeOf him who is the slave of thee, And teach it all the harmonyIn which thou canst, and only thou, _5Make the delighted spirit glow, Till joy denies itself again, And, too intense, is turned to pain;For by permission and commandOf thine own Prince Ferdinand, _10Poor Ariel sends this silent tokenOf more than ever can be spoken;Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who, From life to life, must still pursueYour happiness;--for thus alone _15Can Ariel ever find his own. From Prospero's enchanted cell, As the mighty verses tell, To the throne of Naples, heLit you o'er the trackless sea, _20Flitting on, your prow before, Like a living meteor. When you die, the silent Moon, In her interlunar swoon, Is not sadder in her cellThan deserted Ariel. When you live again on earth, Like an unseen star of birth, Ariel guides you o'er the seaOf life from your nativity. _30Many changes have been runSince Ferdinand and you begunYour course of love, and Ariel stillHas tracked your steps, and served your will;Now, in humbler, happier lot, _35This is all remembered not;And now, alas! the poor sprite isImprisoned, for some fault of his, In a body like a grave;--From you he only dares to crave, _40For his service and his sorrow, A smile today, a song tomorrow. 

The artist who this idol wrought, To echo all harmonious thought, Felled a tree, while on the steep _45The woods were in their winter sleep, Rocked in that repose divineOn the wind-swept Apennine;And dreaming, some of Autumn past, And some of Spring approaching fast, _50And some of April buds and showers, And some of songs in July bowers, And all of love; and so this tree, --O that such our death may be!--Died in sleep, and felt no pain, _55To 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, _60In language gentle as thine own;Whispering in enamoured toneSweet oracles of woods and dells, And summer winds in sylvan cells;For it had learned all harmonies _65Of 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, _70The melodies of birds and bees, The murmuring of summer seas, And pattering rain, and breathing dew, And airs of evening; and it knewThat seldom-heard mysterious sound, _75Which, driven on its diurnal round, As it floats through boundless day, Our world enkindles on its way. --All this it knows, but will not tellTo those who cannot question well _80The Spirit that inhabits it;It talks according to the witOf its companions; and no moreIs heard than has been felt before, By those who tempt it to betray _85These secrets of an elder day:But, sweetly as its answers willFlatter hands of perfect skill, It keeps its highest, holiest toneFor our beloved Jane alone. _90

NOTES:_12 Of more than ever]Of love that never 1833. _46 woods Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition; winds 1832, 1833, 1839, 1st edition. _58 this Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition; that 1832, 1833, 1839, 1st edition. _61 thine own Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition; its own 1832, 1833, 1839, 1st edition. _76 on Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition; in 1832, 1833, 1839, 1st edition. _90 Jane Trelawny manuscript; friend 1832, 1833, editions 1839. 

***

TO JANE: 'THE KEEN STARS WERE TWINKLING'. 

[Published in part (lines 7-24) by Medwin (under the title, "An Ariettefor Music. To a Lady singing to her Accompaniment on the Guitar"), "TheAthenaeum", November 17, 1832; reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, "PoeticalWorks", 1839, 1st edition. Republished in full (under the title, To--. ), "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. The Trelawny manuscript isheaded "To Jane". Mr. C. W. Frederickson of Brooklyn possesses atranscript in an unknown hand. ]

1. The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among them, Dear Jane!The guitar was tinkling, But the notes were not sweet till you sung them _5Again. 

2. As the moon's soft splendourO'er the faint cold starlight of HeavenIs thrown, So your voice most tender _10To the strings without soul had then givenIts own. 

3. The stars will awaken, Though the moon sleep a full hour later, To-night; _15No leaf will be shakenWhilst the dews of your melody scatterDelight. 

4. Though the sound overpowers, Sing again, with your dear voice revealing _20A toneOf some world far from ours, Where music and moonlight and feelingAre one. 

NOTES:_3 Dear *** 1839, 2nd edition. _7 soft]pale Fred. Manuscript. _10 your 1839, 2nd edition. ; thy 1832, 1839, 1st edition, Fred. Manuscript. _11 had then 1839, 2nd edition; has 1832, 1839, 1st edition; hath Fred. Manuscript. _12 Its]Thine Fred. Manuscript. _17 your 1839, 2nd edition; thy 1832, 1839, 1st edition, Fred. Manuscript. _19 sound]song Fred. Manuscript. _20 your dear 1839, 2nd edition; thy sweet 1832, 1839, 1st edition; thy soft Fred. Manuscript. 

***

A DIRGE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

Rough wind, that moanest loudGrief too sad for song;Wild wind, when sullen cloudKnells all the night long;Sad storm whose tears are vain, _5Bare woods, whose branches strain, Deep caves and dreary main, --Wail, for the world's wrong!

NOTE:_6 strain cj. Rossetti; stain edition 1824. 

***

LINES WRITTEN IN THE BAY OF LERICI. 

[Published from the Boscombe manuscripts by Dr. Garnett, "Macmillan'sMagazine", June, 1862; reprinted, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

She left me at the silent timeWhen the moon had ceased to climbThe azure path of Heaven's steep, And like an albatross asleep, Balanced on her wings of light, _5Hovered in the purple night, Ere she sought her ocean nestIn the chambers of the West. She left me, and I stayed aloneThinking over every tone _10Which, though silent to the ear, The enchanted heart could hear, Like notes which die when born, but stillHaunt the echoes of the hill;And feeling ever--oh, too much!-- _15The soft vibration of her touch, As if her gentle hand, even now, Lightly trembled on my brow;And thus, although she absent were, Memory gave me all of her _20That even Fancy dares to claim:--Her presence had made weak and tameAll passions, and I lived aloneIn the time which is our own;The past and future were forgot, _25As they had been, and would be, not. But soon, the guardian angel gone, The daemon reassumed his throneIn my faint heart. I dare not speakMy thoughts, but thus disturbed and weak _30I sat and saw the vessels glideOver the ocean bright and wide, Like spirit-winged chariots sentO'er some serenest elementFor ministrations strange and far; _35As if to some Elysian starSailed for drink to medicineSuch sweet and bitter pain as mine. And the wind that winged their flightFrom the land came fresh and light, _40And the scent of winged flowers, And the coolness of the hoursOf dew, and sweet warmth left by day, Were scattered o'er the twinkling bay. And the fisher with his lamp _45And spear about the low rocks dampCrept, and struck the fish which cameTo worship the delusive flame. Too happy they, whose pleasure soughtExtinguishes all sense and thought _50Of the regret that pleasure leaves, Destroying life alone, not peace!

NOTES:_11 though silent Relics 1862; though now silent Mac. Mag. 1862. _31 saw Relics 1862; watched Mac. Mag. 1862. 

***

LINES: 'WE MEET NOT AS WE PARTED'. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

1. We meet not as we parted, We feel more than all may see;My bosom is heavy-hearted, And thine full of doubt for me:--One moment has bound the free. _5

2. That moment is gone for ever, Like lightning that flashed and died--Like a snowflake upon the river--Like a sunbeam upon the tide, Which the dark shadows hide. _10

3. That moment from time was singledAs the first of a life of pain;The cup of its joy was mingled--Delusion too sweet though vain!Too sweet to be mine again. _15

4. Sweet lips, could my heart have hiddenThat its life was crushed by you, Ye would not have then forbiddenThe death which a heart so trueSought in your briny dew. _20

5.......... Methinks too little costFor a moment so found, so lost! _25

***

THE ISLE. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

There was a little lawny isletBy anemone and violet, Like mosaic, paven:And its roof was flowers and leavesWhich the summer's breath enweaves, _5Where nor sun nor showers nor breezePierce the pines and tallest trees, Each a gem engraven;--Girt by many an azure waveWith which the clouds and mountains pave _10A lake's blue chasm. 

***

FRAGMENT: TO THE MOON. 

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

Bright wanderer, fair coquette of Heaven, To whom alone it has been givenTo change and be adored for ever, Envy not this dim world, for neverBut once within its shadow grew _5One fair as--

***

EPITAPH. 

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

These are two friends whose lives were undivided;So let their memory be, now they have glidedUnder the grave; let not their bones be parted, For their two hearts in life were single-hearted. 

***

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1822, BY MRS. SHELLEY. 

 This morn thy gallant bark Sailed on a sunny sea: 'Tis noon, and tempests dark Have wrecked it on the lee. Ah woe! ah woe! By Spirits of the deep Thou'rt cradled on the billow To thy eternal sleep. 

 Thou sleep'st upon the shore Beside the knelling surge, And Sea-nymphs evermore Shall sadly chant thy dirge. They come, they come, The Spirits of the deep, -- While near thy seaweed pillow My lonely watch I keep. 

 From far across the sea I hear a loud lament, By Echo's voice for thee From Ocean's caverns sent. O list! O list! The Spirits of the deep! They raise a wail of sorrow, While I forever weep. 

With this last year of the life of Shelley these Notes end. They arenot what I intended them to be. I began with energy, and a burningdesire to impart to the world, in worthy language, the sense I have ofthe virtues and genius of the beloved and the lost; my strength hasfailed under the task. Recurrence to the past, full of its own deep andunforgotten joys and sorrows, contrasted with succeeding years ofpainful and solitary struggle, has shaken my health. Days of greatsuffering have followed my attempts to write, and these again produceda weakness and languor that spread their sinister influence over thesenotes. I dislike speaking of myself, but cannot help apologizing to thedead, and to the public, for not having executed in the manner Idesired the history I engaged to give of Shelley's writings. (I at onetime feared that the correction of the press might be less exactthrough my illness; but I believe that it is nearly free from error. Some asterisks occur in a few pages, as they did in the volume of"Posthumous Poems", either because they refer to private concerns, orbecause the original manuscript was left imperfect. Did any one see thepapers from which I drew that volume, the wonder would be how any eyesor patience were capable of extracting it from so confused a mass, interlined and broken into fragments, so that the sense could only bedeciphered and joined by guesses which might seem rather intuitive thanfounded on reasoning. Yet I believe no mistake was made. )

The winter of 1822 was passed in Pisa, if we might call that seasonwinter in which autumn merged into spring after the interval of but fewdays of bleaker weather. Spring sprang up early, and with extremebeauty. Shelley had conceived the idea of writing a tragedy on thesubject of Charles I. It was one that he believed adapted for a drama;full of intense interest, contrasted character, and busy passion. Hehad recommended it long before, when he encouraged me to attempt aplay. Whether the subject proved more difficult than he anticipated, orwhether in fact he could not bend his mind away from the broodings andwanderings of thought, divested from human interest, which he bestloved, I cannot tell; but he proceeded slowly, and threw it aside forone of the most mystical of his poems, the "Triumph of Life", on whichhe was employed at the last. 

His passion for boating was fostered at this time by having among ourfriends several sailors. His favourite companion, Edward EllerkerWilliams, of the 8th Light Dragoons, had begun his life in the navy, and had afterwards entered the army; he had spent several years inIndia, and his love for adventure and manly exercises accorded withShelley's taste. It was their favourite plan to build a boat such asthey could manage themselves, and, living on the sea-coast, to enjoy atevery hour and season the pleasure they loved best. Captain Roberts, R. N. , undertook to build the boat at Genoa, where he was also occupiedin building the "Bolivar" for Lord Byron. Ours was to be an open boat, on a model taken from one of the royal dockyards. I have since heardthat there was a defect in this model, and that it was never seaworthy. In the month of February, Shelley and his friend went to Spezia to seekfor houses for us. Only one was to be found at all suitable; however, atrifle such as not finding a house could not stop Shelley; the onefound was to serve for all. It was unfurnished; we sent our furnitureby sea, and with a good deal of precipitation, arising from hisimpatience, made our removal. We left Pisa on the 26th of April. 

The Bay of Spezia is of considerable extent, and divided by a rockypromontory into a larger and smaller one. The town of Lerici issituated on the eastern point, and in the depth of the smaller bay, which bears the name of this town, is the village of San Terenzo. Ourhouse, Casa Magni, was close to this village; the sea came up to thedoor, a steep hill sheltered it behind. The proprietor of the estate onwhich it was situated was insane; he had begun to erect a large houseat the summit of the hill behind, but his malady prevented its beingfinished, and it was falling into ruin. He had (and this to theItalians had seemed a glaring symptom of very decided madness) rootedup the olives on the hillside, and planted forest trees. These weremostly young, but the plantation was more in English taste than I everelsewhere saw in Italy; some fine walnut and ilex trees intermingledtheir dark massy foliage, and formed groups which still haunt mymemory, as then they satiated the eye with a sense of loveliness. Thescene was indeed of unimaginable beauty. The blue extent of waters, thealmost landlocked bay, the near castle of Lerici shutting it in to theeast, and distant Porto Venere to the west; the varied forms of theprecipitous rocks that bound in the beach, over which there was only awinding rugged footpath towards Lerici, and none on the other side; thetideless sea leaving no sands nor shingle, formed a picture such as onesees in Salvator Rosa's landscapes only. Sometimes the sunshinevanished when the sirocco raged--the 'ponente' the wind was called onthat shore. The gales and squalls that hailed our first arrivalsurrounded the bay with foam; the howling wind swept round our exposedhouse, and the sea roared unremittingly, so that we almost fanciedourselves on board ship. At other times sunshine and calm invested seaand sky, and the rich tints of Italian heaven bathed the scene inbright and ever-varying tints. 

The natives were wilder than the place. Our near neighbours of SanTerenzo were more like savages than any people I ever before livedamong. Many a night they passed on the beach, singing, or ratherhowling; the women dancing about among the waves that broke at theirfeet, the men leaning against the rocks and joining in their loud wildchorus. We could get no provisions nearer than Sarzana, at a distanceof three miles and a half off, with the torrent of the Magra between;and even there the supply was very deficient. Had we been wrecked on anisland of the South Seas, we could scarcely have felt ourselves fartherfrom civilisation and comfort; but, where the sun shines, the latterbecomes an unnecessary luxury, and we had enough society amongourselves. Yet I confess housekeeping became rather a toilsome task, especially as I was suffering in my health, and could not exert myselfactively. 

At first the fatal boat had not arrived, and was expected with greatimpatience. On Monday, 12th May, it came. Williams records thelong-wished-for fact in his journal: 'Cloudy and threatening weather. M. Maglian called; and after dinner, and while walking with him on theterrace, we discovered a strange sail coming round the point of PortoVenere, which proved at length to be Shelley's boat. She had left Genoaon Thursday last, but had been driven back by the prevailing bad winds. A Mr. Heslop and two English seamen brought her round, and they speakmost highly of her performances. She does indeed excite my surprise andadmiration. Shelley and I walked to Lerici, and made a stretch off theland to try her: and I find she fetches whatever she looks at. Inshort, we have now a perfect plaything for the summer. '--It was thusthat short-sighted mortals welcomed Death, he having disguised his grimform in a pleasing mask! The time of the friends was now spent on thesea; the weather became fine, and our whole party often passed theevenings on the water when the wind promised pleasant sailing. Shelleyand Williams made longer excursions; they sailed several times toMassa. They had engaged one of the seamen who brought her round, a boy, by name Charles Vivian; and they had not the slightest apprehension ofdanger. When the weather was unfavourable, they employed themselveswith alterations in the rigging, and by building a boat of canvas andreeds, as light as possible, to have on board the other for theconvenience of landing in waters too shallow for the larger vessel. When Shelley was on board, he had his papers with him; and much of the"Triumph of Life" was written as he sailed or weltered on that seawhich was soon to engulf him. 

The heats set in in the middle of June; the days became excessivelyhot. But the sea-breeze cooled the air at noon, and extreme heat alwaysput Shelley in spirits. A long drought had preceded the heat; andprayers for rain were being put up in the churches, and processions ofrelics for the same effect took place in every town. At this time wereceived letters announcing the arrival of Leigh Hunt at Genoa. Shelleywas very eager to see him. I was confined to my room by severe illness, and could not move; it was agreed that Shelley and Williams should goto Leghorn in the boat. Strange that no fear of danger crossed ourminds! Living on the sea-shore, the ocean became as a plaything: as achild may sport with a lighted stick, till a spark inflames a forest, and spreads destruction over all, so did we fearlessly and blindlytamper with danger, and make a game of the terrors of the ocean. OurItalian neighbours, even, trusted themselves as far as Massa in theskiff; and the running down the line of coast to Leghorn gave no morenotion of peril than a fair-weather inland navigation would have doneto those who had never seen the sea. Once, some months before, Trelawnyhad raised a warning voice as to the difference of our calm bay and theopen sea beyond; but Shelley and his friend, with their one sailor-boy, thought themselves a match for the storms of the Mediterranean, in aboat which they looked upon as equal to all it was put to do. 

On the 1st of July they left us. If ever shadow of future ill darkenedthe present hour, such was over my mind when they went. During thewhole of our stay at Lerici, an intense presentiment of coming evilbrooded over my mind, and covered this beautiful place and genialsummer with the shadow of coming misery. I had vainly struggled withthese emotions--they seemed accounted for by my illness; but at thishour of separation they recurred with renewed violence. I did notanticipate danger for them, but a vague expectation of evil shook me toagony, and I could scarcely bring myself to let them go. The day wascalm and clear; and, a fine breeze rising at twelve, they weighed forLeghorn. They made the run of about fifty miles in seven hours and ahalf. The "Bolivar" was in port; and, the regulations of theHealth-office not permitting them to go on shore after sunset, theyborrowed cushions from the larger vessel, and slept on board theirboat. 

They spent a week at Pisa and Leghorn. The want of rain was severelyfelt in the country. The weather continued sultry and fine. I haveheard that Shelley all this time was in brilliant spirits. Not longbefore, talking of presentiment, he had said the only one that he everfound infallible was the certain advent of some evil fortune when hefelt peculiarly joyous. Yet, if ever fate whispered of coming disaster, such inaudible but not unfelt prognostics hovered around us. The beautyof the place seemed unearthly in its excess: the distance we were atfrom all signs of civilization, the sea at our feet, its murmurs or itsroaring for ever in our ears, --all these things led the mind to broodover strange thoughts, and, lifting it from everyday life, caused it tobe familiar with the unreal. A sort of spell surrounded us; and eachday, as the voyagers did not return, we grew restless and disquieted, and yet, strange to say, we were not fearful of the most apparentdanger. 

The spell snapped; it was all over; an interval of agonizing doubt--ofdays passed in miserable journeys to gain tidings, of hopes that tookfirmer root even as they were more baseless--was changed to thecertainty of the death that eclipsed all happiness for the survivorsfor evermore. 

There was something in our fate peculiarly harrowing. The remains ofthose we lost were cast on shore; but, by the quarantine-laws of thecoast, we were not permitted to have possession of them--the law withrespect to everything cast on land by the sea being that such should beburned, to prevent the possibility of any remnant bringing the plagueinto Italy; and no representation could alter the law. At length, through the kind and unwearied exertions of Mr. Dawkins, our Charged'Affaires at Florence, we gained permission to receive the ashes afterthe bodies were consumed. Nothing could equal the zeal of Trelawny incarrying our wishes into effect. He was indefatigable in his exertions, and full of forethought and sagacity in his arrangements. It was afearful task; he stood before us at last, his hands scorched andblistered by the flames of the funeral-pyre, and by touching the burntrelics as he placed them in the receptacles prepared for the purpose. And there, in compass of that small case, was gathered all thatremained on earth of him whose genius and virtue were a crown of gloryto the world--whose love had been the source of happiness, peace, andgood, --to be buried with him!

The concluding stanzas of the "Adonais" pointed out where the remainsought to be deposited; in addition to which our beloved child layburied in the cemetery at Rome. Thither Shelley's ashes were conveyed;and they rest beneath one of the antique weed-grown towers that recurat intervals in the circuit of the massy ancient wall of Rome. Heselected the hallowed place himself; there is

 'the sepulchre, Oh, not of him, but of our joy!-- ... And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who planned This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transformed to marble; and beneath, A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitched in Heaven's smile their camp of death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguished breath. '

Could sorrow for the lost, and shuddering anguish at the vacancy leftbehind, be soothed by poetic imaginations, there was something inShelley's fate to mitigate pangs which yet, alas! could not be somitigated; for hard reality brings too miserably home to the mournerall that is lost of happiness, all of lonely unsolaced struggle thatremains. Still, though dreams and hues of poetry cannot blunt grief, itinvests his fate with a sublime fitness, which those less nearly alliedmay regard with complacency. A year before he had poured into verse allsuch ideas about death as give it a glory of its own. He had, as it nowseems, almost anticipated his own destiny; and, when the mind figureshis skiff wrapped from sight by the thunder-storm, as it was last seenupon the purple sea, and then, as the cloud of the tempest passed away, no sign remained of where it had been (Captain Roberts watched thevessel with his glass from the top of the lighthouse of Leghorn, on itshomeward track. They were off Via Reggio, at some distance from shore, when a storm was driven over the sea. It enveloped them and severallarger vessels in darkness. When the cloud passed onwards, Robertslooked again, and saw every other vessel sailing on the ocean excepttheir little schooner, which had vanished. From that time he couldscarcely doubt the fatal truth; yet we fancied that they might havebeen driven towards Elba or Corsica, and so be saved. The observationmade as to the spot where the boat disappeared caused it to be found, through the exertions of Trelawny for that effect. It had gone down inten fathom water; it had not capsized, and, except such things as hadfloated from her, everything was found on board exactly as it had beenplaced when they sailed. The boat itself was uninjured. Robertspossessed himself of her, and decked her; but she proved not seaworthy, and her shattered planks now lie rotting on the shore of one of theIonian islands, on which she was wrecked. )--who but will regard as aprophecy the last stanza of the "Adonais"?

 'The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. '

Putney, May 1, 1839.