The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley. The text newly collated and revised and edited with a memoir and notes by G. E. Woodberry. Centenary edition

Front matter

■ \m a i c ■ i ■ ■ ■ I I I Ccntcnarp €bition THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS of PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY IN FOUR VOLUMES VOLUME THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE TEXT NEWLY COLLATED AND REVISED AND EDITED WITH A MEMOIR AND NOTES BY GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY Centenary Coition IN FOUR VOLUMES VOLUME III BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY Œfie ftftiersitre Pre££, Œambribge M DCCC Copyright, 1S92, Bt HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. All rights reserved. TAe Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., XT. S. A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company.

CONTENTS PAGE Œdipus Tyrannus 1 Epipsychidion 41 Adonais 67 Hellas 95 Miscellaneous Poems Early Poems Evening : to Harriet 159 To Ianthe 160 Stanza written at Bracknell .... 160 To "Oh, there are spirits of the air" . 161 To "Yet look on me — take not thine eyes away" 162 Stanzas: April, 1814 163 To Harriet 164 To Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin . . . 166 Mutability 167 On Death 168 A Summer Evening Churchyard, Lechlade, Gloucestershire 169 To Wordsworth 171 Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte 171 Lines : " The cold earth slept below " . . 172 Poems written in 1816 The Sunset 174 Hymn to Intellectual Beauty .... 176 Mont Blanc : Lines written in the Vale of Chamouni VI CONTENTS Poems written in 1817 Marianne's Dream . . . . - . . • 185 To Constantia singing 191 To the Lord Chancellor 193 To William Shelley 19' On Fanny Godwin 199 Lines: " That time is dead forever, child" • 200 Death 200 Sonnet : Ozymandias • 201 Lines to a Critic 202 Poems written in 1818 Sonnet : To the Nile 203 Passage of the Apennines 204 The Past 204 On a Faded Violet 205 Lines written among the Euganean Hills . 206 Invocation to Misery- 218 Stanzas written in dejection, near Naples . 221 Sonnet : " Lift not the painted veil which those who live" .... .... 223 Poems written in 1819 Lines written during the Castlereagh Admenis- 99^ TRATION •"<■' Song to the Men of England .... 226 To Sidmouth and Castlereagh .... 228 England in 1819 229 National Anthem 230 Ode to Heaven • • 232 An Exhortation 234 Ode to the West Wind 235 An Ode written October, 1819, before the Spaniards had recovered their Liberty . . . 238 On the Medusa of Leonardo da Vinci in the Florentine Gallery 240 The Indian Serenade 242 To Sophia 243 Love's Philosophy CONTENTS VII Poems written in 1820 The Sensitive Plant 246 A Vision of the Sea 259 The Cloud 267 To a Skylark 270 Ode to Liberty 274 To : " I FEAR THY KISSES, GENTLE MAIDEN " . 286 Arethusa 286 Song of Proserpine while gathering Flowers on the Plain of Enna 289 Hymn of Apollo 290 Hymn of Pan 291 The Question 293 The Two Spirits: an Allegory .... 295 Letter to Maria Gisborne 297 Ode to Naples "309 Autumn : a Dtrge 315 Death 316 Liberty 317 Summer and Winter 318 The Tower of Famine 319 An Allegory : " A portal as op shadowy adamant" .320 The World's Wanderers 320 Sonnet : " Ye hasten to the grave !

What seek ye there " 321 Lines to a Reviewer 322 Time long past 323 Buona Notte 324 Good-Night 324 Poems written in 1821 Dirge for the Year 326 Time 327 From the Arabic : an Imitation .... 328 Song : '■ Rarely, rarely comest thou " . . 328 To Night CONTENTS VIII To : " Music, when soft voices die " . . 332 To : " When passion's trance is overpast " 333 Mutability 334 Lines: "Far, far away, 0 ye" . . . . 335 The Fugitives 335 Lines written on hearing the News of the Death op Napoleon 338 Sonnet : Political Greatness 339 A BRrDAL Song 340 Epithalamium 341 Another Version 342 Evening: Ponte al Mare, Pisa .... 343 The Aziola 345 To : "One word is too often profaned'' . 346 Remembrance ........ 347 To Edward Williams 348 To-morrow 351 Lines : " If I walk in autumn's even " . . 351 A Lament : " 0 World ! 0 Life ! 0 Time !

Preface

tbdppaKOv fj\9e, Bi'wi', Tori <rbv crropa, tpdppatcov eTSes" nis Teu toi? TrOTe'opajue, kovk iy\vKav(h} ; Tt's 5« (SpoTO? TOffffOUTOf aca/iepos, tj (cepdcrai toi, *H Sous at AaAe'oi-Ti TO tfrappajcov ; eK^i/yey ojoar. Moschus, Epitaph. Bion. It is my intention to subjoin to the London edition of this poem a criticism upon the claims of its lamented object to be classed among the writers of the highest genius who have adorned our age. My known repugnance to the narrow principles of taste on which several of his earlier compositions were modelled prove, at least, that I am an impartial judge. I consider the fragment of Hyperion as second to nothing that was ever produced by a writer of the same years. John Keats died at Rome of a consumption, in his twenty fourth year, on the of 1821 ; and was buried in the romantic and lonely cemetery of the Protestants in that city, under the pyramid which is the tomb of Cestius and the massy walls aud towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed the circuit of ancient Rome.

The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in win ter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place. The genius of the lamented person to whose memory I have dedicated these unworthy verses was not less delicate and fragile than it was beautiful ; and where cankerworms abound what wonder if its young flower was blighted in the bud ? The savage criticism on his Endymion, which appeared in the Quarterly Review, produced the most vio lent effect on his susceptible mind ; the agitation thus origi nated ended in the rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs ; a

PREFACE.

rapid consumption ensued, and the succeeding acknowledg ments from more candid critics of the true greatness of his powers were ineffectual to heal the wound thus wantonly inflicted. It may be well said that these wretched men know not what they do. They scatter their insults and their slanders without heed as to whether the poisoned shaft lights on a heart made callous by many blows, or one like Keats's composed of more penetrable stuff. One of their associates is, to my knowledge, a most base and unprincipled calumni ator. As to Endymion, was it a poem, whatever might be its defects, to be treated contemptuously by those who had celebrated with various degrees of complacency and panegyric Paris and Woman and a Syrian Tale, and Mrs. Lefanu and Mr. Barrett and Mr. Howard Payne and a long list of the illustrious obscure ?

Are these the men who in their venal good nature presumed to draw a parallel between the Rev. Mr. Milman and Lord Byron ? What gnat did they strain at here after having swallowed all those camels ? Against what woman taken in adultery dares the foremost of these literary prostitutes to cast his opprobrious stone ? Miserable man ! you, one of the meanest, have wantonly defaced one of the noblest specimens of the workmanship of God. Nor shall it be your excuse that, murderer as you are, you have spoken daggers but used none. The circumstances of the closing scene of poor Keats's life were not made known to me until the Elegy was ready for the press. I am given to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received from the criticism of Endymion was exasperated by the bitter sense of unre quited benefits ; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from the stage of life no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise of his genius than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his care.

He was accompanied to Rome and attended in his last illness by Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been informed, " almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend." Had I known these circumstances before the completion of

PREFACE.

my poem, I should have been tempted to add my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own motives. Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from " such stuff as dreams are made of." His conduct is a golden augury of the success of his future career — may the unextinguished Spirit of his illustrious friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead against Oblivion for his name ! ADONAIS I I WEEP for Adonais — he is dead ! Oh, weep for Adonais ! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head ! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow ! Say : " With me Died Adonais ; till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity !

" ii Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies In darkness ? where was lorn Urania When Adonais died ? With veiled eyes, 'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise She sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath, Rekindled all the fading melodies, With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of death, m Oh, weep for Adonais — he is dead ! Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep ! ADONAIS Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep Like his a mute and uncomplaining sleep ; For he is gone where all things wise and fair Descend. Oh, dream not that the amorous Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air ; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair. iv Most musical of mourners, weep again !

Lament anew, Urania ! — He died, Who was the sire of an immortal strain, Blind, old, and lonely, when his country's pride The priest, the slave, and the liberticide Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite Of lust and blood ; he went, unterrified. Into the gulf of death ; but his clear Sprite Yet reigns o'er earth, the third among the sons of light. v Most musical of mourners, weep anew ! Not all to that bright station dared to climb ; And happier they their happiness who knew, Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time In which suns perished ; others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or God, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime ; And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode. ADONAIS vi But now, thy youngest, dearest one has perished, The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished And fed with true-love tears instead of dew ; Most musical of mourners, weep anew !

Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last, The bloom, whose petals, nipped before they blew, Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste ; The broken lily lies — the storm is overpast. vii To that high Capital, where kingly Death Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came ; and bought, with price of purest breath, A grave among the eternal. — Come away ! Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day Is yet his fitting charnel-roof ! while still He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay ; Awake him not ! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill. vi II He will awake no more, oh, never more ! Within the twilight chamber spreads apace The shadow of white Death, and at the door Invisible Corruption waits to trace His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place ; ADONAIS The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface So fair a prey, till darkness and the law Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

IX Oh, weep for Adonais ! — The quick Dreams, The passion-winged ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music, wander not, — Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain, But droop there, whence they sprung ; and mourn their lot Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again. x And one with trembling hand clasps his cold head, And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries, " Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead ; See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies A tear some Dream haj loosened from his brain." Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise ! She knew not 'twas her own ; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain. viii. 9 Galignani, 1S29 || Of mortal change shall fill the grave which is her maw, Shelley, 1821.

ADONAIS 77 XI One from a lucid urn of starry dew Washed his light limbs, as if embalming them ; Another clipped her profuse locks, and threw The wreath upon him, like an anadem, Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem ; Another in her wilful grief would break Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem A greater loss with one which was more weak ; And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek. XII Another Splendor on his mouth alit, That mouth whence it was wont to draw the breath Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit, And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music ; the damp death Quenched its caress upon his icy lips ; And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapor, which the cold night clips, It flushed through his pale limbs, and passed to its eclipse.

XIII And others came — Desires and Adorations, Winged Persuasions and veiled Destinies, Splendors, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations Of hopes and fears, and twilight Fantasies ; And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs, And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam xii. 6 his, Shelley, 1821 || its, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. ADONAIS Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, Came in slow pomp ; — the moving pomp might seem Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream. xiv All he had loved, and moulded into thought From shape, and hue, and odor, and sweet sound, Lamented Adonais. Morning sought Her eastern watch tower, and her hair unbound, Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, Dimmed the aerial eyes that kindle day ; After the melancholy thunder moaned, Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, And the wild winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay. xv Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief with his remembered lay, And will no more reply to winds or fountains, Or amorous birds perched on the young green spray, Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day ; Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear Than those for whose disdain she pined away Into a shadow of all sounds : — - a drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.

XVI Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, ADONAIS 79 Or they dead leaves ; since her delight is flown, For whom should she have waked the sullen year ? To Phœbus was not Hyacinth so dear, Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both Thou, Adonais ; wan they stand and sere Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turned to tears ; odor, to sighing ruth. XVII Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale, Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain ; Not so the eagle, who like thee coidd scale Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain, Soaring and screaming round her empty nest, As Albion wails for thee : the curse of Cain Light on his head who pierced thy innocent breast, And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest !

XVIII Ah woe is me ! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year ; The airs and streams renew their joyous tone ; The ants, the bees, the swallows, reappear ; Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons' bier ; The amorous birds now pair in every brake, And build their mossy homes in field aud brere ; xvi. 3 Or, II And, James Thomson conj. 8 faint companions, Mrs. Shelley, 1S391 || drooping com rades, Shelley, 1821. ADONAIS And the green lizard and the golden snake, Like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake. XIX Through wood and stream and field and hill and Ocean, A quickening life from the Earth's heart has burst, As it has ever done, with change and motion, From the great morning of the world when first God dawned on Chaos ; in its stream immersed, The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light ; All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst, Diffuse themselves, and spend in love's delight The beauty and the joy of their renewed might. xx The leprous corpse, touched by this spirit tender, Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath ; Like incarnations of the stars, when splendor Is changed to fragrance, they illumiue death And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath.

Nought we know dies. Shall that alone which knows Be as a sword consumed before the sheath By sightless lightning ? the intense atom glows A moment, then is quenched in a most cold repose. XXI Alas ! that all we loved of him should be, But for our grief, as if it had not been, And grief itself be mortal ! Woe is me ! xx. 3 when, |[ where or whose, Rossetti conj. ADONAIS Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene The actors or spectators ? Great and mean Meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow. As long as skies are blue and fields are green, Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow. XXII He will awake no more, oh, never more ! " Wake thou," cried Misery, " childless Mother, rise Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's core, A wound more fierce than his with tears and sighs."

And all the Dreams that watched Urania's eyes, And all the Echoes whom their sister's song- Had held in holy silence, cried, " Arise ! " Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory stung, From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendor sprung. XXIII She rose like an autumnal Night, that springs Out of the East, and follows wild and drear The golden Day, which, on eternal wings, Even as a ghost abandoning a bier, Had left the Earth a corpse ; — sorrow and fear So struck, so roused, so rapt Urania ; So saddened round her like an atmosphere Of stormy mist ; so swept her on her way Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay. ADONAIS XXIV Out of her secret Paradise she sped, Through camps and cities rough with stone, and steel, And human hearts which, to her airy tread Yielding not, wounded the invisible Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell ; And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they, Rent the soft Form they never could repel, Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of May, Paved with eternal flowers that undeserving way.

XXV In the death-chamber for a moment Death, Shamed by the presence of that living Might, Blushed to annihilation, and the breath Revisited those lips, and life's pale light Flashed through those limbs, so late her dear delight. " Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless, As silent lightning leaves the starless night ! Leave me not ! " cried Urania ; her distress Roused Death ; Death rose and smiled, and met her vain caress. xxvi " Stay yet awhile ! speak to me once again ; Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live ; And in my heartless breast and burning brain That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive, ADONAIS With food of saddest memory kept alive, Now thou art dead, as if it were a part Of thee, my Adonais ! I would give All that I am to be as thou now art ! But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart !

XXVII " O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart Dare the unpastured dragon in his den ? Defenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then Wisdom the mirrored shield, or scorn the spear ? Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when Thy spirit should have filled its crescent sphere, The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer. XXVIII " The herded wolves, bold only to pursue ; The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead ; The vultures, to the conqueror's banner true, Who feed where Desolation first has fed, And whose wings rain contagion ; — how they fled, When, like Apollo, from his golden bow The Pythian of the age one arrow sped And smiled ! — The spoilers tempt no second blow, They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low. xxviii. 9 lying low, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || as they go, Shelley, 1821.

ADONAIS XXIX " The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn ; He sets, and each ephemeral insect then Is gathered into death without a dawn, And the immortal stars awake again ; So is it in the world of living men : A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when It sinks, the swarms that dimmed or shared its light Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night." xxx Thus ceased she ; and the mountain shepherds came, Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent ; The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow ; from her wilds Ierne sent The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, And love taught grief to fall like music from his tongue.

XXXI 'Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men ; companion.less As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell ; he, as I guess, Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, xxx. 2 magic || tragic, Rossetti conj. ADONAIS 85 Actæon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursued, like raging hounds, their father and their prey. XXXII A pard-like Spirit beautiful and swift — A love in desolation masked ; — a Power Girt round with weakness ; — it can scarce uplift The weight of the superincumbent hour ; It is a dying lamp, a falling shower, A breaking billow ; — even whilst we speak Is it not broken ? On the withering flower The killing sun smiles brightly ; on a cheek The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break.

XXXIII His head was bound with pansies over-blown, And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue ; And a light spear topped with a cypress cone, Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasped it ; of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart ; A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's dart. XXXIV All stood aloof, and at his partial moan Smiled through their tears ; well knew that gentle band Who in another's fate now wept his own, ADONAIS As in the accents of an unknown land He sung new sorrow ; sad Urania scanned The Stranger's mien, and murmured : " Who art thou?" He answered not, but with a sudden hand Made bare his branded and ensanguined brow, Which was like Cain's or Christ's — oh ! that it should be so !

XXXV What softer voice is hushed over the dead ? Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown ? What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed, In mockery of monumental stone, The heavy heart heaving without a moan ? If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise, Taught, soothed, loved, honored the departed one, Let me not vex with inharmonious sighs The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice. XXXVI Our Adonais has drunk poison — oh, What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Life's early cup with such a draught of woe ? The nameless worm would now itself disown ; It felt, yet could escape the magic tone Whose prelude held all envy, hate and wrong, But what was howling in one breast alone, Silent with expectation of the song. Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung. XXXVII Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame !

Live ! fear no heavier chastisement from me, ADONAIS Thou noteless blot on a remembered name ! But be thyself, and know thyself to be ! And ever at thy season be thou free To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow ; Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee ; Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt — as now. XXXVIII Nor let us weep that our delight is fled Far from these carrion kites that scream below; He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead ; Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. Dust to the dust ! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal, which must glow Through time and change, unquenchably the same, Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame. xxxix Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep — He hath awakened from the dream of life — 'Tis we, who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings.

We decay Like corpses in a charnel ; fear and grief Convulse us and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay. ADONAIS XL He has outsoared the shadow of our night ; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again ; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never moura A heart grown cold , a head grown gray in vain ; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceased to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. XLI He lives, he wakes — 'tis Death is dead, not he ; Mourn not for Adonais. — Thou young Dawn, Turn all thy dew to splendor, for from thee The spirit thou lamentest is not gone ; Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan ! Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air, Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown O'er the abandoned Earth, now leave it bare Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair !

XLII He is made one with Nature : there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; ADONAIS 89 Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above. XLIII He is a portion of the loveliness Which once he made more lovely ; he doth bear His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear, Torturing the unwilling dross that checks its flight To its own likeness, as each mass may bear, And bursting in its beauty and its might From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light.

XLIV The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed, but are extinguished not ; Like stars to their appointed height they climb, And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend in it for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. XLV The inheritors of unfulfilled renown Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought, ADONAIS Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton Rose pale, — his solemn agony had not Yet faded from him ; Sidney, as he fought And as he fell and as he lived and loved Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot, Arose ; and Lucan, by his death approved ; Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reproved.