Part 3

Part 3

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

And on the fourth, the Sensitive Plant _5 Felt 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, _10 And 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, _15 And 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 _20 To 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 _30 The 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, _35 Like 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, _40 Which rotted into the earth with them.

The water-blooms under the rivulet Fell 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 stalks Were bent and tangled across the walks; And the leafless network of parasite bowers Massed into ruin; and all sweet flowers.

Between the time of the wind and the snow _50 All 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, _55 Stretched 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, _60 Livid, and starred with a lurid dew.

And agarics, and fungi, with mildew and mould Started like mist from the wet ground cold; Pale, fleshy, as if the decaying dead With 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 stakes Dammed it up with roots knotted like water-snakes.

And hour by hour, when the air was still, _70 The 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 spray Crept and flitted in broad noonday _75 Unseen; every branch on which they alit By a venomous blight was burned and bit.

The Sensitive Plant, like one forbid, Wept, and the tears within each lid Of its folded leaves, which together grew, _80 Were changed to a blight of frozen glue.

For the leaves soon fell, and the branches soon By the heavy axe of the blast were hewn; The sap shrank to the root through every pore As 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 hills And they clanked at his girdle like manacles;

His breath was a chain which without a sound _90 The earth, and the air, and the water bound; He came, fiercely driven, in his chariot-throne By the tenfold blasts of the Arctic zone.

Then the weeds which were forms of living death Fled from the frost to the earth beneath. _95 Their decay and sudden flight from frost Was but like the vanishing of a ghost!

And under the roots of the Sensitive Plant The moles and the dormice died for want: The birds dropped stiff from the frozen air _100 And were caught in the branches naked and bare.

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

And a northern whirlwind, wandering about Like 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 _110 The 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 that Which within its boughs like a Spirit sat, _115 Ere its outward form had known decay, Now felt this change, I cannot say.

Whether that Lady’s gentle mind, No longer with the form combined Which scattered love, as stars do light, _120 Found sadness, where it left delight,

I dare not guess; but in this life Of 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 yet Pleasant if one considers it, To own that death itself must be, Like all the rest, a mockery.

That garden sweet, that lady fair, _130 And 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 _135 Exceeds our organs, which endure No 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 was omitted by Mrs. Shelley from all editions from 1839 onwards. It is cancelled 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 “Prometheus Unbound” in the same year. A transcript in Mrs. Shelley’s handwriting is included in the Harvard manuscript book, where it is dated ‘April, 1820.’]

’Tis the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail Are 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 _5 And bend, as if Heaven was ruining in, Which they seemed to sustain with their terrible mass As if ocean had sunk from beneath them: they pass To their graves in the deep with an earthquake of sound, And the waves and the thunders, made silent around, _10 Leave the wind to its echo. The vessel, now tossed Through the low-trailing rack of the tempest, is lost In the skirts of the thunder-cloud: now down the sweep Of the wind-cloven wave to the chasm of the deep It sinks, and the walls of the watery vale _15 Whose 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 rout Of death-flames, like whirlpools of fire-flowing iron, With splendour and terror the black ship environ, _20 Or like sulphur-flakes hurled from a mine of pale fire In fountains spout o’er it. In many a spire The pyramid-billows with white points of brine In the cope of the lightning inconstantly shine, As piercing the sky from the floor of the sea. _25 The great ship seems splitting! it cracks as a tree, While an earthquake is splintering its root, ere the blast Of the whirlwind that stripped it of branches has passed. The intense thunder-balls which are raining from Heaven Have shattered its mast, and it stands black and riven. _30 The chinks suck destruction. The heavy dead hulk On the living sea rolls an inanimate bulk, Like a corpse on the clay which is hungering to fold Its corruption around it. Meanwhile, from the hold, One deck is burst up by the waters below, _35 And it splits like the ice when the thaw-breezes blow O’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 those Twin tigers, who burst, when the waters arose, _40 In 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 plank Are these all? Nine weeks the tall vessel had lain _45 On 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 _50 Crept, 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 aghast Like dead men the dead limbs of their comrades cast Down the deep, which closed on them above and around, _55 And the sharks and the dogfish their grave-clothes unbound, And were glutted like Jews with this manna rained down From God on their wilderness. One after one The mariners died; on the eve of this day, When the tempest was gathering in cloudy array, _60 But seven remained. Six the thunder has smitten, And they lie black as mummies on which Time has written His scorn of the embalmer; the seventh, from the deck An oak-splinter pierced through his breast and his back, And hung out to the tempest, a wreck on the wreck. _65 No more? At the helm sits a woman more fair Than 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 _70 Of the air and the sea, with desire and with wonder It is beckoning the tigers to rise and come near, It would play with those eyes where the radiance of fear Is outshining the meteors; its bosom beats high, The heart-fire of pleasure has kindled its eye, _75 While its mother’s is lustreless. ‘Smile not, my child, But sleep deeply and sweetly, and so be beguiled Of 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, _80 Will 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? _85 Not to touch those sweet hands? Not to look on those eyes, Those lips, and that hair,—all the smiling disguise Thou yet wearest, sweet Spirit, which I, day by day, Have so long called my child, but which now fades away Like a rainbow, and I the fallen shower?’—Lo! the ship _90 Is settling, it topples, the leeward ports dip; The tigers leap up when they feel the slow brine Crawling inch by inch on them; hair, ears, limbs, and eyne, Stand rigid with horror; a loud, long, hoarse cry Bursts at once from their vitals tremendously, _95 And ’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 _100 By the path of the gate of the eastern sun, Transversely dividing the stream of the storm; As an arrowy serpent, pursuing the form Of an elephant, bursts through the brakes of the waste. Black as a cormorant the screaming blast, _105 Between Ocean and Heaven, like an ocean, passed, Till it came to the clouds on the verge of the world Which, based on the sea and to Heaven upcurled, Like columns and walls did surround and sustain The dome of the tempest; it rent them in twain, _110 As 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 _115 The wind has burst out through the chasm, from the air Of clear morning the beams of the sunrise flow in, Unimpeded, keen, golden, and crystalline, Banded armies of light and of air; at one gate They encounter, but interpenetrate. _120 And 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 murmurings And the long glassy heave of the rocking sea, _125 And overhead glorious, but dreadful to see, The wrecks of the tempest, like vapours of gold, Are consuming in sunrise. The heaped waves behold The deep calm of blue Heaven dilating above, And, like passions made still by the presence of Love, _130 Beneath the clear surface reflecting it slide Tremulous with soft influence; extending its tide From 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 _135 Is the ship? On the verge of the wave where it lay One tiger is mingled in ghastly affray With a sea-snake. The foam and the smoke of the battle Stain the clear air with sunbows; the jar, and the rattle Of solid bones crushed by the infinite stress _140 Of the snake’s adamantine voluminousness; And the hum of the hot blood that spouts and rains Where the gripe of the tiger has wounded the veins Swollen with rage, strength, and effort; the whirl and the splash As of some hideous engine whose brazen teeth smash _145 The thin winds and soft waves into thunder; the screams And 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 _150 Is winning his way from the fate of his brother To his own with the speed of despair. Lo! a boat Advances; twelve rowers with the impulse of thought Urge on the keen keel,—the brine foams. At the stern Three marksmen stand levelling. Hot bullets burn _155 In the breast of the tiger, which yet bears him on To 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. _160 With her right she sustains her fair infant. Death, Fear, Love, Beauty, are mixed in the atmosphere, Which trembles and burns with the fervour of dread Around her wild eyes, her bright hand, and her head, Like a meteor of light o’er the waters! her child _165 Is yet smiling, and playing, and murmuring; so smiled The false deep ere the storm. Like a sister and brother The 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 laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken _5 The 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, _10 And 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, _15 While 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; _20 Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills. _25 Over 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, _35 Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings. And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardours of rest and of love, _40 And the crimson pall of eve may fall From 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, _45 Whom 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, _50 May 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, _55 Till 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; _60 The 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,— _65 The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; _70 The 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; _75 I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of Heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams Build up the blue dome of air, _80 I 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” in the 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 heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. _5

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

In the golden lightning Of 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 even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of Heaven, In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, _20

Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see—we feel that it is there. _25

All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The 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 not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. _35

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

Like a high-born maiden In a palace-tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: _45

Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aereal hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view! _50

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

Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass: _60

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

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

What objects are the fountains Of 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 joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest—but ne’er knew love’s sad satiety. _80

Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than 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 laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. _90

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

Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! _100

Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The 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”, in the same year. A transcript in Shelley’s hand of lines 1-21 is included in the Harvard manuscript book, and amongst the Boscombe manuscripts there is a fragment of a rough draft (Garnett). For further particulars concerning 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 again The lightning of the nations: Liberty From 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, _5 And in the rapid plumes of song Clothed 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 _10 The Spirit’s whirlwind rapped it, and the ray Of the remotest sphere of living flame Which paves the void was from behind it flung, As foam from a ship’s swiftness, when there came A 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 hurled Into the depths of Heaven. The daedal earth, That island in the ocean of the world, Hung in its cloud of all-sustaining air: _20 But this divinest universe Was 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, _25 And there was war among them, and despair Within them, raging without truce or terms: The bosom of their violated nurse Groaned, 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 multiplied His generations under the pavilion Of the Sun’s throne: palace and pyramid, Temple and prison, to many a swarming million Were, as to mountain-wolves their ragged caves. _35 This human living multitude Was 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 _40 The sister-pest, congregator of slaves; Into the shadow of her pinions wide Anarchs and priests, who feed on gold and blood Till 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 waves Of Greece, basked glorious in the open smiles Of favouring Heaven: from their enchanted caves Prophetic echoes flung dim melody. _50 On the unapprehensive wild The 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, _55 Like aught that is which wraps what is to be, Art’s deathless dreams lay veiled by many a vein Of Parian stone; and, yet a speechless child, Verse murmured, and Philosophy did strain Her lidless eyes for thee; when o’er the Aegean main _60

5. Athens arose: a city such as vision Builds from the purple crags and silver towers Of battlemented cloud, as in derision Of kingliest masonry: the ocean-floors Pave it; the evening sky pavilions it; _65 Its portals are inhabited By thunder-zoned winds, each head Within its cloudy wings with sun-fire garlanded,— A divine work! Athens, diviner yet, Gleamed with its crest of columns, on the will _70 Of man, as on a mount of diamond, set; For thou wert, and thine all-creative skill Peopled, with forms that mock the eternal dead In marble immortality, that hill Which was thine earliest throne and latest oracle. _75

6. Within the surface of Time’s fleeting river Its wrinkled image lies, as then it lay Immovably unquiet, and for ever It trembles, but it cannot pass away! The voices of thy bards and sages thunder _80 With an earth-awakening blast Through 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, _85 Rending the veil of space and time asunder! One ocean feeds the clouds, and streams, and dew; One Sun illumines Heaven; one Spirit vast With 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 dearest From that Elysian food was yet unweaned; And many a deed of terrible uprightness _95 By 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, _100 Thou didst desert, with spirit-winged lightness, The senate of the tyrants: they sunk prone Slaves of one tyrant: Palatinus sighed Faint echoes of Ionian song; that tone Thou 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, _110 And every Naiad’s ice-cold urn, To talk in echoes sad and stern Of that sublimest lore which man had dared unlearn? For neither didst thou watch the wizard flocks Of the Scald’s dreams, nor haunt the Druid’s sleep. _115 What if the tears rained through thy shattered locks Were 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 fell On Saxon Alfred’s olive-cinctured brow: And many a warrior-peopled citadel. Like rocks which fire lifts out of the flat deep, _125 Arose in sacred Italy, Frowning o’er the tempestuous sea Of kings, and priests, and slaves, in tower-crowned majesty; That multitudinous anarchy did sweep And burst around their walls, like idle foam, _130 Whilst from the human spirit’s deepest deep Strange melody with love and awe struck dumb Dissonant arms; and Art, which cannot die, With divine wand traced on our earthly home Fit imagery to pave Heaven’s everlasting dome. _135

10. Thou huntress swifter than the Moon! thou terror Of the world’s wolves! thou bearer of the quiver, Whose sunlike shafts pierce tempest-winged Error, As light may pierce the clouds when they dissever In the calm regions of the orient day! _140 Luther caught thy wakening glance; Like lightning, from his leaden lance Reflected, it dissolved the visions of the trance In which, as in a tomb, the nations lay; And England’s prophets hailed thee as their queen, _145 In songs whose music cannot pass away, Though it must flow forever: not unseen Before the spirit-sighted countenance Of Milton didst thou pass, from the sad scene Beyond whose night he saw, with a dejected mien. _150

11. The eager hours and unreluctant years As 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 _155 Answered 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 exhalation Of its own glorious light, thou didst arise. _160 Chasing thy foes from nation unto nation Like shadows: as if day had cloven the skies At 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 then In ominous eclipse? a thousand years Bred 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; _170 How like Bacchanals of blood Round France, the ghastly vintage, stood Destruction’s sceptred slaves, and Folly’s mitred brood! When one, like them, but mightier far than they, The Anarch of thine own bewildered powers, _175 Rose: armies mingled in obscure array, Like clouds with clouds, darkening the sacred bowers Of 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 thunder Vesuvius wakens Aetna, and the cold Snow-crags by its reply are cloven in sunder: O’er the lit waves every Aeolian isle _185 From Pithecusa to Pelorus Howls, 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 smile And they dissolve; but Spain’s were links of steel, _190 Till bit to dust by virtue’s keenest file. Twins of a single destiny! appeal To the eternal years enthroned before us In 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 dead Till, 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, _200 King-deluded Germany, His dead spirit lives in thee. Why do we fear or hope? thou art already free! And thou, lost Paradise of this divine And glorious world! thou flowery wilderness! _205 Thou island of eternity! thou shrine Where Desolation, clothed with loveliness, Worships the thing thou wert! O Italy, Gather thy blood into thy heart; repress The beasts who make their dens thy sacred palaces. _210

15. Oh, that the free would stamp the impious name Of KING into the dust! or write it there, So that this blot upon the page of fame Were as a serpent’s path, which the light air Erases, and the flat sands close behind! _215 Ye 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 bind Into a mass, irrefragably firm, _220 The axes and the rods which awe mankind; The sound has poison in it, ’tis the sperm Of 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 kindle Such lamps within the dome of this dim world, That the pale name of PRIEST might shrink and dwindle Into the hell from which it first was hurled, A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure; _230 Till human thoughts might kneel alone, Each before the judgement-throne Of its own aweless soul, or of the Power unknown! Oh, that the words which make the thoughts obscure From which they spring, as clouds of glimmering dew _235 From a white lake blot Heaven’s blue portraiture, Were stripped of their thin masks and various hue And frowns and smiles and splendours not their own, Till in the nakedness of false and true They stand before their Lord, each to receive its due! _240

17. He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever Can be between the cradle and the grave Crowned 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 _245 What if earth can clothe and feed Amplest 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, _250 Checks the great mother stooping to caress her, And cries: ‘Give me, thy child, dominion Over all height and depth’? if Life can breed New 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 cave Of man’s deep spirit, as the morning-star Beckons the Sun from the Eoan wave, Wisdom. I hear the pennons of her car Self-moving, like cloud charioted by flame; _260 Comes 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 Fame Of what has been, the Hope of what will be? _265 O Liberty! if such could be thy name Wert thou disjoined from these, or they from thee: If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought By blood or tears, have not the wise and free Wept tears, and blood like tears?—The solemn harmony _270

19. Paused, and the Spirit of that mighty singing To its abyss was suddenly withdrawn; Then, as a wild swan, when sublimely winging Its path athwart the thunder-smoke of dawn, Sinks headlong through the aereal golden light _275 On 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,— _280 My song, its pinions disarrayed of might, Drooped; o’er it closed the echoes far away Of the great voice which did its flight sustain, As waves which lately paved his watery way Hiss 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 spirit Is throned an Image, so intensely fair That the adventurous thoughts that wander near it Worship, and as they kneel, tremble and wear The splendour of its presence, and the light _5 Penetrates their dreamlike frame Till 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 laden Ever to burthen thine.

2. I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion, _5 Thou needest not fear mine; Innocent is the heart’s devotion With 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 at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. C.D. Locock’s “Examination”, etc., 1903, page 24.]

1. Arethusa arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains,— From cloud and from crag, With many a jag, _5 Shepherding her bright fountains. She leapt down the rocks, With her rainbow locks Streaming among the streams;— Her steps paved with green _10 The downward ravine Which slopes to the western gleams; And gliding and springing She went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep; _15 The Earth seemed to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep.

2. Then Alpheus bold, On his glacier cold, _20 With his trident the mountains strook; And opened a chasm In the rocks—with the spasm All Erymanthus shook. And the black south wind _25 It unsealed behind The urns of the silent snow, And earthquake and thunder Did rend in sunder The bars of the springs below. _30 And the beard and the hair Of the River-god were Seen through the torrent’s sweep, As he followed the light Of the fleet nymph’s flight _35 To 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, _40 To its blue depth stirred, And divided at her prayer; And under the water The Earth’s white daughter Fled like a sunny beam; _45 Behind her descended Her billows, unblended With the brackish Dorian stream:— Like a gloomy stain On the emerald main _50 Alpheus rushed behind,— As an eagle pursuing A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

4. Under the bowers _55 Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearled thrones; Through the coral woods Of the weltering floods, Over heaps of unvalued stones; _60 Through the dim beams Which amid the streams Weave a network of coloured light; And under the caves, Where the shadowy waves _65 Are 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 _70 Of the mountain clifts They passed to their Dorian home.

5. And now from their fountains In Enna’s mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks, _75 Like friends once parted Grown single-hearted, They ply their watery tasks. At sunrise they leap From their cradles steep _80 In the cave of the shelving hill; At noontide they flow Through the woods below And the meadows of asphodel; And at night they sleep _85 In the rocking deep Beneath the Ortygian shore;— Like spirits that lie In the azure sky When 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. There is a fair draft amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. C.D. Locock’s “Examination,” etc., 1903, page 24.]

1. Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom Gods, and men, and beasts have birth, Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine _5 On thine own child, Proserpine.

2. If with mists of evening dew Thou dost nourish these young flowers Till they grow, in scent and hue, Fairest children of the Hours, _10 Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine.

***

HYMN OF APOLLO.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. There is a fair draft 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 tapestries From the broad moonlight of the sky, Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes,— Waken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn, _5 Tells 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 _10 Are filled with my bright presence, and the air Leaves the green Earth to my embraces bare.

3. The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill Deceit, that loves the night and fears the day; All men who do or even imagine ill _15 Fly me, and from the glory of my ray Good minds and open actions take new might, Until diminished by the reign of Night.

4. I feed the clouds, the rainbows and the flowers With their aethereal colours; the moon’s globe _20 And the pure stars in their eternal bowers Are cinctured with my power as with a robe; Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shine Are portions of one power, which is mine.

5. I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven, _25 Then with unwilling steps I wander down Into the clouds of the Atlantic even; For grief that I depart they weep and frown: What look is more delightful than the smile With which I soothe them from the western isle? _30

6. I am the eye with which the Universe Beholds 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 _35 Victory 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 fair draft amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian. See Mr. C.D. Locock’s “Examination”, etc., 1903, page 25.]

1. From the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb Listening to my sweet pipings. _5 The 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, _10 Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, Listening to my sweet pipings.

2. Liquid Peneus was flowing, And all dark Tempe lay In Pelion’s shadow, outgrowing _15 The 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, _20 And 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, _25 I 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 _30 I 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, _35 At 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 Literary Pocket-Book”, 1822. Reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Copies exist in the Harvard manuscript book, amongst the Boscombe manuscripts, 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 murmuring Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay _5 Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its 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, _10 The constellated flower that never sets; Faint oxslips; tender bluebells, at whose birth The 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, _15 When 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 wine Was the bright dew, yet drained not by the day; _20 And 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 _25 There 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 hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; _30 And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen.

5. Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers _35 Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprisoned children of the Hours Within 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 desire Wouldst float above the earth, beware! A Shadow tracks thy flight of fire— Night is coming! Bright are the regions of the air, _5 And among the winds and beams It were delight to wander there— Night is coming!

SECOND SPIRIT: The deathless stars are bright above; If I would cross the shade of night, _10 Within my heart is the lamp of love, And that is day! And the moon will smile with gentle light On my golden plumes where’er they move; The meteors will linger round my flight, _15 And make night day.

FIRST SPIRIT: But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken Hail, and lightning, and stormy rain; See, the bounds of the air are shaken— Night is coming! _20 The red swift clouds of the hurricane Yon 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; _25 I’ll sail on the flood of the tempest dark With the calm within and the light around Which makes night day: And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark, Look from thy dull earth, slumber-bound, _30 My moon-like flight thou then mayst mark On high, far away.

...

Some say there is a precipice Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin O’er piles of snow and chasms of ice _35 Mid Alpine mountains; And that the languid storm pursuing That winged shape, for ever flies Round those hoar branches, aye renewing Its 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 _45 Upborne 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 Pompeii and Baiae with the enthusiasm excited by the intelligence of the proclamation of a Constitutional Government at Naples. This has given a tinge of picturesque and descriptive imagery to the introductory Epodes which depicture these scenes, and some of the majestic feelings permanently connected with the scene of this animating event.—[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 and legible,’ amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. 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 footfalls Of spirits passing through the streets; and heard The Mountain’s slumberous voice at intervals Thrill through those roofless halls; _5 The oracular thunder penetrating shook The listening soul in my suspended blood; I felt that Earth out of her deep heart spoke— I felt, but heard not:—through white columns glowed The isle-sustaining ocean-flood, _10 A plane of light between two heavens of azure! Around me gleamed many a bright sepulchre Of whose pure beauty, Time, as if his pleasure Were to spare Death, had never made erasure; But every living lineament was clear _15 As in the sculptor’s thought; and there The wreaths of stony myrtle, ivy, and pine, Like winter leaves o’ergrown by moulded snow, Seemed only not to move and grow Because the crystal silence of the air _20 Weighed on their life; even as the Power divine Which then lulled all things, brooded upon mine.

NOTE: _1 Pompeii.—[SHELLEY’S NOTE.]

EPODE 2a.

Then gentle winds arose With many a mingled close Of wild Aeolian sound, and mountain-odours keen; _25 And where the Baian ocean Welters 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 _30 Floats o’er the Elysian realm, It bore me, like an Angel, o’er the waves Of sunlight, whose swift pinnace of dewy air No storm can overwhelm. I sailed, where ever flows _35 Under the calm Serene A spirit of deep emotion From the unknown graves Of the dead Kings of Melody. Shadowy Aornos darkened o’er the helm _40 The horizontal aether; Heaven stripped bare Its depth over Elysium, where the prow Made the invisible water white as snow; From that Typhaean mount, Inarime, There streamed a sunbright vapour, like the standard _45 Of some aethereal host; Whilst from all the coast, Louder and louder, gathering round, there wandered Over the oracular woods and divine sea Prophesyings 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 pantest Naked, beneath the lidless eye of Heaven! Elysian City, which to calm enchantest The mutinous air and sea! they round thee, even _55 As sleep round Love, are driven! Metropolis of a ruined Paradise Long lost, late won, and yet but half regained! Bright Altar of the bloodless sacrifice Which armed Victory offers up unstained _60 To 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 birth Which from the groaning earth Leap’st, clothed in armour of impenetrable scale! Last of the Intercessors! Who ’gainst the Crowned Transgressors _70 Pleadest before God’s love! Arrayed in Wisdom’s mail, Wave thy lightning lance in mirth Nor let thy high heart fail, Though from their hundred gates the leagued Oppressors With hurried legions move! _75 Hail, hail, all hail!

ANTISTROPHE 1a.

What though Cimmerian Anarchs dare blaspheme Freedom and thee? thy shield is as a mirror To make their blind slaves see, and with fierce gleam To turn his hungry sword upon the wearer; _80 A new Actaeon’s error Shall theirs have been—devoured by their own hounds! Be thou like the imperial Basilisk Killing thy foe with unapparent wounds! Gaze on Oppression, till at that dread risk _85 Aghast 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, rend Error veil by veil; O’er Ruin desolate, O’er Falsehood’s fallen state, _95 Sit 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, _100 Be thine.—All hail!

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

ANTISTROPHE 1b.

Didst thou not start to hear Spain’s thrilling paean From land to land re-echoed solemnly, Till silence became music? From the Aeaean To the cold Alps, eternal Italy _105 Starts to hear thine! The Sea Which paves the desert streets of Venice laughs In light, and music; widowed Genoa wan By moonlight spells ancestral epitaphs, Murmuring, ‘Where is Doria?’ fair Milan, _110 Within whose veins long ran The viper’s palsying venom, lifts her heel To 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 hope Rome tears the priestly cope, _120 As ruling once by power, so now by admiration,— An athlete stripped to run From a remoter station For the high prize lost on Philippi’s shore:— As then Hope, Truth, and Justice did avail, _125 So now may Fraud and Wrong! O hail!

EPODE 1b.

Hear ye the march as of the Earth-born Forms Arrayed against the ever-living Gods? The crash and darkness of a thousand storms Bursting their inaccessible abodes _130 Of 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 _135 With iron light is dyed; The Anarchs of the North lead forth their legions Like Chaos o’er creation, uncreating; An hundred tribes nourished on strange religions And lawless slaveries,—down the aereal regions _140 Of 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 _145 On Beauty’s corse to sickness satiating— They come! The fields they tread look black and hoary With fire—from their red feet the streams run gory!

EPODE 2b.

Great Spirit, deepest Love! Which rulest and dost move _150 All 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 _155 The sunbeams and the showers distil its foison From the Earth’s bosom chill; Oh, bid those beams be each a blinding brand Of lightning! bid those showers be dews of poison! Bid the Earth’s plenty kill! _160 Bid thy bright Heaven above, Whilst light and darkness bound it, Be their tomb who planned To make it ours and thine! Or, with thine harmonizing ardours fill _165 And raise thy sons, as o’er the prone horizon Thy lamp feeds every twilight wave with fire— Be man’s high hope and unextinct desire The instrument to work thy will divine! Then clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from leopards, _170 And frowns and fears from thee, Would not more swiftly flee Than Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shepherds.— Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine Thou yieldest or withholdest, oh, let be _175 This 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 Year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. _5 Come, Months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead cold Year, _10 And 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 knelling For the Year; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone _15 To his dwelling; Come, Months, come away; Put on white, black, and gray; Let your light sisters play— Ye, follow the bier _20 Of 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 insane And feeble wanderings of her fading brain, The moon arose up in the murky East, _5 A 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 weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth,— And ever changing, like a joyless eye _5 That 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 _5 On all we are and all we feel, On all we know and all we fear,

...

3. First our pleasures die—and then Our hopes, and then our fears—and when These are dead, the debt is due, _10 Dust 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 sound Is 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 stare Makes blind the volcanoes; the sun’s bright lamp To thine is a fen-fire damp. _15

4. From billow and mountain and exhalation The 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 _20 In 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’s handwriting.]

It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Towards the end of the sunny month of June, When the north wind congregates in crowds The floating mountains of the silver clouds From the horizon—and the stainless sky _5 Opens 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 die In the deep forests; and the fishes lie Stiffened in the translucent ice, which makes Even the mud and slime of the warm lakes A wrinkled clod as hard as brick; and when, _15 Among their children, comfortable men Gather 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’s handwriting.]

Amid the desolation of a city, Which was the cradle, and is now the grave Of an extinguished people,—so that Pity

Weeps o’er the shipwrecks of Oblivion’s wave, There stands the Tower of Famine. It is built _5 Upon 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 _10 And sacred domes; each marble-ribbed roof, The brazen-gated temples, and the bowers

Of solitary wealth,—the tempest-proof Pavilions 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 terror Amid a company of ladies fair

Should glide and glow, till it became a mirror Of all their beauty, and their hair and hue, _20 The 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 adamant Stands yawning on the highway of the life Which we all tread, a cavern huge and gaunt; Around it rages an unceasing strife Of shadows, like the restless clouds that haunt _5 The gap of some cleft mountain, lifted high Into 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 _10 Wait 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 know That 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 light Speed thee in thy fiery flight, In what cavern of the night Will thy pinions close now?

2. Tell me, Moon, thou pale and gray _5 Pilgrim of Heaven’s homeless way, In what depth of night or day Seekest thou repose now?

3. Weary Wind, who wanderest Like the world’s rejected guest, _10 Hast thou still some secret nest On the tree or billow?

***

SONNET.

[Published by Leigh Hunt, “The Literary Pocket-Book”, 1823. There is a transcript amongst the Ollier manuscripts, and another in the Harvard manuscript book.]

Ye hasten to the grave! What seek ye there, Ye restless thoughts and busy purposes Of the idle brain, which the world’s livery wear? O thou quick heart, which pantest to possess All that pale Expectation feigneth fair! _5 Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guess Whence 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, _10 Seeking, alike from happiness and woe, A refuge in the cavern of gray death? O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do you Hope 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. These lines, and the “Sonnet” immediately preceding, are signed Sigma in the “Literary Pocket-Book”.]

Alas, good friend, what profit can you see In hating such a hateless thing as me? There is no sport in hate where all the rage Is on one side: in vain would you assuage Your frowns upon an unresisting smile, _5 In which not even contempt lurks to beguile Your heart, by some faint sympathy of hate. Oh, conquer what you cannot satiate! For to your passion I am far more coy Than ever yet was coldest maid or boy _10 In winter noon. Of your antipathy If I am the Narcissus, you are free To 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 and Caroline Bowles”, 1880.]

If gibbets, axes, confiscations, chains, And racks of subtle torture, if the pains Of shame, of fiery Hell’s tempestuous wave, Seen through the caverns of the shadowy grave, Hurling the damned into the murky air _5 While the meek blest sit smiling; if Despair And Hate, the rapid bloodhounds with which Terror Hunts through the world the homeless steps of Error, Are the true secrets of the commonweal To make men wise and just;... _10 And not the sophisms of revenge and fear, Bloodier than is revenge... Then send the priests to every hearth and home To preach the burning wrath which is to come, In words like flakes of sulphur, such as thaw _15 The frozen tears... If Satire’s scourge could wake the slumbering hounds Of Conscience, or erase the deeper wounds, The leprous scars of callous Infamy; If it could make the present not to be, _20 Or charm the dark past never to have been, Or turn regret to hope; who that has seen What Southey is and was, would not exclaim, ‘Lash on!’ ... be the keen verse dipped in flame; Follow his flight with winged words, and urge _25 The strokes of the inexorable scourge Until the heart be naked, till his soul See the contagion’s spots ... foul; And from the mirror of Truth’s sunlike shield, From which his Parthian arrow... _30 Flash 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— _35 Suffering makes suffering, ill must follow ill. Rough words beget sad thoughts, ... and, beside, Men take a sullen and a stupid pride In being all they hate in others’ shame, By a perverse antipathy of fame. _40 ’Tis not worth while to prove, as I could, how From the sweet fountains of our Nature flow These bitter waters; I will only say, If any friend would take Southey some day, And tell him, in a country walk alone, _45 Softening 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 Literary Pocket-Book”, 1822. It is included in the Harvard manuscript book, and there is a transcript by Shelley in a copy of “The Literary Pocket-Book”, 1819, presented by him to Miss Sophia Stacey, December 29, 1820. (See “Love’s Philosophy” and “Time Long Past”.) Our text is that of the editio princeps, 1822, with which the Harvard manuscript and “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, agree. The variants of the Stacey manuscript, 1820, are given in the footnotes.]

1. Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill Which 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, _5 Though 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 move From evening close to morning light, _10 The 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 of Sportsmen”, 1834. The text is revised by Rossetti from the Boscombe manuscript.]

1. ‘Buona notte, buona notte!’—Come mai La 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, _5 La notte quando Lilla m’abbandona; Pei cuori chi si batton insieme Ogni notte, senza dirla, sara buona.

3. Come male buona notte ci suona Con sospiri e parole interrotte!— _10 Il modo di aver la notte buona E 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 and enlarged 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 behold A 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 _5 Gazes in vain, and finds no mirror there. Follow the herbless banks of that strange brook Until you pause beside a darksome pond, The fountain of this rivulet, whose gush Cannot be seen, hid by a rayless night _10 That lives beneath the overhanging rock That 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, _15 Or, with most sullen and regardless hate, Refuses stern her heaven-born embrace. On one side of this jagged and shapeless hill There is a cave, from which there eddies up A pale mist, like aereal gossamer, _20 Whose breath destroys all life—awhile it veils The rock—then, scattered by the wind, it flies Along the stream, or lingers on the clefts, Killing the sleepy worms, if aught bide there. Upon the beetling edge of that dark rock _25 There stands a group of cypresses; not such As, with a graceful spire and stirring life, Pierce the pure heaven of your native vale, Whose branches the air plays among, but not Disturbs, fearing to spoil their solemn grace; _30 But blasted and all wearily they stand, One to another clinging; their weak boughs Sigh as the wind buffets them, and they shake Beneath its blasts—a weatherbeaten crew!

CHORUS: What wondrous sound is that, mournful and faint, _35 But more melodious than the murmuring wind Which 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 king Hurries them fast from these air-feeding notes; _40 But in their speed they bear along with them The waning sound, scattering it like dew Upon the startled sense.

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

A: Ah, no! _45 Awhile he paused. As a poor hunted stag A moment shudders on the fearful brink Of a swift stream—the cruel hounds press on With deafening yell, the arrows glance and wound,— He plunges in: so Orpheus, seized and torn _50 By 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 sound Of deep and fearful melody. Alas! _55 In times long past, when fair Eurydice With her bright eyes sat listening by his side, He gently sang of high and heavenly themes. As in a brook, fretted with little waves By the light airs of spring—each riplet makes _60 A 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 joy And tender love that fed those sweetest notes, _65 The 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 _70 Of his eternal ever-moving grief There rose to Heaven a sound of angry song. ’Tis as a mighty cataract that parts Two sister rocks with waters swift and strong, _75 And casts itself with horrid roar and din Adown a steep; from a perennial source It ever flows and falls, and breaks the air With loud and fierce, but most harmonious roar, And as it falls casts up a vaporous spray Which the sun clothes in hues of Iris light. _80 Thus the tempestuous torrent of his grief Is clothed in sweetest sounds and varying words Of poesy. Unlike all human works, It never slackens, and through every change Wisdom and beauty and the power divine _85 Of mighty poesy together dwell, Mingling in sweet accord. As I have seen A fierce south blast tear through the darkened sky, Driving along a rack of winged clouds, Which may not pause, but ever hurry on, _90 As their wild shepherd wills them, while the stars, Twinkling and dim, peep from between the plumes. Anon the sky is cleared, and the high dome Of serene Heaven, starred with fiery flowers, Shuts in the shaken earth; or the still moon _95 Swiftly, yet gracefully, begins her walk, Rising all bright behind the eastern hills. I talk of moon, and wind, and stars, and not Of song; but, would I echo his high song, Nature must lend me words ne’er used before, _100 Or I must borrow from her perfect works, To picture forth his perfect attributes. He does no longer sit upon his throne Of rock upon a desert herbless plain, For the evergreen and knotted ilexes, _105 And 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 _110 Of 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 herself Has sent from her maternal breast a growth _115 Of starlike flowers and herbs of odour sweet, To pave the temple that his poesy Has 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. _120 The birds are silent, hanging down their heads, Perched on the lowest branches of the trees; Not even the nightingale intrudes a note In 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 of Shelley”, 1862.]

The season was the childhood of sweet June, Whose sunny hours from morning until noon Went creeping through the day with silent feet, Each with its load of pleasure; slow yet sweet; Like the long years of blest Eternity _5 Never to be developed. Joy to thee, Fiordispina and thy Cosimo, For thou the wonders of the depth canst know Of 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 sins Nature had rased their love—which could not be But by dissevering their nativity. And so they grew together like two flowers _15 Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers Lull or awaken in their purple prime, Which the same hand will gather—the same clime Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see All those who love—and who e’er loved like thee, _20 Fiordispina? Scarcely Cosimo, Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow The ardours of a vision which obscure The very idol of its portraiture. He faints, dissolved into a sea of love; _25 But thou art as a planet sphered above; But thou art Love itself—ruling the motion Of his subjected spirit: such emotion Must end in sin and sorrow, if sweet May Had 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 flowers Which she had from the breathing—

...

A table near of polished porphyry. _35 They seemed to wear a beauty from the eye That looked on them—a fragrance from the touch Whose warmth ... checked their life; a light such As sleepers wear, lulled by the voice they love, which did reprove _40 The childish pity that she felt for them, And a ... remorse that from their stem She had divided such fair shapes ... made A feeling in the ... which was a shade Of gentle beauty on the flowers: there lay _45 All gems that make the earth’s dark bosom gay. ... rods of myrtle-buds and lemon-blooms, And that leaf tinted lightly which assumes The livery of unremembered snow— Violets whose eyes have drunk— _50

...

Fiordispina and her nurse are now Upon the steps of the high portico, Under the withered arm of Media She flings her glowing arm

...

... step by step and stair by stair, _55 That withered woman, gray and white and brown— More like a trunk by lichens overgrown Than anything which once could have been human. And ever as she goes the palsied woman

...

‘How slow and painfully you seem to walk, _60 Poor 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, _65 Unless my heart deceives me, I would lie Beside him in my shroud as willingly As now in the gay night-dress Lilla wrought.’ ‘Fie, child! Let that unseasonable thought Not be remembered till it snows in June; _70 Such fancies are a music out of tune With the sweet dance your heart must keep to-night. What! would you take all beauty and delight Back to the Paradise from which you sprung, And leave to grosser mortals?— _75 And say, sweet lamb, would you not learn the sweet And 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 _80 Through 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 dead Is 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, _5 Was Time long past.

2. There were sweet dreams in the night Of Time long past: And, was it sadness or delight, Each day a shadow onward cast _10 Which 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 _15 A father watches, till at last Beauty is like remembrance, cast From 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 Consequence Watches thy goings-out, and comings-in, And...hovers o’er thy guilty sleep, Unveiling every new-born deed, and thoughts More 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 loose And 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 food Turned while she tastes to poison, when the will Is powerless, and the spirit... _5

***

FRAGMENT: ‘ALAS! THIS IS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT LIFE WAS’.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. This fragment 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 pass Untouched by suffering, through the rugged glen. In mine own heart I saw as in a glass _5 The hearts of others ... And when I went among my kind, with triple brass Of 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 took From life’s green tree his Uranian lute; And from his touch sweet thunder flowed, and shook All human things built in contempt of man,— And sanguine thrones and impious altars quaked, _5 Prisons 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 star Now beckoning thee out of thy misty throne Could thaw the clouds which wage an obscure war With thy young brightness! _5

***

FRAGMENT: PATER OMNIPOTENS.

[Edited from manuscript Shelley E 4 in the Bodleian Library, and published by Mr. C.D. Locock, “Examination” etc., Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1903. Here placed conjecturally amongst the compositions of 1820, but of uncertain date, and belonging possibly to 1819 or a still earlier year.]

Serene in his unconquerable might Endued[,] the Almighty King, his steadfast throne Encompassed unapproachably with power And darkness and deep solitude an awe Stood like a black cloud on some aery cliff _5 Embosoming its lightning—in his sight Unnumbered glorious spirits trembling stood Like slaves before their Lord—prostrate around Heaven’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 hues Clothest this naked world; and over Sea And Earth and air, and all the shapes that be In peopled darkness of this wondrous world The Spirit of thy glory dost diffuse _5 ... truth ... thou Vital Flame Mysterious thought that in this mortal frame Of things, with unextinguished lustre burnest Now pale and faint now high to Heaven upcurled That eer as thou dost languish still returnest _10 And ever Before the ... before the Pyramids

So soon as from the Earth formless and rude One living step had chased drear Solitude Thou wert, Thought; thy brightness charmed the lids _15 Of the vast snake Eternity, who kept The 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 Shelley passed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes on its ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up also by the project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to ply between Leghorn and Marseilles, for which he supplied a sum of money. This was a sort of plan to delight Shelley, and he was greatly disappointed when it was thrown aside.

There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with his health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca as to the cause of Shelley’s sufferings. He, like every other medical man, could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave his complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this advice. Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence at Pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence we remained.

In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house of some friends who were absent on a journey to England. It was on a beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the carolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful of his 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, who was an engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in her younger days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming from her frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love of knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved freshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a favourite friend of my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and the most open and cordial friendship was established between us.

Our stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. At the foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between the Serchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking its bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country is below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, in the lower part of which our house was situated. The canal overflowed in the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open the 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 the cattle from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire was kept up to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the animals showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which was 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 solitude was enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chance cast us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its very peace suited Shelley. Its river, the near mountains, and not distant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many delightful excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter climate, on account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring us with 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, I believe we should have wandered over the world, both being passionately fond of travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable necessities, is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at the time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for their influence over our destiny.

***

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821.

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, and dated January 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, _5 Mocking your untimely weeping.

2. As an earthquake rocks a corse In its coffin in the clay, So White Winter, that rough nurse, Rocks the death-cold Year to-day; _10 Solemn Hours! wail aloud For your mother in her shroud.

3. As the wild air stirs and sways The tree-swung cradle of a child, So the breath of these rude days _15 Rocks the Year:—be calm and mild, Trembling Hours, she will arise With new love within her eyes.

4. January gray is here, Like a sexton by her grave; _20 February 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; _10 Kiss 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, _15 I 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, _25 Shall 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— _30 Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I 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 woe Are brackish with the salt of human tears! Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow Claspest the limits of mortality, _5 And 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 ye Halcyons of Memory, Seek some far calmer nest Than this abandoned breast! No news of your false spring _5 To my heart’s winter bring, Once having gone, in vain Ye come again.

2. Vultures, who build your bowers High in the Future’s towers, _10 Withered hopes on hopes are spread! Dying joys, choked by the dead, Will serve your beaks for prey Many a day.

***

FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. There is an intermediate draft amongst the Bodleian manuscripts. See Locock, “Examination”, etc., 1903, page 13.]

1. My faint spirit was sitting in the light Of thy looks, my love; It panted for thee like the hind at noon For the brooks, my love. Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the tempest’s flight _5 Bore thee far from me; My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon, Did companion thee.

2. Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed Or the death they bear, _10 The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove With 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, _15 It 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) by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862; (2, 2 and 3) by H. Buxton Forman, “Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1876.]

1. Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me Sweet-basil and mignonette? Embleming love and health, which never yet In the same wreath might be. Alas, and they are wet! _5 Is it with thy kisses or thy tears? For never rain or dew Such fragrance drew From plant or flower—the very doubt endears My sadness ever new, _10 The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee.

2. Send the stars light, but send not love to me, In whom love ever made Health 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 worm Have crept out of the storm— Come away! _15

2. ‘Our boat has one sail And 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 death Mixed with hail, specked their path O’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 fast From the lee. _30

3. And ‘Fear’st thou?’ and ‘Fear’st thou?’ And Seest thou?’ and ‘Hear’st thou?’ And ‘Drive we not free O’er the terrible sea, I and thou?’ _35

One boat-cloak did cover The loved and the lover— Their blood beats one measure, They murmur proud pleasure Soft and low;— _40

While around the lashed Ocean, Like mountains in motion, Is withdrawn and uplifted, Sunk, shattered and shifted To and fro. _45

4. In the court of the fortress Beside the pale portress, Like a bloodhound well beaten The bridegroom stands, eaten By shame; _50

On the topmost watch-turret, As a death-boding spirit Stands the gray tyrant father, To his voice the mad weather Seems tame; _55

And with curses as wild As e’er clung to child, He devotes to the blast, The best, loveliest and last Of 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, _5 Are 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 now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day _5 ’Tis since thou art fled away.

2. How shall ever one like me Win thee back again? With the joyous and the free Thou wilt scoff at pain. _10 Spirit false! thou hast forgot All but those who need thee not.

3. As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismayed; _15 Even the sighs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear.

4. Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure; _20 Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

5. I love all that thou lovest, _25 Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed, And the starry night; Autumn evening, and the morn When the golden mists are born. _30

6. I love snow, and all the forms Of the radiant frost; I love waves, and winds, and storms, Everything almost Which is Nature’s, and may be _35 Untainted by man’s misery.

7. I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good Between thee and me _40 What difference? but thou dost possess The 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, _45 Spirit, 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-day To-morrow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies. What is this world’s delight? _5 Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright.

2. Virtue, how frail it is! Friendship how rare! Love, how it sells poor bliss _10 For proud despair! But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy, and all Which ours we call.

3. Whilst skies are blue and bright, _15 Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere night Make glad the day; Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou—and from thy sleep _20 Then 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 old In the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starry fold? _5 Ha! 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? _10 How! is not HIS death-knell knolled? And livest THOU still, Mother Earth? Thou wert warming thy fingers old O’er the embers covered and cold Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled— _15 What, 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 _20 As she sung, ‘To my bosom I fold All 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 thousandfold Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth. I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold, Like a frozen chaos uprolled, _30 Till by the spirit of the mighty dead My 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, _35 A torrent of ruin to death from his birth. Leave the millions who follow to mould The metal before it be cold; And weave into his shame, which like the dead Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.’ _40

***

SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. There is a transcript, headed “Sonnet to the Republic of Benevento”, in the Harvard 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, _5 Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts As to oblivion their blind millions fleet, Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit By force or custom? Man who man would be, _10 Must rule the empire of himself; in it Must be supreme, establishing his throne On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy Of 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 sate In dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought; And I, who thought _5 This Aziola was some tedious woman, Asked, ‘Who is Aziola?’ How elate I felt to know that it was nothing human, No mockery of myself to fear or hate: And Mary saw my soul, _10 And laughed, and said, ‘Disquiet yourself not; ’Tis nothing but a little downy owl.’

2. Sad Aziola! many an eventide Thy music I had heard By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side, _15 And 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 _20 Loved 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 night A joy has taken flight; Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more—Oh, never more! _10

***

REMEMBRANCE.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, where it is entitled “A Lament”. Three manuscript copies are extant: The Trelawny manuscript (“Remembrance”), the Harvard manuscript (“Song”) and the Houghton manuscript—the last written by Shelley on a flyleaf of a copy of “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, _5 As 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— _10 But the wild-swan youth is fain To fly with thee, false as thou.— My heart each day desires the morrow; Sleep itself is turned to sorrow; Vainly would my winter borrow _15 Sunny 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: _20 On the living grave I bear Scatter 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 more In which its heart-cure lies: The widowed dove must cease to haunt a bower Like that from which its mate with feigned sighs _5 Fled in the April hour. I too must seldom seek again Near happy friends a mitigated pain.

2. Of hatred I am proud,—with scorn content; Indifference, that once hurt me, now is grown _10 Itself indifferent; But, not to speak of love, pity alone Can break a spirit already more than bent. The miserable one Turns the mind’s poison into food,— _15 Its medicine is tears,—its evil good.

3. Therefore, if now I see you seldomer, Dear friends, dear FRIEND! know that I only fly Your looks, because they stir Griefs that should sleep, and hopes that cannot die: _20 The very comfort that they minister I 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 _25 Why I am not as I have ever been. YOU spoil me for the task Of acting a forced part in life’s dull scene,— Of wearing on my brow the idle mask Of author, great or mean, _30 In the world’s carnival. I sought Peace thus, and but in you I found it not.

5. Full half an hour, to-day, I tried my lot With various flowers, and every one still said, ‘She loves me—loves me not.’ _35 And if this meant a vision long since fled— If it meant fortune, fame, or peace of thought— If it meant,—but I dread To 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 breast Break like a bursting heart, and die in foam, _45 And thus at length find rest: Doubtless there is a place of peace Where MY weak heart and all its throbs will cease.

7. I asked her, yesterday, if she believed That I had resolution. One who HAD _50 Would ne’er have thus relieved His heart with words,—but what his judgement bade Would do, and leave the scorner unrelieved. These verses are too sad To send to you, but that I know, _55 Happy 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 profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair _5 For prudence to smother, And pity from thee more dear Than that from another.

2. I can give not what men call love, But wilt thou accept not _10 The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not,— The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar _15 From 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 keep Some 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 be The secret food of fires unseen, Couldst thou but be as thou hast been, _10

3. After the slumber of the year The woodland violets reappear; All things revive in field or grove, And sky and sea, but two, which move And 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 unbar Where Strength and Beauty, met together, Kindle their image like a star In a sea of glassy weather! Night, with all thy stars look down,— _5 Darkness, weep thy holiest dew,— Never smiled the inconstant moon On a pair so true. Let eyes not see their own delight;— Haste, swift Hour, and thy flight _10 Oft renew.

2. Fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her! Holy stars, permit no wrong! And return to wake the sleeper, Dawn,—ere it be long! _15 O joy! O fear! what will be done In 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 moon On a pair so true? Hence, coy hour! and quench thy light, _5 Lest eyes see their own delight! Hence, swift hour! and thy loved flight Oft renew.

BOYS: O joy! O fear! what may be done In the absence of the sun? _10 Come along! The golden gates of sleep unbar! When strength and beauty meet together, Kindles their image like a star In a sea of glassy weather. _15 Hence, coy hour! and quench thy light, Lest eyes see their own delight! Hence, swift hour! and thy loved flight Oft renew.

GIRLS: O joy! O fear! what may be done _20 In the absence of the sun? Come along! Fairies! sprites! and angels, keep her! Holiest powers, permit no wrong! And return, to wake the sleeper, _25 Dawn, ere it be long. Hence, swift hour! and quench thy light, Lest eyes see their own delight! Hence, coy hour! and thy loved flight Oft renew. _30

BOYS AND GIRLS: O joy! O fear! what will be done In 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 moon On a pair so true. Haste, coy hour! and quench all light, _5 Lest eyes see their own delight! Haste, swift hour! and thy loved flight Oft renew!

GIRLS SING: Fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her! Holy stars! permit no wrong! _10 And return, to wake the sleeper, Dawn, ere it be long! O joy! O fear! there is not one Of us can guess what may be done In the absence of the sun:— _15 Come along!

BOYS: Oh! linger long, thou envious eastern lamp In the damp Caves of the deep!

GIRLS: Nay, return, Vesper! urge thy lazy car! _20 Swift unbar The gates of Sleep!

CHORUS: The golden gate of Sleep unbar, When Strength and Beauty, met together, Kindle their image, like a star _25 In a sea of glassy weather. May the purple mist of love Round them rise, and with them move, Nourishing each tender gem Which, like flowers, will burst from them. _30 As the fruit is to the tree May their children ever be!

***

LOVE, HOPE, DESIRE, AND FEAR.

[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862. ‘A very free translation 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 measure Four Ladies who possess all empery In earth and air and sea, _5 Nothing that lives from their award is free. Their names will I declare to thee, Love, Hope, Desire, and Fear, And they the regents are Of the four elements that frame the heart, _10 And each diversely exercised her art By force or circumstance or sleight To prove her dreadful might Upon that poor domain. Desire presented her [false] glass, and then _15 The spirit dwelling there Was spellbound to embrace what seemed so fair Within that magic mirror, And dazed by that bright error, It would have scorned the [shafts] of the avenger _20 And death, and penitence, and danger, Had not then silent Fear Touched with her palsying spear, So that as if a frozen torrent The blood was curdled in its current; _25 It dared not speak, even in look or motion, But chained within itself its proud devotion. Between Desire and Fear thou wert A wretched thing, poor heart! Sad was his life who bore thee in his breast, _30 Wild bird for that weak nest. Till Love even from fierce Desire it bought, And from the very wound of tender thought Drew solace, and the pity of sweet eyes Gave strength to bear those gentle agonies, _35 Surmount the loss, the terror, and the sorrow. Then Hope approached, she who can borrow For poor to-day, from rich tomorrow, And Fear withdrew, as night when day Descends upon the orient ray, _40 And after long and vain endurance The poor heart woke to her assurance. —At one birth these four were born With the world’s forgotten morn, And from Pleasure still they hold _45 All 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, _50 Seeking, 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 are Than the winged [bolts] thou bearest, And the smile thou wearest _5 Wraps thee as a star Is wrapped in light.

2. Could Arethuse to her forsaken urn From Alpheus and the bitter Doris run, Or could the morning shafts of purest light _10 Again into the quivers of the Sun Be gathered—could one thought from its wild flight Return into the temple of the brain Without a change, without a stain,— Could aught that is, ever again _15 Be what it once has ceased to be, Greece might again be free!

3. A star has fallen upon the earth Mid the benighted nations, A quenchless atom of immortal light, _20 A living spark of Night, A cresset shaken from the constellations. Swifter than the thunder fell To the heart of Earth, the well Where its pulses flow and beat, _25 And unextinct in that cold source Burns, and on ... course Guides the sphere which is its prison, Like an angelic spirit pent In a form of mortal birth, _30 Till, as a spirit half-arisen Shatters 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 _35 Consuming 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—enough Of 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 sun Thaws 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 _10 Keeping flocks on Himalay!

***

GINEVRA.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, and dated ‘Pisa, 1821.’]

Wild, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one Who staggers forth into the air and sun From the dark chamber of a mortal fever, Bewildered, and incapable, and ever Fancying strange comments in her dizzy brain _5 Of usual shapes, till the familiar train Of objects and of persons passed like things Strange as a dreamer’s mad imaginings, Ginevra from the nuptial altar went; The vows to which her lips had sworn assent _10 Rung 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, _15 And darkened her dark locks, as moonlight doth,— And of the gold and jewels glittering there She scarce felt conscious,—but the weary glare Lay like a chaos of unwelcome light, Vexing the sense with gorgeous undelight, _20 A moonbeam in the shadow of a cloud Was less heavenly fair—her face was bowed, And as she passed, the diamonds in her hair Were mirrored in the polished marble stair Which led from the cathedral to the street; _25 And ever as she went her light fair feet Erased these images.

The bride-maidens who round her thronging came, Some with a sense of self-rebuke and shame, Envying the unenviable; and others Making the joy which should have been another’s _30 Their own by gentle sympathy; and some Sighing to think of an unhappy home: Some few admiring what can ever lure Maidens to leave the heaven serene and pure Of parents’ smiles for life’s great cheat; a thing _35 Bitter to taste, sweet in imagining.

But they are all dispersed—and, lo! she stands Looking in idle grief on her white hands, Alone within the garden now her own; _40 And 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 dreams That he is dreaming, until slumber seems _45 A mockery of itself—when suddenly Antonio 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 _50 Whose sleeping face is stricken by the sun With light like a harsh voice, which bids him rise And look upon his day of life with eyes Which weep in vain that they can dream no more, Ginevra saw her lover, and forbore _55 To shriek or faint, and checked the stifling blood Rushing upon her heart, and unsubdued Said—‘Friend, if earthly violence or ill, Suspicion, doubt, or the tyrannic will Of parents, chance or custom, time or change, _60 Or circumstance, or terror, or revenge, Or wildered looks, or words, or evil speech, With all their stings and venom can impeach Our love,—we love not:—if the grave which hides The victim from the tyrant, and divides _65 The cheek that whitens from the eyes that dart Imperious inquisition to the heart That is another’s, could dissever ours, We love not.’—‘What! do not the silent hours Beckon thee to Gherardi’s bridal bed? _70 Is not that ring’—a pledge, he would have said, Of broken vows, but she with patient look The golden circle from her finger took, And said—‘Accept this token of my faith, The pledge of vows to be absolved by death; _75 And I am dead or shall be soon—my knell Will 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 _80 Will serve unfaded for my bier—so soon That even the dying violet will not die Before Ginevra.’ The strong fantasy Had made her accents weaker and more weak, And quenched the crimson life upon her cheek, _85 And glazed her eyes, and spread an atmosphere Round her, which chilled the burning noon with fear, Making her but an image of the thought Which, like a prophet or a shadow, brought News of the terrors of the coming time. _90 Like an accuser branded with the crime He would have cast on a beloved friend, Whose dying eyes reproach not to the end The pale betrayer—he then with vain repentance Would share, he cannot now avert, the sentence— _95 Antonio stood and would have spoken, when The compound voice of women and of men Was heard approaching; he retired, while she Was led amid the admiring company Back to the palace,—and her maidens soon _100 Changed her attire for the afternoon, And left her at her own request to keep An hour of quiet rest:—like one asleep With 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 light Of love, and admiration, and delight Reflected from a thousand hearts and eyes, _110 Kindling 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 wine Falls, and the dew of music more divine _115 Tempers the deep emotions of the time To 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 _120 Of 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 _125 Scatter their hoarded incense, and awaken The earth, until the dewy sleep is shaken From every living heart which it possesses, Through seas and winds, cities and wildernesses, As if the future and the past were all _130 Treasured i’ the instant;—so Gherardi’s hall Laughed in the mirth of its lord’s festival, Till some one asked—‘Where is the Bride?’ And then A bridesmaid went,—and ere she came again A silence fell upon the guests—a pause _135 Of expectation, as when beauty awes All hearts with its approach, though unbeheld; Then wonder, and then fear that wonder quelled;— For whispers passed from mouth to ear which drew The colour from the hearer’s cheeks, and flew _140 Louder and swifter round the company; And then Gherardi entered with an eye Of ostentatious trouble, and a crowd Surrounded him, and some were weeping loud.

They found Ginevra dead! if it be death _145 To lie without motion, or pulse, or breath, With waxen cheeks, and limbs cold, stiff, and white, And open eyes, whose fixed and glassy light Mocked at the speculation they had owned. If it be death, when there is felt around _150 A smell of clay, a pale and icy glare, And silence, and a sense that lifts the hair From the scalp to the ankles, as it were Corruption from the spirit passing forth, And giving all it shrouded to the earth, _155 And leaving as swift lightning in its flight Ashes, and smoke, and darkness: in our night Of thought we know thus much of death,—no more Than the unborn dream of our life before Their barks are wrecked on its inhospitable shore. _160 The marriage feast and its solemnity Was turned to funeral pomp—the company, With heavy hearts and looks, broke up; nor they Who loved the dead went weeping on their way Alone, but sorrow mixed with sad surprise _165 Loosened 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, _170 Showed as it were within the vaulted room A cloud of sorrow hanging, as if gloom Had passed out of men’s minds into the air. Some few yet stood around Gherardi there, Friends and relations of the dead,—and he, _175 A loveless man, accepted torpidly The consolation that he wanted not; Awe in the place of grief within him wrought. Their whispers made the solemn silence seem More still—some wept,... _180 Some melted into tears without a sob, And some with hearts that might be heard to throb Leaned on the table and at intervals Shuddered to hear through the deserted halls And corridors the thrilling shrieks which came _185 Upon the breeze of night, that shook the flame Of every torch and taper as it swept From out the chamber where the women kept;— Their tears fell on the dear companion cold Of pleasures now departed; then was knolled _190 The bell of death, and soon the priests arrived, And finding Death their penitent had shrived, Returned like ravens from a corpse whereon A vulture has just feasted to the bone. And then the mourning women came.— _195

...

THE DIRGE.

Old winter was gone In his weakness back to the mountains hoar, And the spring came down From the planet that hovers upon the shore

Where the sea of sunlight encroaches _200 On 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 cold On the bridal couch, One step to the white deathbed, And one to the bier, And one to the charnel—and one, oh where? _210 The dark arrow fled In the noon.

Ere the sun through heaven once more has rolled, The rats in her heart Will have made their nest, _215 And 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.old 26 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 there Over the quivering surface of the stream, _5 Wakes 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 _10 The dust and straws are driven up and down, And whirled about the pavement of the town.

3. Within the surface of the fleeting river The wrinkled image of the city lay, Immovably unquiet, and forever _15 It 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 shut By darkest barriers of cinereous cloud, _20 Like mountain over mountain huddled—but Growing 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, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824; revised and enlarged by Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works 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, _5 Like 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. _10 Day 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 _15 The 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 scythe And the matin-bell and the mountain bee: _20 Fireflies 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: _25 Like a flock of rooks at a farmer’s gun Night’s dreams and terrors, every one, Fled from the brains which are their prey From the lamp’s death to the morning ray.

All rose to do the task He set to each, _30 Who shaped us to His ends and not our own; The million rose to learn, and one to teach What none yet ever knew or can be known. And many rose Whose woe was such that fear became desire;— _35 Melchior 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 brow Screens Lucca from the Pisan’s envious eye, _40 Which 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 lie Islanded 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 guess That she was dreaming of our idleness, And of the miles of watery way _50 We should have led her by this time of day.’-

‘Never mind,’ said Lionel, ‘Give care to the winds, they can bear it well About yon poplar-tops; and see The white clouds are driving merrily, _55 And the stars we miss this morn will light More 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.’ _65 And then, in such transalpine Tuscan As would have killed a Della-Cruscan,

...

So, Lionel according to his art Weaving his idle words, Melchior said: ‘She dreams that we are not yet out of bed; _70 We’ll put a soul into her, and a heart Which 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 mix Hard eggs and radishes and rolls at Eton, _80 And, couched on stolen hay in those green harbours Farmers 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 _85 Lionel 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, _90 Comes the laughing morning wind;— The sails are full, the boat makes head Against the Serchio’s torrent fierce, Then flags with intermitting course, And hangs upon the wave, and stems _95 The tempest of the... Which fervid from its mountain source Shallow, smooth and strong doth come,— Swift as fire, tempestuously It sweeps into the affrighted sea; _100 In morning’s smile its eddies coil, Its billows sparkle, toss and boil, Torturing all its quiet light Into columns fierce and bright.

The Serchio, twisting forth _105 Between the marble barriers which it clove At Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm The wave that died the death which lovers love, Living in what it sought; as if this spasm Had not yet passed, the toppling mountains cling, _110 But the clear stream in full enthusiasm Pours itself on the plain, then wandering Down one clear path of effluence crystalline Sends its superfluous waves, that they may fling At Arno’s feet tribute of corn and wine; Then, through the pestilential deserts wild Of 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, _5 I 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 bound Upon my heart to stifle it; _10 The 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, _15 And mist there was none its thirst to slake— And the violet lay dead while the odour flew On the wings of the wind o’er the waters blue—

4. As one who drinks from a charmed cup Of foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine, _20 Whom, 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 “Life of Shelley”, 1847 (lines 1-9, 12-14). Revised and completed from the Boscombe 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 kill Pleasure, and leave to Wonder and Despair The ministration of the thoughts that fill The mind which, like a worm whose life may share A portion of the unapproachable, _5 Marks your creations rise as fast and fair As perfect worlds at the Creator’s will.

But such is my regard that nor your power To soar above the heights where others [climb], Nor fame, that shadow of the unborn hour _10 Cast from the envious future on the time, Move one regret for his unhonoured name Who dares these words:—the worm beneath the sod May 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, flew Athwart the stream,—and time’s printless torrent grew _5 A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name Of 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 crowd Of common men, that stream without a shore, That ocean which at once is deaf and loud; That I, a man, stood amid many more By a wayside..., which the aspect bore _5 Of 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! _5 We 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 even While the dead leaves pass, If I look on Spring’s soft heaven,— Something is not there which was Winter’s wondrous frost and snow, _5 Summer’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 seem Like 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 grow Frail as a cloud whose [splendours] pale Under 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 South Lay in the paradise of Lebanon Under a heaven of cedar boughs: the drouth Of love was on her lips; the light was gone Out 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 cave No 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 skies With the green earth harmonize, And the young and dewy dawn, Bold as an unhunted fawn, Up the windless heaven is gone,— _5 Laugh—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 withal Is 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 singing The dirge of the music dead; The cold worms are clinging Where 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 thought Nurtures 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 deity Whose throne is in the depth of human thought, I do adjure thy power and thee By 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 profanest The wreath to mighty poets only due, Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest? Touch not those leaves which for the eternal few Who wander o’er the Paradise of fame, _5 In 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 same As that which bound Milton’s immortal hair; _10 Its dew is poison; and the hopes that quicken Under 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 manuscript Shelley D1 at the Bodleian Library and published by Mr. C.D. Locock, “Examination”, etc., Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1903. They are printed here as belonging probably to the year 1821.]

When May is painting with her colours gay The 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 like Splendour around the moon— Thy voice, as silver bells that strike Upon

***

FRAGMENT: ‘THE DEATH KNELL IS RINGING’.

(‘This reads like a study for “Autumn, A Dirge”’ (Locock). Might it not be part of a projected Fit v. of “The Fugitives”?—ED.)

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

The death knell is ringing The raven is singing The earth worm is creeping The mourners are weeping Ding dong, bell— _5

***

FRAGMENT: ‘I STOOD UPON A HEAVEN-CLEAVING TURRET’.

I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret Which overlooked a wide Metropolis— And in the temple of my heart my Spirit Lay prostrate, and with parted lips did kiss The dust of Desolations [altar] hearth— _5 And with a voice too faint to falter It shook that trembling fane with its weak prayer ’Twas noon,—the sleeping skies were blue The city

***

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1821, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

My task becomes inexpressibly painful as the year draws near that which sealed our earthly fate, and each poem, and each event it records, has a real or mysterious connection with the fatal catastrophe. I feel that I am incapable of putting on paper the history of those times. The heart 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 can dissect and probe past woes, and repeat to the public ear the groans drawn from them in the throes of their agony.

The year 1821 was spent in Pisa, or at the Baths of San Giuliano. We were not, as our wont had been, alone; friends had gathered round us. Nearly all are dead, and, when Memory recurs to the past, she wanders among tombs. The genius, with all his blighting errors and mighty powers; the companion of Shelley’s ocean-wanderings, and the sharer of his fate, than whom no man ever existed more gentle, generous, and fearless; and others, who found in Shelley’s society, and in his great knowledge and warm sympathy, delight, instruction, and solace; have joined him beyond the grave. A few survive who have felt life a desert since he left it. What misfortune can equal death? Change can convert every other into a blessing, or heal its sting—death alone has no cure. It shakes the foundations of the earth on which we tread; it destroys its beauty; it casts down our shelter; it exposes us bare to desolation. When those we love have passed into eternity, ‘life is the desert and the solitude’ in which we are forced to linger—but never find comfort more.

There is much in the “Adonais” which seems now more applicable to Shelley himself than to the young and gifted poet whom he mourned. The poetic view he takes of death, and the lofty scorn he displays towards his calumniators, are as a prophecy on his own destiny when received among immortal names, and the poisonous breath of critics has vanished into emptiness before the fame he inherits.

Shelley’s favourite taste was boating; when living near the Thames or by the Lake of Geneva, much of his life was spent on the water. On the shore of every lake or stream or sea near which he dwelt, he had a boat moored. He had latterly enjoyed this pleasure again. There are no pleasure-boats on the Arno; and the shallowness of its waters (except in winter-time, when the stream is too turbid and impetuous for boating) 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 the Maremma, to cross the sluggish but deep streams that intersect the forests,—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 anyone could take pleasure in an exercise that risked life. ‘Ma va per la vita!’ they exclaimed. I little thought how true their words would prove. He once ventured, with a friend, on the glassy sea of a calm day, down the Arno and round the coast to Leghorn, which, by keeping close in shore, was very practicable. They returned to Pisa by the canal, when, missing the direct cut, they got entangled among weeds, and the boat upset; a wetting was all the harm done, except that the intense cold of his drenched clothes made Shelley faint. Once I went down with him to the mouth of the Arno, where the stream, then high and swift, met the tideless sea, and disturbed its sluggish waters. It was a waste and dreary scene; the desert sand stretched into a point surrounded by waves that broke idly though perpetually around; it was a scene 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, when we 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 the canal; which, fed by the Serchio, was, though an artificial, a full and picturesque stream, making its way under verdant banks, sheltered by trees that dipped their boughs into the murmuring waters. By day, multitudes of Ephemera darted to and fro on the surface; at night, the fireflies came out among the shrubs on the banks; the cicale at noon-day kept up their hum; the aziola cooed in the quiet evening. It was a pleasant summer, bright in all but Shelley’s health and inconstant spirits; yet he enjoyed himself greatly, and became more and more attached to the part of the country where chance appeared to cast us. Sometimes he projected taking a farm situated on the height of one of the near hills, surrounded by chestnut and pine woods, and overlooking a wide extent of country: or settling still farther in the maritime Apennines, at Massa. Several of his slighter and unfinished poems were inspired by these scenes, and by the companions around us. It is the nature of that poetry, however, which overflows from the soul oftener to express sorrow and regret than joy; for it is when oppressed by the weight of life, and away from those he loves, that the poet has recourse 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 on the shores of the sea. It was very difficult to find a spot. We shrank from Naples from a fear that the heats would disagree with Percy: Leghorn had lost its only attraction, since our friends who had resided there were returned to England; and, Monte Nero being the resort of many English, we did not wish to find ourselves in the midst of a colony of chance travellers. No one then thought it possible to reside at Via Reggio, which latterly has become a summer resort. The low lands and bad air of Maremma stretch the whole length of the western shores of the Mediterranean, till broken by the rocks and hills of Spezia. It was a vague idea, but Shelley suggested an excursion to Spezia, to see whether it would be feasible to spend a summer there. The beauty of the bay enchanted him. We saw no house to suit us; but the notion took root, and many circumstances, enchained as by fatality, occurred to urge him to execute it.

He looked forward this autumn with great pleasure to the prospect of a visit from Leigh Hunt. When Shelley visited Lord Byron at Ravenna, the latter had suggested his coming out, together with the plan of a periodical work in which they should all join. Shelley saw a prospect of good for the fortunes of his friend, and pleasure in his society; and instantly exerted himself to have the plan executed. He did not intend himself joining in the work: partly from pride, not wishing to have the air of acquiring readers for his poetry by associating it with the compositions of more popular writers; and also because he might feel shackled in the free expression of his opinions, if any friends were to be compromised. By those opinions, carried even to their outermost extent, he wished to live and die, as being in his conviction not only true, but such as alone would conduce to the moral improvement and happiness of mankind. The sale of the work might meanwhile, either really or supposedly, be injured by the free expression of his thoughts; 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 land All cloudlessly and cold;—when I, desiring More in this world than any understand, Wept o’er the beauty, which, like sea retiring, _5 Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand Of my lorn heart, and o’er the grass and flowers Pale for the falsehood of the flattering Hours.

2. Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep The instability of all but weeping; _10 And on the Earth lulled in her winter sleep I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping. Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creep The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping From unremembered dreams, shalt ... see _15 No death divide thy immortality.

3. I loved—oh, no, I mean not one of ye, Or any earthly one, though ye are dear As human heart to human heart may be;— I loved, I know not what—but this low sphere _20 And 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, _25 Neither to be contained, delayed, nor hidden; Making divine the loftiest and the lowest, When for a moment thou art not forbidden To live within the life which thou bestowest; And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden, _30 Cold as a corpse after the spirit’s flight Blank 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 tone Of animals, and voices which are human, _35 Meant 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 most Adore thee present or lament thee lost. _40

6. And thus I went lamenting, when I saw A plant upon the river’s margin lie Like 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 _45 Had blighted; like a heart which hatred’s eye Can blast not, but which pity kills; the dew Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.

7. The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth Had crushed it on her maternal breast _50

...

8. I bore it to my chamber, and I planted It in a vase full of the lightest mould; The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted Fell through the window-panes, disrobed of cold, Upon its leaves and flowers; the stars which panted _55 In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled Over the horizon’s wave, with looks of light Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.

9. The mitigated influences of air And light revived the plant, and from it grew _60 Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair, Full as a cup with the vine’s burning dew, O’erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere Of vital warmth enfolded it anew, And every impulse sent to every part The 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 long Tears pure as Heaven’s rain, which fell upon it _70 Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song Mixed with the stringed melodies that won it To 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 _75 On which he wept, the while the savage storm Waked by the darkest of December’s hours Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm; The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers, The fish were frozen in the pools, the form _80 Of every summer plant was dead Whilst 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 _5 The powers of life, and like a sign, Seal thee from thine hour of woe; And brood on thee, but may not blend With thine.

2. ‘Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not; _10 But when I think that he Who made and makes my lot As full of flowers as thine of weeds, Might have been lost like thee; And that a hand which was not mine _15 Might then have charmed his agony As I another’s—my heart bleeds For thine.

3. ‘Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of The dead and the unborn _20 Forget thy life and love; Forget that thou must wake forever; Forget the world’s dull scorn; Forget lost health, and the divine Feelings which died in youth’s brief morn; _25 And forget me, for I can never Be thine.

4. ‘Like a cloud big with a May shower, My soul weeps healing rain On thee, thou withered flower! _30 It breathes mute music on thy sleep Its odour calms thy brain! Its light within thy gloomy breast Spreads like a second youth again. By mine thy being is to its deep _35 Possessed.

5. ‘The spell is done. How feel you now?’ ‘Better—Quite well,’ replied The sleeper.—‘What would do _39 You 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 abide Awhile, yet tempt me not to break My 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 shattered The light in the dust lies dead— When the cloud is scattered The rainbow’s glory is shed. When the lute is broken, _5 Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot.

2. As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, _10 The heart’s echoes render No song when the spirit is mute:— No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges _15 That ring the dead seaman’s knell.

3. When hearts have once mingled Love first leaves the well-built nest; The weak one is singled To endure what it once possessed. _20 O Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

4. Its passions will rock thee _25 As the storms rock the ravens on high; Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home _30 Leave 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 original form as one piece under the title, “The Pine Forest of the Cascine near Pisa”, by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824; reprinted in the same shape, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition; republished separately in their present form, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition. There is a copy 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-morrow To the rough Year just awake _5 In its cradle on the brake. The brightest hour of unborn Spring, Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn To hoar February born, _10 Bending 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, _15 And breathed upon the frozen mountains, And like a prophetess of May Strewed flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. _20

Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs— To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find _25 An echo in another’s mind, While the touch of Nature’s art Harmonizes heart to heart. I leave this notice on my door For each accustomed visitor:— _30 ‘I am gone into the fields To 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,— _35 I will pay you in the grave,— Death will listen to your stave. Expectation too, be off! To-day is for itself enough; _40 Hope, in pity mock not Woe With smiles, nor follow where I go; Long having lived on thy sweet food, At length I find one moment’s good After long pain—with all your love, _45 This 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 weaves Of sapless green and ivy dun Round stems that never kiss the sun; Where the lawns and pastures be, _55 And the sandhills of the sea;— Where the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy-star that never sets, And wind-flowers, and violets, Which yet join not scent to hue, _60 Crown the pale year weak and new; When the night is left behind In the deep east, dun and blind, And the blue noon is over us, And the multitudinous _65 Billows murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet, And all things seem only one In 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 _5 The 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 Forest That skirts the Ocean’s foam, _10 The 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 _15 The smile of Heaven lay; It seemed as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies, Which scattered from above the sun A light of Paradise. _20

3. We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents interlaced; And, soothed by every azure breath, _25 That 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, _30 As still as in the silent deep The ocean woods may be.

4. How calm it was!—the silence there By such a chain was bound That even the busy woodpecker _35 Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grew. _40 There seemed from the remotest seat Of the white mountain waste, To the soft flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced,— A spirit interfused around _45 A thrilling, silent life,— To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature’s strife; And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there _50 Was one fair form that filled with love The lifeless atmosphere.

5. We paused beside the pools that lie Under the forest bough,— Each seemed as ’twere a little sky _55 Gulfed in a world below; A firmament of purple light Which in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of night, And purer than the day— _60 In which the lovely forests grew, As in the upper air, More perfect both in shape and hue Than any spreading there. There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, _65 And through the dark green wood The white sun twinkling like the dawn Out of a speckled cloud. Sweet views which in our world above Can never well be seen, _70 Were imaged by the water’s love Of that fair forest green. And all was interfused beneath With an Elysian glow, An atmosphere without a breath, _75 A softer day below. Like one beloved the scene had lent To the dark water’s breast, Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth expressed; _80 Until an envious wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought, Which from the mind’s too faithful eye Blots one dear image out. Though thou art ever fair and kind, _85 The 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 day Which, like thee to those in sorrow, _5 Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough Year just awake In its cradle in the brake. The eldest of the Hours of Spring, Into the Winter wandering, _10 Looks upon the leafless wood, And the banks all bare and rude; Found, it seems, this halcyon Morn In February’s bosom born, Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, _15 Kissed 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, _20 And made the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, Dear.

Radiant Sister of the Day, Awake! arise! and come away! To the wild woods and the plains, _25 To the pools where winter rains Image all the roof of leaves, Where the pine its garland weaves Sapless, gray, and ivy dun Round stems that never kiss the sun— _30 To 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, _35 Rise, Memory, and write its praise! And do thy wonted work and trace The 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 Forest That skirts the Ocean’s foam, The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home.

The whispering waves were half asleep, _45 The clouds were gone to play, And on the woods, and on the deep The smile of Heaven lay.

It seemed as if the day were one Sent from beyond the skies, _50 Which shed to earth above the sun A light of Paradise.

We paused amid the pines that stood, The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude _55 With stems like serpents interlaced.

How calm it was—the silence there By such a chain was bound, That even the busy woodpecker Made stiller by her sound _60

The inviolable quietness; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grew.

It seemed that from the remotest seat _65 Of the white mountain’s waste To the bright flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced;—

A spirit interfused around, A thinking, silent life; _70 To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature’s strife;—

And still, it seemed, the centre of The magic circle there, Was one whose being filled with love _75 The breathless atmosphere.

Were not the crocuses that grew Under that ilex-tree As beautiful in scent and hue As ever fed the bee? _80

We stood beneath the pools that lie Under the forest bough, And each seemed like a sky Gulfed in a world below;

A purple firmament of light _85 Which in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of night, And clearer than the day—

In which the massy forests grew As in the upper air, _90 More perfect both in shape and hue Than any waving there.

Like one beloved the scene had lent To the dark water’s breast Its every leaf and lineament _95 With that clear truth expressed;

There lay far glades and neighbouring lawn, And through the dark green crowd The white sun twinkling like the dawn Under a speckled cloud. _100

Sweet views, which in our world above Can never well be seen, Were imaged by the water’s love Of that fair forest green.

And all was interfused beneath _105 With an Elysian air, An atmosphere without a breath, A silence sleeping there.

Until a wandering wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought, _110 Which from my mind’s too faithful eye Blots 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’s Magazine”, January 1833. There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts.]

Ariel to Miranda:—Take This slave of Music, for the sake Of him who is the slave of thee, And teach it all the harmony In which thou canst, and only thou, _5 Make the delighted spirit glow, Till joy denies itself again, And, too intense, is turned to pain; For by permission and command Of thine own Prince Ferdinand, _10 Poor Ariel sends this silent token Of more than ever can be spoken; Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who, From life to life, must still pursue Your happiness;—for thus alone _15 Can Ariel ever find his own. From Prospero’s enchanted cell, As the mighty verses tell, To the throne of Naples, he Lit you o’er the trackless sea, _20 Flitting on, your prow before, Like a living meteor. When you die, the silent Moon, In her interlunar swoon, Is not sadder in her cell Than deserted Ariel. When you live again on earth, Like an unseen star of birth, Ariel guides you o’er the sea Of life from your nativity. _30 Many changes have been run Since Ferdinand and you begun Your course of love, and Ariel still Has tracked your steps, and served your will; Now, in humbler, happier lot, _35 This is all remembered not; And now, alas! the poor sprite is Imprisoned, for some fault of his, In a body like a grave;— From you he only dares to crave, _40 For 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 _45 The woods were in their winter sleep, Rocked in that repose divine On the wind-swept Apennine; And dreaming, some of Autumn past, And some of Spring approaching fast, _50 And 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, _55 To 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, _60 In language gentle as thine own; Whispering in enamoured tone Sweet oracles of woods and dells, And summer winds in sylvan cells; For it had learned all harmonies _65 Of 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, _70 The melodies of birds and bees, The murmuring of summer seas, And pattering rain, and breathing dew, And airs of evening; and it knew That seldom-heard mysterious sound, _75 Which, driven on its diurnal round, As it floats through boundless day, Our world enkindles on its way.— All this it knows, but will not tell To those who cannot question well _80 The Spirit that inhabits it; It talks according to the wit Of its companions; and no more Is heard than has been felt before, By those who tempt it to betray _85 These secrets of an elder day: But, sweetly as its answers will Flatter hands of perfect skill, It keeps its highest, holiest tone For 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 Ariette for Music. To a Lady singing to her Accompaniment on the Guitar”), “The Athenaeum”, November 17, 1832; reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. Republished in full (under the title, To —.), “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition. The Trelawny manuscript is headed “To Jane”. Mr. C.W. Frederickson of Brooklyn possesses a transcript 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 _5 Again.

2. As the moon’s soft splendour O’er the faint cold starlight of Heaven Is thrown, So your voice most tender _10 To the strings without soul had then given Its own.

3. The stars will awaken, Though the moon sleep a full hour later, To-night; _15 No leaf will be shaken Whilst the dews of your melody scatter Delight.

4. Though the sound overpowers, Sing again, with your dear voice revealing _20 A tone Of some world far from ours, Where music and moonlight and feeling Are 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 loud Grief too sad for song; Wild wind, when sullen cloud Knells all the night long; Sad storm whose tears are vain, _5 Bare 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’s Magazine”, June, 1862; reprinted, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]

She left me at the silent time When the moon had ceased to climb The azure path of Heaven’s steep, And like an albatross asleep, Balanced on her wings of light, _5 Hovered in the purple night, Ere she sought her ocean nest In the chambers of the West. She left me, and I stayed alone Thinking over every tone _10 Which, though silent to the ear, The enchanted heart could hear, Like notes which die when born, but still Haunt the echoes of the hill; And feeling ever—oh, too much!— _15 The 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 _20 That even Fancy dares to claim:— Her presence had made weak and tame All passions, and I lived alone In the time which is our own; The past and future were forgot, _25 As they had been, and would be, not. But soon, the guardian angel gone, The daemon reassumed his throne In my faint heart. I dare not speak My thoughts, but thus disturbed and weak _30 I sat and saw the vessels glide Over the ocean bright and wide, Like spirit-winged chariots sent O’er some serenest element For ministrations strange and far; _35 As if to some Elysian star Sailed for drink to medicine Such sweet and bitter pain as mine. And the wind that winged their flight From the land came fresh and light, _40 And the scent of winged flowers, And the coolness of the hours Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day, Were scattered o’er the twinkling bay. And the fisher with his lamp _45 And spear about the low rocks damp Crept, and struck the fish which came To worship the delusive flame. Too happy they, whose pleasure sought Extinguishes all sense and thought _50 Of 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 singled As 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 hidden That its life was crushed by you, Ye would not have then forbidden The death which a heart so true Sought in your briny dew. _20

5. ... ... ... Methinks too little cost For a moment so found, so lost! _25

***

THE ISLE.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]

There was a little lawny islet By anemone and violet, Like mosaic, paven: And its roof was flowers and leaves Which the summer’s breath enweaves, _5 Where nor sun nor showers nor breeze Pierce the pines and tallest trees, Each a gem engraven;— Girt by many an azure wave With which the clouds and mountains pave _10 A 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 given To change and be adored for ever, Envy not this dim world, for never But once within its shadow grew _5 One 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 glided Under 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 are not what I intended them to be. I began with energy, and a burning desire to impart to the world, in worthy language, the sense I have of the virtues and genius of the beloved and the lost; my strength has failed under the task. Recurrence to the past, full of its own deep and unforgotten joys and sorrows, contrasted with succeeding years of painful and solitary struggle, has shaken my health. Days of great suffering have followed my attempts to write, and these again produced a weakness and languor that spread their sinister influence over these notes. I dislike speaking of myself, but cannot help apologizing to the dead, and to the public, for not having executed in the manner I desired the history I engaged to give of Shelley’s writings. (I at one time feared that the correction of the press might be less exact through 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, or because the original manuscript was left imperfect. Did any one see the papers from which I drew that volume, the wonder would be how any eyes or patience were capable of extracting it from so confused a mass, interlined and broken into fragments, so that the sense could only be deciphered and joined by guesses which might seem rather intuitive than founded on reasoning. Yet I believe no mistake was made.)

The winter of 1822 was passed in Pisa, if we might call that season winter in which autumn merged into spring after the interval of but few days of bleaker weather. Spring sprang up early, and with extreme beauty. Shelley had conceived the idea of writing a tragedy on the subject of Charles I. It was one that he believed adapted for a drama; full of intense interest, contrasted character, and busy passion. He had recommended it long before, when he encouraged me to attempt a play. Whether the subject proved more difficult than he anticipated, or whether in fact he could not bend his mind away from the broodings and wanderings of thought, divested from human interest, which he best loved, I cannot tell; but he proceeded slowly, and threw it aside for one of the most mystical of his poems, the “Triumph of Life”, on which he was employed at the last.

His passion for boating was fostered at this time by having among our friends several sailors. His favourite companion, Edward Ellerker Williams, of the 8th Light Dragoons, had begun his life in the navy, and had afterwards entered the army; he had spent several years in India, and his love for adventure and manly exercises accorded with Shelley’s taste. It was their favourite plan to build a boat such as they could manage themselves, and, living on the sea-coast, to enjoy at every hour and season the pleasure they loved best. Captain Roberts, R.N., undertook to build the boat at Genoa, where he was also occupied in 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 heard that 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 seek for houses for us. Only one was to be found at all suitable; however, a trifle such as not finding a house could not stop Shelley; the one found was to serve for all. It was unfurnished; we sent our furniture by sea, and with a good deal of precipitation, arising from his impatience, made our removal. We left Pisa on the 26th of April.

The Bay of Spezia is of considerable extent, and divided by a rocky promontory into a larger and smaller one. The town of Lerici is situated 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. Our house, Casa Magni, was close to this village; the sea came up to the door, a steep hill sheltered it behind. The proprietor of the estate on which it was situated was insane; he had begun to erect a large house at the summit of the hill behind, but his malady prevented its being finished, and it was falling into ruin. He had (and this to the Italians had seemed a glaring symptom of very decided madness) rooted up the olives on the hillside, and planted forest trees. These were mostly young, but the plantation was more in English taste than I ever elsewhere saw in Italy; some fine walnut and ilex trees intermingled their dark massy foliage, and formed groups which still haunt my memory, as then they satiated the eye with a sense of loveliness. The scene was indeed of unimaginable beauty. The blue extent of waters, the almost landlocked bay, the near castle of Lerici shutting it in to the east, and distant Porto Venere to the west; the varied forms of the precipitous rocks that bound in the beach, over which there was only a winding rugged footpath towards Lerici, and none on the other side; the tideless sea leaving no sands nor shingle, formed a picture such as one sees in Salvator Rosa’s landscapes only. Sometimes the sunshine vanished when the sirocco raged—the ‘ponente’ the wind was called on that shore. The gales and squalls that hailed our first arrival surrounded the bay with foam; the howling wind swept round our exposed house, and the sea roared unremittingly, so that we almost fancied ourselves on board ship. At other times sunshine and calm invested sea and sky, and the rich tints of Italian heaven bathed the scene in bright and ever-varying tints.

The natives were wilder than the place. Our near neighbours of San Terenzo were more like savages than any people I ever before lived among. Many a night they passed on the beach, singing, or rather howling; the women dancing about among the waves that broke at their feet, the men leaning against the rocks and joining in their loud wild chorus. We could get no provisions nearer than Sarzana, at a distance of 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 an island of the South Seas, we could scarcely have felt ourselves farther from civilisation and comfort; but, where the sun shines, the latter becomes an unnecessary luxury, and we had enough society among ourselves. Yet I confess housekeeping became rather a toilsome task, especially as I was suffering in my health, and could not exert myself actively.

At first the fatal boat had not arrived, and was expected with great impatience. On Monday, 12th May, it came. Williams records the long-wished-for fact in his journal: ‘Cloudy and threatening weather. M. Maglian called; and after dinner, and while walking with him on the terrace, we discovered a strange sail coming round the point of Porto Venere, which proved at length to be Shelley’s boat. She had left Genoa on Thursday last, but had been driven back by the prevailing bad winds. A Mr. Heslop and two English seamen brought her round, and they speak most highly of her performances. She does indeed excite my surprise and admiration. Shelley and I walked to Lerici, and made a stretch off the land to try her: and I find she fetches whatever she looks at. In short, we have now a perfect plaything for the summer.’—It was thus that short-sighted mortals welcomed Death, he having disguised his grim form in a pleasing mask! The time of the friends was now spent on the sea; the weather became fine, and our whole party often passed the evenings on the water when the wind promised pleasant sailing. Shelley and Williams made longer excursions; they sailed several times to Massa. They had engaged one of the seamen who brought her round, a boy, by name Charles Vivian; and they had not the slightest apprehension of danger. When the weather was unfavourable, they employed themselves with alterations in the rigging, and by building a boat of canvas and reeds, as light as possible, to have on board the other for the convenience 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 sea which was soon to engulf him.

The heats set in in the middle of June; the days became excessively hot. But the sea-breeze cooled the air at noon, and extreme heat always put Shelley in spirits. A long drought had preceded the heat; and prayers for rain were being put up in the churches, and processions of relics for the same effect took place in every town. At this time we received letters announcing the arrival of Leigh Hunt at Genoa. Shelley was 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 go to Leghorn in the boat. Strange that no fear of danger crossed our minds! Living on the sea-shore, the ocean became as a plaything: as a child may sport with a lighted stick, till a spark inflames a forest, and spreads destruction over all, so did we fearlessly and blindly tamper with danger, and make a game of the terrors of the ocean. Our Italian neighbours, even, trusted themselves as far as Massa in the skiff; and the running down the line of coast to Leghorn gave no more notion of peril than a fair-weather inland navigation would have done to those who had never seen the sea. Once, some months before, Trelawny had raised a warning voice as to the difference of our calm bay and the open sea beyond; but Shelley and his friend, with their one sailor-boy, thought themselves a match for the storms of the Mediterranean, in a boat 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 darkened the present hour, such was over my mind when they went. During the whole of our stay at Lerici, an intense presentiment of coming evil brooded over my mind, and covered this beautiful place and genial summer with the shadow of coming misery. I had vainly struggled with these emotions—they seemed accounted for by my illness; but at this hour of separation they recurred with renewed violence. I did not anticipate danger for them, but a vague expectation of evil shook me to agony, and I could scarcely bring myself to let them go. The day was calm and clear; and, a fine breeze rising at twelve, they weighed for Leghorn. They made the run of about fifty miles in seven hours and a half. The “Bolivar” was in port; and, the regulations of the Health-office not permitting them to go on shore after sunset, they borrowed cushions from the larger vessel, and slept on board their boat.

They spent a week at Pisa and Leghorn. The want of rain was severely felt in the country. The weather continued sultry and fine. I have heard that Shelley all this time was in brilliant spirits. Not long before, talking of presentiment, he had said the only one that he ever found infallible was the certain advent of some evil fortune when he felt peculiarly joyous. Yet, if ever fate whispered of coming disaster, such inaudible but not unfelt prognostics hovered around us. The beauty of the place seemed unearthly in its excess: the distance we were at from all signs of civilization, the sea at our feet, its murmurs or its roaring for ever in our ears,—all these things led the mind to brood over strange thoughts, and, lifting it from everyday life, caused it to be familiar with the unreal. A sort of spell surrounded us; and each day, as the voyagers did not return, we grew restless and disquieted, and yet, strange to say, we were not fearful of the most apparent danger.

The spell snapped; it was all over; an interval of agonizing doubt—of days passed in miserable journeys to gain tidings, of hopes that took firmer root even as they were more baseless—was changed to the certainty of the death that eclipsed all happiness for the survivors for evermore.

There was something in our fate peculiarly harrowing. The remains of those we lost were cast on shore; but, by the quarantine-laws of the coast, we were not permitted to have possession of them—the law with respect to everything cast on land by the sea being that such should be burned, to prevent the possibility of any remnant bringing the plague into Italy; and no representation could alter the law. At length, through the kind and unwearied exertions of Mr. Dawkins, our Charge d’Affaires at Florence, we gained permission to receive the ashes after the bodies were consumed. Nothing could equal the zeal of Trelawny in carrying our wishes into effect. He was indefatigable in his exertions, and full of forethought and sagacity in his arrangements. It was a fearful task; he stood before us at last, his hands scorched and blistered by the flames of the funeral-pyre, and by touching the burnt relics as he placed them in the receptacles prepared for the purpose. And there, in compass of that small case, was gathered all that remained on earth of him whose genius and virtue were a crown of glory to the world—whose love had been the source of happiness, peace, and good,—to be buried with him!

The concluding stanzas of the “Adonais” pointed out where the remains ought to be deposited; in addition to which our beloved child lay buried in the cemetery at Rome. Thither Shelley’s ashes were conveyed; and they rest beneath one of the antique weed-grown towers that recur at intervals in the circuit of the massy ancient wall of Rome. He selected 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 left behind, be soothed by poetic imaginations, there was something in Shelley’s fate to mitigate pangs which yet, alas! could not be so mitigated; for hard reality brings too miserably home to the mourner all that is lost of happiness, all of lonely unsolaced struggle that remains. Still, though dreams and hues of poetry cannot blunt grief, it invests his fate with a sublime fitness, which those less nearly allied may regard with complacency. A year before he had poured into verse all such ideas about death as give it a glory of its own. He had, as it now seems, almost anticipated his own destiny; and, when the mind figures his skiff wrapped from sight by the thunder-storm, as it was last seen upon the purple sea, and then, as the cloud of the tempest passed away, no sign remained of where it had been (Captain Roberts watched the vessel with his glass from the top of the lighthouse of Leghorn, on its homeward track. They were off Via Reggio, at some distance from shore, when a storm was driven over the sea. It enveloped them and several larger vessels in darkness. When the cloud passed onwards, Roberts looked again, and saw every other vessel sailing on the ocean except their little schooner, which had vanished. From that time he could scarcely doubt the fatal truth; yet we fancied that they might have been driven towards Elba or Corsica, and so be saved. The observation made 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 in ten fathom water; it had not capsized, and, except such things as had floated from her, everything was found on board exactly as it had been placed when they sailed. The boat itself was uninjured. Roberts possessed himself of her, and decked her; but she proved not seaworthy, and her shattered planks now lie rotting on the shore of one of the Ionian islands, on which she was wrecked.)—who but will regard as a prophecy 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.

THE COMPLETE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

VOLUME 3

OXFORD EDITION. INCLUDING MATERIALS NEVER BEFORE PRINTED IN ANY EDITION OF THE POEMS.

EDITED WITH TEXTUAL NOTES

BY

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

1914.

CONTENTS.

TRANSLATIONS.

HYMN TO MERCURY. TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF HOMER.

HOMER’S HYMN TO CASTOR AND POLLUX.

HOMER’S HYMN TO THE MOON.

HOMER’S HYMN TO THE SUN.

HOMER’S HYMN TO THE EARTH: MOTHER OF ALL.

HOMER’S HYMN TO MINERVA.

HOMER’S HYMN TO VENUS.

THE CYCLOPS: A SATYRIC DRAMA. TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF EURIPIDES.

EPIGRAMS:

1. TO STELLA. FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.

2. KISSING HELENA. FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.

3. SPIRIT OF PLATO. FROM THE GREEK.

4. CIRCUMSTANCE. FROM THE GREEK.

FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ADONIS. FROM THE GREEK OF BION.

FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF BION. FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.

FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.

PAN, ECHO, AND THE SATYR. FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.

FROM VERGIL’S TENTH ECLOGUE.

THE SAME.

FROM VERGIL’S FOURTH GEORGIC.

SONNET. FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.

THE FIRST CANZONE OF THE “CONVITO”. FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.

MATILDA GATHERING FLOWERS. FROM THE “PURGATORIO” OF DANTE.

FRAGMENT. ADAPTED FROM THE “VITA NUOVA” OF DANTE.

UGOLINO. “INFERNO”, 33, 22-75, TRANSLATED BY MEDWIN AND CORRECTED BY SHELLEY.

SONNET. FROM THE ITALIAN OF CAVALCANTI.

SCENES FROM THE “MAGICO PRODIGIOSO”. FROM THE SPANISH OF CALDERON.

STANZAS FROM CALDERON’S “CISMA DE INGLETERRA”.

SCENES FROM THE “FAUST” OF GOETHE.

JUVENILIA.

QUEEN MAB. A PHILOSOPHICAL POEM. TO HARRIET ******. QUEEN MAB. SHELLEY’S NOTES. NOTE BY MRS. SHELLEY.

VERSES ON A CAT.

FRAGMENT: OMENS.

EPITAPHIUM [LATIN VERSION OF THE EPITAPH IN GRAY’S “ELEGY”].

IN HOROLOGIUM.

A DIALOGUE.

TO THE MOONBEAM.

THE SOLITARY.

TO DEATH.

LOVE’S ROSE.

EYES: A FRAGMENT.

ORIGINAL POETRY BY VICTOR AND CAZIRE.

1. ‘HERE I SIT WITH MY PAPER, MY PEN AND MY INK’.

2. TO MISS — — [HARRIET GROVE] FROM MISS — — [ELIZABETH SHELLEY].

3. SONG: ‘COLD, COLD IS THE BLAST’.

4. SONG: ‘COME [HARRIET]! SWEET IS THE HOUR’.

5. SONG: DESPAIR.

6. SONG: SORROW.

7. SONG: HOPE.

8. SONG: TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN.

9. SONG: TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.

10. THE IRISHMAN’S SONG.

11. SONG: ‘FIERCE ROARS THE MIDNIGHT STORM’.

12. SONG: TO — [HARRIET].

13. SONG: TO — [HARRIET].

14. SAINT EDMOND’S EVE.

15. REVENGE.

16. GHASTA; OR, THE AVENGING DEMON.

17. FRAGMENT; OR, THE TRIUMPH OF CONSCIENCE.

POEMS FROM ST. IRVYNE; OR, THE ROSICRUCIAN.

1. VICTORIA.

2. ‘ON THE DARK HEIGHT OF JURA’.

3. SISTER ROSA. A BALLAD.

4. ST. IRVYNE’S TOWER.

5. BEREAVEMENT.

6. THE DROWNED LOVER.

POSTHUMOUS FRAGMENTS OF MARGARET NICHOLSON.

ADVERTISEMENT.

WAR.

FRAGMENT: SUPPOSED TO BE AN EPITHALAMIUM OF FRANCIS RAVAILLAC AND CHARLOTTE CORDAY.

DESPAIR.

FRAGMENT.

THE SPECTRAL HORSEMAN.

MELODY TO A SCENE OF FORMER TIMES.

STANZA FROM A TRANSLATION OF THE MARSEILLAISE HYMN.

BIGOTRY’S VICTIM.

ON AN ICICLE THAT CLUNG TO THE GRASS OF A GRAVE.

LOVE.

ON A FETE AT CARLTON HOUSE: FRAGMENT.

TO A STAR.

TO MARY, WHO DIED IN THIS OPINION.

A TALE OF SOCIETY AS IT IS: FROM FACTS, 1811.

TO THE REPUBLICANS OF NORTH AMERICA.

TO IRELAND.

ON ROBERT EMMET’S GRAVE.

THE RETROSPECT: CWM ELAN, 1812.

FRAGMENT OF A SONNET: TO HARRIET.

TO HARRIET.

SONNET: TO A BALLOON LADEN WITH KNOWLEDGE.

SONNET: ON LAUNCHING SOME BOTTLES FILLED WITH KNOWLEDGE INTO THE BRISTOL CHANNEL.

THE DEVIL’S WALK.

FRAGMENT OF A SONNET: FAREWELL TO NORTH DEVON.

ON LEAVING LONDON FOR WALES.

THE WANDERING JEW’S SOLILOQUY.

EVENING: TO HARRIET.

TO IANTHE.

SONG FROM THE WANDERING JEW.

FRAGMENT FROM THE WANDERING JEW.

TO THE QUEEN OF MY HEART.

EDITOR’S NOTES.

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL LIST OF EDITIONS.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

***

TRANSLATIONS.

[Of the Translations that follow a few were published by Shelley himself, others by Mrs. Shelley in the “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, or the “Poetical Works”, 1839, and the remainder by Medwin (1834, 1847), Garnett (1862), Rossetti (1870), Forman (1876) and Locock (1903) from the manuscript originals. Shelley’s “Translations” fall between the years 1818 and 1822.]

HYMN TO MERCURY.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF HOMER.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. This alone of the “Translations” is included in the Harvard manuscript book. ‘Fragments of the drafts of this and the other Hymns of Homer exist among the Boscombe manuscripts’ (Forman).]

1. Sing, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove, The Herald-child, king of Arcadia And all its pastoral hills, whom in sweet love Having been interwoven, modest May Bore Heaven’s dread Supreme. An antique grove _5 Shadowed the cavern where the lovers lay In the deep night, unseen by Gods or Men, And white-armed Juno slumbered sweetly then.

2. Now, when the joy of Jove had its fulfilling, And Heaven’s tenth moon chronicled her relief, _10 She gave to light a babe all babes excelling, A schemer subtle beyond all belief; A shepherd of thin dreams, a cow-stealing, A night-watching, and door-waylaying thief, Who ‘mongst the Gods was soon about to thieve, _15 And other glorious actions to achieve.

3. The babe was born at the first peep of day; He began playing on the lyre at noon, And the same evening did he steal away Apollo’s herds;—the fourth day of the moon _20 On which him bore the venerable May, From her immortal limbs he leaped full soon, Nor long could in the sacred cradle keep, But out to seek Apollo’s herds would creep.

4. Out of the lofty cavern wandering _25 He found a tortoise, and cried out—‘A treasure!’ (For Mercury first made the tortoise sing) The beast before the portal at his leisure The flowery herbage was depasturing, Moving his feet in a deliberate measure _30 Over the turf. Jove’s profitable son Eying him laughed, and laughing thus begun:—

5. ‘A useful godsend are you to me now, King of the dance, companion of the feast, Lovely in all your nature! Welcome, you _35 Excellent plaything! Where, sweet mountain-beast, Got you that speckled shell? Thus much I know, You must come home with me and be my guest; You will give joy to me, and I will do All that is in my power to honour you. _40

6. ‘Better to be at home than out of door, So come with me; and though it has been said That you alive defend from magic power, I know you will sing sweetly when you’re dead.’ Thus having spoken, the quaint infant bore, _45 Lifting it from the grass on which it fed And grasping it in his delighted hold, His treasured prize into the cavern old.

7. Then scooping with a chisel of gray steel, He bored the life and soul out of the beast.— _50 Not swifter a swift thought of woe or weal Darts through the tumult of a human breast Which thronging cares annoy—not swifter wheel The flashes of its torture and unrest Out of the dizzy eyes—than Maia’s son _55 All that he did devise hath featly done.

8. ... And through the tortoise’s hard stony skin At proper distances small holes he made, And fastened the cut stems of reeds within, And with a piece of leather overlaid _60 The open space and fixed the cubits in, Fitting the bridge to both, and stretched o’er all Symphonious cords of sheep-gut rhythmical.

9. When he had wrought the lovely instrument, He tried the chords, and made division meet, _65 Preluding with the plectrum, and there went Up from beneath his hand a tumult sweet Of mighty sounds, and from his lips he sent A strain of unpremeditated wit Joyous and wild and wanton—such you may _70 Hear among revellers on a holiday.

10. He sung how Jove and May of the bright sandal Dallied in love not quite legitimate; And his own birth, still scoffing at the scandal, And naming his own name, did celebrate; _75 His mother’s cave and servant maids he planned all In plastic verse, her household stuff and state, Perennial pot, trippet, and brazen pan,— But singing, he conceived another plan.

11. ... Seized with a sudden fancy for fresh meat, _80 He in his sacred crib deposited The hollow lyre, and from the cavern sweet Rushed with great leaps up to the mountain’s head, Revolving in his mind some subtle feat Of thievish craft, such as a swindler might _85 Devise in the lone season of dun night.

12. Lo! the great Sun under the ocean’s bed has Driven steeds and chariot—the child meanwhile strode O’er the Pierian mountains clothed in shadows, Where the immortal oxen of the God _90 Are pastured in the flowering unmown meadows, And safely stalled in a remote abode.— The archer Argicide, elate and proud, Drove fifty from the herd, lowing aloud.

13. He drove them wandering o’er the sandy way, _95 But, being ever mindful of his craft, Backward and forward drove he them astray, So that the tracks which seemed before, were aft; His sandals then he threw to the ocean spray, And for each foot he wrought a kind of raft _100 Of tamarisk, and tamarisk-like sprigs, And bound them in a lump with withy twigs.

14. And on his feet he tied these sandals light, The trail of whose wide leaves might not betray His track; and then, a self-sufficing wight, _105 Like a man hastening on some distant way, He from Pieria’s mountain bent his flight; But an old man perceived the infant pass Down green Onchestus heaped like beds with grass.

15. The old man stood dressing his sunny vine: _110 ‘Halloo! old fellow with the crooked shoulder! You grub those stumps? before they will bear wine Methinks even you must grow a little older: Attend, I pray, to this advice of mine, As you would ‘scape what might appal a bolder— _115 Seeing, see not—and hearing, hear not—and— If you have understanding—understand.’

16. So saying, Hermes roused the oxen vast; O’er shadowy mountain and resounding dell, And flower-paven plains, great Hermes passed; _120 Till the black night divine, which favouring fell Around his steps, grew gray, and morning fast Wakened the world to work, and from her cell Sea-strewn, the Pallantean Moon sublime Into her watch-tower just began to climb. _125

17. Now to Alpheus he had driven all The broad-foreheaded oxen of the Sun; They came unwearied to the lofty stall And to the water-troughs which ever run Through the fresh fields—and when with rushgrass tall, _130 Lotus and all sweet herbage, every one Had pastured been, the great God made them move Towards the stall in a collected drove.

18. A mighty pile of wood the God then heaped, And having soon conceived the mystery _135 Of fire, from two smooth laurel branches stripped The bark, and rubbed them in his palms;—on high Suddenly forth the burning vapour leaped And the divine child saw delightedly.— Mercury first found out for human weal _140 Tinder-box, matches, fire-irons, flint and steel.

19. And fine dry logs and roots innumerous He gathered in a delve upon the ground— And kindled them—and instantaneous The strength of the fierce flame was breathed around: _145 And whilst the might of glorious Vulcan thus Wrapped the great pile with glare and roaring sound, Hermes dragged forth two heifers, lowing loud, Close to the fire—such might was in the God.

20. And on the earth upon their backs he threw _150 The panting beasts, and rolled them o’er and o’er, And bored their lives out. Without more ado He cut up fat and flesh, and down before The fire, on spits of wood he placed the two, Toasting their flesh and ribs, and all the gore _155 Pursed in the bowels; and while this was done He stretched their hides over a craggy stone.

21. We mortals let an ox grow old, and then Cut it up after long consideration,— But joyous-minded Hermes from the glen _160 Drew the fat spoils to the more open station Of a flat smooth space, and portioned them; and when He had by lot assigned to each a ration Of the twelve Gods, his mind became aware Of all the joys which in religion are. _165

22. For the sweet savour of the roasted meat Tempted him though immortal. Natheless He checked his haughty will and did not eat, Though what it cost him words can scarce express, And every wish to put such morsels sweet _170 Down his most sacred throat, he did repress; But soon within the lofty portalled stall He placed the fat and flesh and bones and all.

23. And every trace of the fresh butchery And cooking, the God soon made disappear, _175 As if it all had vanished through the sky; He burned the hoofs and horns and head and hair,— The insatiate fire devoured them hungrily;— And when he saw that everything was clear, He quenched the coal, and trampled the black dust, _180 And in the stream his bloody sandals tossed.

24. All night he worked in the serene moonshine— But when the light of day was spread abroad He sought his natal mountain-peaks divine. On his long wandering, neither Man nor God _185 Had met him, since he killed Apollo’s kine, Nor house-dog had barked at him on his road; Now he obliquely through the keyhole passed, Like a thin mist, or an autumnal blast.

25. Right through the temple of the spacious cave _190 He went with soft light feet—as if his tread Fell not on earth; no sound their falling gave; Then to his cradle he crept quick, and spread The swaddling-clothes about him; and the knave Lay playing with the covering of the bed _195 With his left hand about his knees—the right Held his beloved tortoise-lyre tight.

26. There he lay innocent as a new-born child, As gossips say; but though he was a God, The Goddess, his fair mother, unbeguiled, _200 Knew all that he had done being abroad: ‘Whence come you, and from what adventure wild, You cunning rogue, and where have you abode All the long night, clothed in your impudence? What have you done since you departed hence? _205

27. ‘Apollo soon will pass within this gate And bind your tender body in a chain Inextricably tight, and fast as fate, Unless you can delude the God again, Even when within his arms—ah, runagate! _210 A pretty torment both for Gods and Men Your father made when he made you!’—‘Dear mother,’ Replied sly Hermes, ‘wherefore scold and bother?

28. ‘As if I were like other babes as old, And understood nothing of what is what; _215 And cared at all to hear my mother scold. I in my subtle brain a scheme have got, Which whilst the sacred stars round Heaven are rolled Will profit you and me—nor shall our lot Be as you counsel, without gifts or food, _220 To spend our lives in this obscure abode.

29 ‘But we will leave this shadow-peopled cave And live among the Gods, and pass each day In high communion, sharing what they have Of profuse wealth and unexhausted prey; _225 And from the portion which my father gave To Phoebus, I will snatch my share away, Which if my father will not—natheless I, Who am the king of robbers, can but try.

30. ‘And, if Latona’s son should find me out, _230 I’ll countermine him by a deeper plan; I’ll pierce the Pythian temple-walls, though stout, And sack the fane of everything I can— Caldrons and tripods of great worth no doubt, Each golden cup and polished brazen pan, _235 All the wrought tapestries and garments gay.’— So they together talked;—meanwhile the Day

31. Aethereal born arose out of the flood Of flowing Ocean, bearing light to men. Apollo passed toward the sacred wood, _240 Which from the inmost depths of its green glen Echoes the voice of Neptune,—and there stood On the same spot in green Onchestus then That same old animal, the vine-dresser, Who was employed hedging his vineyard there. _245

32. Latona’s glorious Son began:—‘I pray Tell, ancient hedger of Onchestus green, Whether a drove of kine has passed this way, All heifers with crooked horns? for they have been Stolen from the herd in high Pieria, _250 Where a black bull was fed apart, between Two woody mountains in a neighbouring glen, And four fierce dogs watched there, unanimous as men.

33. ‘And what is strange, the author of this theft Has stolen the fatted heifers every one, _255 But the four dogs and the black bull are left:— Stolen they were last night at set of sun, Of their soft beds and their sweet food bereft.— Now tell me, man born ere the world begun, Have you seen any one pass with the cows?’— _260 To whom the man of overhanging brows:

34. ‘My friend, it would require no common skill Justly to speak of everything I see: On various purposes of good or ill Many pass by my vineyard,—and to me _265 ’Tis difficult to know the invisible Thoughts, which in all those many minds may be:— Thus much alone I certainly can say, I tilled these vines till the decline of day,

35. ‘And then I thought I saw, but dare not speak _270 With certainty of such a wondrous thing, A child, who could not have been born a week, Those fair-horned cattle closely following, And in his hand he held a polished stick: And, as on purpose, he walked wavering _275 From one side to the other of the road, And with his face opposed the steps he trod.’

36. Apollo hearing this, passed quickly on— No winged omen could have shown more clear That the deceiver was his father’s son. _280 So the God wraps a purple atmosphere Around his shoulders, and like fire is gone To famous Pylos, seeking his kine there, And found their track and his, yet hardly cold, And cried—‘What wonder do mine eyes behold! _285

37. ‘Here are the footsteps of the horned herd Turned back towards their fields of asphodel;— But THESE are not the tracks of beast or bird, Gray wolf, or bear, or lion of the dell, Or maned Centaur—sand was never stirred _290 By man or woman thus! Inexplicable! Who with unwearied feet could e’er impress The sand with such enormous vestiges?

38. ‘That was most strange—but this is stranger still!’ Thus having said, Phoebus impetuously _295 Sought high Cyllene’s forest-cinctured hill, And the deep cavern where dark shadows lie, And where the ambrosial nymph with happy will Bore the Saturnian’s love-child, Mercury— And a delightful odour from the dew _300 Of the hill pastures, at his coming, flew.

39. And Phoebus stooped under the craggy roof Arched over the dark cavern:—Maia’s child Perceived that he came angry, far aloof, About the cows of which he had been beguiled; _305 And over him the fine and fragrant woof Of his ambrosial swaddling-clothes he piled— As among fire-brands lies a burning spark Covered, beneath the ashes cold and dark.

40. There, like an infant who had sucked his fill _310 And now was newly washed and put to bed, Awake, but courting sleep with weary will, And gathered in a lump, hands, feet, and head, He lay, and his beloved tortoise still He grasped and held under his shoulder-blade. _315 Phoebus the lovely mountain-goddess knew, Not less her subtle, swindling baby, who

41. Lay swathed in his sly wiles. Round every crook Of the ample cavern, for his kine, Apollo Looked sharp; and when he saw them not, he took _320 The glittering key, and opened three great hollow Recesses in the rock—where many a nook Was filled with the sweet food immortals swallow, And mighty heaps of silver and of gold Were piled within—a wonder to behold! _325

42. And white and silver robes, all overwrought With cunning workmanship of tracery sweet— Except among the Gods there can be nought In the wide world to be compared with it. Latona’s offspring, after having sought _330 His herds in every corner, thus did greet Great Hermes:—‘Little cradled rogue, declare Of my illustrious heifers, where they are!

43. ‘Speak quickly! or a quarrel between us Must rise, and the event will be, that I _335 Shall hurl you into dismal Tartarus, In fiery gloom to dwell eternally; Nor shall your father nor your mother loose The bars of that black dungeon—utterly You shall be cast out from the light of day, _340 To rule the ghosts of men, unblessed as they.

44. To whom thus Hermes slily answered:—‘Son Of great Latona, what a speech is this! Why come you here to ask me what is done With the wild oxen which it seems you miss? _345 I have not seen them, nor from any one Have heard a word of the whole business; If you should promise an immense reward, I could not tell more than you now have heard.

45. ‘An ox-stealer should be both tall and strong, _350 And I am but a little new-born thing, Who, yet at least, can think of nothing wrong:— My business is to suck, and sleep, and fling The cradle-clothes about me all day long,— Or half asleep, hear my sweet mother sing, _355 And to be washed in water clean and warm, And hushed and kissed and kept secure from harm.

46. ‘O, let not e’er this quarrel be averred! The astounded Gods would laugh at you, if e’er You should allege a story so absurd _360 As that a new-born infant forth could fare Out of his home after a savage herd. I was born yesterday—my small feet are Too tender for the roads so hard and rough:— And if you think that this is not enough, _365

47. I swear a great oath, by my father’s head, That I stole not your cows, and that I know Of no one else, who might, or could, or did.— Whatever things cows are, I do not know, For I have only heard the name.’—This said _370 He winked as fast as could be, and his brow Was wrinkled, and a whistle loud gave he, Like one who hears some strange absurdity.

48. Apollo gently smiled and said:—‘Ay, ay,— You cunning little rascal, you will bore _375 Many a rich man’s house, and your array Of thieves will lay their siege before his door, Silent as night, in night; and many a day In the wild glens rough shepherds will deplore That you or yours, having an appetite, _380 Met with their cattle, comrade of the night!

49. ‘And this among the Gods shall be your gift, To be considered as the lord of those Who swindle, house-break, sheep-steal, and shop-lift;— But now if you would not your last sleep doze; _385 Crawl out!’—Thus saying, Phoebus did uplift The subtle infant in his swaddling clothes, And in his arms, according to his wont, A scheme devised the illustrious Argiphont.

50. ... ... And sneezed and shuddered—Phoebus on the grass _390 Him threw, and whilst all that he had designed He did perform—eager although to pass, Apollo darted from his mighty mind Towards the subtle babe the following scoff:— ‘Do not imagine this will get you off, _395

51. ‘You little swaddled child of Jove and May! And seized him:—‘By this omen I shall trace My noble herds, and you shall lead the way.’— Cyllenian Hermes from the grassy place, Like one in earnest haste to get away, _400 Rose, and with hands lifted towards his face Round both his ears up from his shoulders drew His swaddling clothes, and—‘What mean you to do

52. ‘With me, you unkind God?’—said Mercury: ‘Is it about these cows you tease me so? _405 I wish the race of cows were perished!—I Stole not your cows—I do not even know What things cows are. Alas! I well may sigh That since I came into this world of woe, I should have ever heard the name of one— _410 But I appeal to the Saturnian’s throne.’

53. Thus Phoebus and the vagrant Mercury Talked without coming to an explanation, With adverse purpose. As for Phoebus, he Sought not revenge, but only information, _415 And Hermes tried with lies and roguery To cheat Apollo.—But when no evasion Served—for the cunning one his match had found— He paced on first over the sandy ground.

54. ... He of the Silver Bow the child of Jove _420 Followed behind, till to their heavenly Sire Came both his children, beautiful as Love, And from his equal balance did require A judgement in the cause wherein they strove. O’er odorous Olympus and its snows _425 A murmuring tumult as they came arose,—

55. And from the folded depths of the great Hill, While Hermes and Apollo reverent stood Before Jove’s throne, the indestructible Immortals rushed in mighty multitude; _430 And whilst their seats in order due they fill, The lofty Thunderer in a careless mood To Phoebus said:—‘Whence drive you this sweet prey, This herald-baby, born but yesterday?—

56. ‘A most important subject, trifler, this _435 To lay before the Gods!’—‘Nay, Father, nay, When you have understood the business, Say not that I alone am fond of prey. I found this little boy in a recess Under Cyllene’s mountains far away— _440 A manifest and most apparent thief, A scandalmonger beyond all belief.

57. ‘I never saw his like either in Heaven Or upon earth for knavery or craft:— Out of the field my cattle yester-even, _445 By the low shore on which the loud sea laughed, He right down to the river-ford had driven; And mere astonishment would make you daft To see the double kind of footsteps strange He has impressed wherever he did range. _450

58. ‘The cattle’s track on the black dust, full well Is evident, as if they went towards The place from which they came—that asphodel Meadow, in which I feed my many herds,— HIS steps were most incomprehensible— _455 I know not how I can describe in words Those tracks—he could have gone along the sands Neither upon his feet nor on his hands;—

59. ‘He must have had some other stranger mode Of moving on: those vestiges immense, _460 Far as I traced them on the sandy road, Seemed like the trail of oak-toppings:—but thence No mark nor track denoting where they trod The hard ground gave:—but, working at his fence, A mortal hedger saw him as he passed _465 To Pylos, with the cows, in fiery haste.

60. ‘I found that in the dark he quietly Had sacrificed some cows, and before light Had thrown the ashes all dispersedly About the road—then, still as gloomy night, _470 Had crept into his cradle, either eye Rubbing, and cogitating some new sleight. No eagle could have seen him as he lay Hid in his cavern from the peering day.

61. ‘I taxed him with the fact, when he averred _475 Most solemnly that he did neither see Nor even had in any manner heard Of my lost cows, whatever things cows be; Nor could he tell, though offered a reward, Not even who could tell of them to me.’ _480 So speaking, Phoebus sate; and Hermes then Addressed the Supreme Lord of Gods and Men:—

62. ‘Great Father, you know clearly beforehand That all which I shall say to you is sooth; I am a most veracious person, and _485 Totally unacquainted with untruth. At sunrise Phoebus came, but with no band Of Gods to bear him witness, in great wrath, To my abode, seeking his heifers there, And saying that I must show him where they are, _490

63. ‘Or he would hurl me down the dark abyss. I know that every Apollonian limb Is clothed with speed and might and manliness, As a green bank with flowers—but unlike him I was born yesterday, and you may guess _495 He well knew this when he indulged the whim Of bullying a poor little new-born thing That slept, and never thought of cow-driving.

64. ‘Am I like a strong fellow who steals kine? Believe me, dearest Father—such you are— _500 This driving of the herds is none of mine; Across my threshold did I wander ne’er, So may I thrive! I reverence the divine Sun and the Gods, and I love you, and care Even for this hard accuser—who must know _505 I am as innocent as they or you.

65. ‘I swear by these most gloriously-wrought portals (It is, you will allow, an oath of might) Through which the multitude of the Immortals Pass and repass forever, day and night, _510 Devising schemes for the affairs of mortals— I am guiltless; and I will requite, Although mine enemy be great and strong, His cruel threat—do thou defend the young!’

66. So speaking, the Cyllenian Argiphont _515 Winked, as if now his adversary was fitted:— And Jupiter, according to his wont, Laughed heartily to hear the subtle-witted Infant give such a plausible account, And every word a lie. But he remitted _520 Judgement at present—and his exhortation Was, to compose the affair by arbitration.

67. And they by mighty Jupiter were bidden To go forth with a single purpose both, Neither the other chiding nor yet chidden: _525 And Mercury with innocence and truth To lead the way, and show where he had hidden The mighty heifers.—Hermes, nothing loth, Obeyed the Aegis-bearer’s will—for he Is able to persuade all easily. _530

68. These lovely children of Heaven’s highest Lord Hastened to Pylos and the pastures wide And lofty stalls by the Alphean ford, Where wealth in the mute night is multiplied With silent growth. Whilst Hermes drove the herd _535 Out of the stony cavern, Phoebus spied The hides of those the little babe had slain, Stretched on the precipice above the plain.

69. ‘How was it possible,’ then Phoebus said, ‘That you, a little child, born yesterday, _540 A thing on mother’s milk and kisses fed, Could two prodigious heifers ever flay? Even I myself may well hereafter dread Your prowess, offspring of Cyllenian May, When you grow strong and tall.’—He spoke, and bound _545 Stiff withy bands the infant’s wrists around.

70. He might as well have bound the oxen wild; The withy bands, though starkly interknit, Fell at the feet of the immortal child, Loosened by some device of his quick wit. _550 Phoebus perceived himself again beguiled, And stared—while Hermes sought some hole or pit, Looking askance and winking fast as thought, Where he might hide himself and not be caught.

71. Sudden he changed his plan, and with strange skill _555 Subdued the strong Latonian, by the might Of winning music, to his mightier will; His left hand held the lyre, and in his right The plectrum struck the chords—unconquerable Up from beneath his hand in circling flight _560 The gathering music rose—and sweet as Love The penetrating notes did live and move

72. Within the heart of great Apollo—he Listened with all his soul, and laughed for pleasure. Close to his side stood harping fearlessly _565 The unabashed boy; and to the measure Of the sweet lyre, there followed loud and free His joyous voice; for he unlocked the treasure Of his deep song, illustrating the birth Of the bright Gods, and the dark desert Earth: _570

73. And how to the Immortals every one A portion was assigned of all that is; But chief Mnemosyne did Maia’s son Clothe in the light of his loud melodies;— And, as each God was born or had begun, _575 He in their order due and fit degrees Sung of his birth and being—and did move Apollo to unutterable love.

74. These words were winged with his swift delight: ‘You heifer-stealing schemer, well do you _580 Deserve that fifty oxen should requite Such minstrelsies as I have heard even now. Comrade of feasts, little contriving wight, One of your secrets I would gladly know, Whether the glorious power you now show forth _585 Was folded up within you at your birth,

75. ‘Or whether mortal taught or God inspired The power of unpremeditated song? Many divinest sounds have I admired, The Olympian Gods and mortal men among; _590 But such a strain of wondrous, strange, untired, And soul-awakening music, sweet and strong, Yet did I never hear except from thee, Offspring of May, impostor Mercury!

76. ‘What Muse, what skill, what unimagined use, _595 What exercise of subtlest art, has given Thy songs such power?—for those who hear may choose From three, the choicest of the gifts of Heaven, Delight, and love, and sleep,—sweet sleep, whose dews Are sweeter than the balmy tears of even:— _600 And I, who speak this praise, am that Apollo Whom the Olympian Muses ever follow:

77. ‘And their delight is dance, and the blithe noise Of song and overflowing poesy; And sweet, even as desire, the liquid voice _605 Of pipes, that fills the clear air thrillingly; But never did my inmost soul rejoice In this dear work of youthful revelry As now. I wonder at thee, son of Jove; Thy harpings and thy song are soft as love. _610

78. ‘Now since thou hast, although so very small, Science of arts so glorious, thus I swear,— And let this cornel javelin, keen and tall, Witness between us what I promise here,— That I will lead thee to the Olympian Hall, _615 Honoured and mighty, with thy mother dear, And many glorious gifts in joy will give thee, And even at the end will ne’er deceive thee.’

79. To whom thus Mercury with prudent speech:— ‘Wisely hast thou inquired of my skill: _620 I envy thee no thing I know to teach Even this day:—for both in word and will I would be gentle with thee; thou canst reach All things in thy wise spirit, and thy sill Is highest in Heaven among the sons of Jove, _625 Who loves thee in the fulness of his love.

80. ‘The Counsellor Supreme has given to thee Divinest gifts, out of the amplitude Of his profuse exhaustless treasury; By thee, ’tis said, the depths are understood _630 Of his far voice; by thee the mystery Of all oracular fates,—and the dread mood Of the diviner is breathed up; even I— A child—perceive thy might and majesty.

81. ‘Thou canst seek out and compass all that wit _635 Can find or teach;—yet since thou wilt, come take The lyre—be mine the glory giving it— Strike the sweet chords, and sing aloud, and wake Thy joyous pleasure out of many a fit Of tranced sound—and with fleet fingers make _640 Thy liquid-voiced comrade talk with thee,— It can talk measured music eloquently.

82. ‘Then bear it boldly to the revel loud, Love-wakening dance, or feast of solemn state, A joy by night or day—for those endowed _645 With art and wisdom who interrogate It teaches, babbling in delightful mood All things which make the spirit most elate, Soothing the mind with sweet familiar play, Chasing the heavy shadows of dismay. _650

83. ‘To those who are unskilled in its sweet tongue, Though they should question most impetuously Its hidden soul, it gossips something wrong— Some senseless and impertinent reply. But thou who art as wise as thou art strong _655 Canst compass all that thou desirest. I Present thee with this music-flowing shell, Knowing thou canst interrogate it well.

84. ‘And let us two henceforth together feed, On this green mountain-slope and pastoral plain, _660 The herds in litigation—they will breed Quickly enough to recompense our pain, If to the bulls and cows we take good heed;— And thou, though somewhat over fond of gain, Grudge me not half the profit.’—Having spoke, _665 The shell he proffered, and Apollo took;

85. And gave him in return the glittering lash, Installing him as herdsman;—from the look Of Mercury then laughed a joyous flash. And then Apollo with the plectrum strook _670 The chords, and from beneath his hands a crash Of mighty sounds rushed up, whose music shook The soul with sweetness, and like an adept His sweeter voice a just accordance kept.

86. The herd went wandering o’er the divine mead, _675 Whilst these most beautiful Sons of Jupiter Won their swift way up to the snowy head Of white Olympus, with the joyous lyre Soothing their journey; and their father dread Gathered them both into familiar _680 Affection sweet,—and then, and now, and ever, Hermes must love Him of the Golden Quiver,

87. To whom he gave the lyre that sweetly sounded, Which skilfully he held and played thereon. He piped the while, and far and wide rebounded _685 The echo of his pipings; every one Of the Olympians sat with joy astounded; While he conceived another piece of fun, One of his old tricks—which the God of Day Perceiving, said:—‘I fear thee, Son of May;— _690

88. ‘I fear thee and thy sly chameleon spirit, Lest thou should steal my lyre and crooked bow; This glory and power thou dost from Jove inherit, To teach all craft upon the earth below; Thieves love and worship thee—it is thy merit _695 To make all mortal business ebb and flow By roguery:—now, Hermes, if you dare By sacred Styx a mighty oath to swear

89. ‘That you will never rob me, you will do A thing extremely pleasing to my heart.’ _700 Then Mercury swore by the Stygian dew, That he would never steal his bow or dart, Or lay his hands on what to him was due, Or ever would employ his powerful art Against his Pythian fane. Then Phoebus swore _705 There was no God or Man whom he loved more.

90. ‘And I will give thee as a good-will token, The beautiful wand of wealth and happiness; A perfect three-leaved rod of gold unbroken, Whose magic will thy footsteps ever bless; _710 And whatsoever by Jove’s voice is spoken Of earthly or divine from its recess, It, like a loving soul, to thee will speak, And more than this, do thou forbear to seek.

91. ‘For, dearest child, the divinations high _715 Which thou requirest, ’tis unlawful ever That thou, or any other deity Should understand—and vain were the endeavour; For they are hidden in Jove’s mind, and I, In trust of them, have sworn that I would never _720 Betray the counsels of Jove’s inmost will To any God—the oath was terrible.

92. ‘Then, golden-wanded brother, ask me not To speak the fates by Jupiter designed; But be it mine to tell their various lot _725 To the unnumbered tribes of human-kind. Let good to these, and ill to those be wrought As I dispense—but he who comes consigned By voice and wings of perfect augury To my great shrine, shall find avail in me. _730

93. ‘Him will I not deceive, but will assist; But he who comes relying on such birds As chatter vainly, who would strain and twist The purpose of the Gods with idle words, And deems their knowledge light, he shall have missed _735 His road—whilst I among my other hoards His gifts deposit. Yet, O son of May, I have another wondrous thing to say.

96. ‘There are three Fates, three virgin Sisters, who Rejoicing in their wind-outspeeding wings, _740 Their heads with flour snowed over white and new, Sit in a vale round which Parnassus flings Its circling skirts—from these I have learned true Vaticinations of remotest things. My father cared not. Whilst they search out dooms, _745 They sit apart and feed on honeycombs.

95. ‘They, having eaten the fresh honey, grow Drunk with divine enthusiasm, and utter With earnest willingness the truth they know; But if deprived of that sweet food, they mutter _750 All plausible delusions;—these to you I give;—if you inquire, they will not stutter; Delight your own soul with them:—any man You would instruct may profit if he can.

96. ‘Take these and the fierce oxen, Maia’s child— _755 O’er many a horse and toil-enduring mule, O’er jagged-jawed lions, and the wild White-tusked boars, o’er all, by field or pool, Of cattle which the mighty Mother mild Nourishes in her bosom, thou shalt rule— _760 Thou dost alone the veil from death uplift— Thou givest not—yet this is a great gift.’

97. Thus King Apollo loved the child of May In truth, and Jove covered their love with joy. Hermes with Gods and Men even from that day _765 Mingled, and wrought the latter much annoy, And little profit, going far astray Through the dun night. Farewell, delightful Boy, Of Jove and Maia sprung,—never by me, Nor thou, nor other songs, shall unremembered be. _770

NOTES: _13 cow-stealing]qy. cattle-stealing? _57 stony Boscombe manuscript. Harvard manuscript; strong edition 1824. _252 neighbouring]neighbour Harvard manuscript. _336 hurl Harvard manuscript, editions 1839; haul edition 1824. _402 Round]Roused edition 1824 only. _488 wrath]ruth Harvard manuscript. _580 heifer-stealing]heifer-killing Harvard manuscript. _673 and like 1839, 1st edition; as of edition 1824, Harvard manuscript. _713 loving]living cj. Rossetti. _761 from Harvard manuscript; of editions 1824, 1839. _764 their love with joy Harvard manuscript; them with love and joy, editions 1824, 1839. _767 going]wandering Harvard manuscript.

***

HOMER’S HYMN TO CASTOR AND POLLUX.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition; dated 1818.]

Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twins of Jove, Whom the fair-ankled Leda, mixed in love With mighty Saturn’s Heaven-obscuring Child, On Taygetus, that lofty mountain wild, Brought forth in joy: mild Pollux, void of blame, _5 And steed-subduing Castor, heirs of fame. These are the Powers who earth-born mortals save And ships, whose flight is swift along the wave. When wintry tempests o’er the savage sea Are raging, and the sailors tremblingly _10 Call on the Twins of Jove with prayer and vow, Gathered in fear upon the lofty prow, And sacrifice with snow-white lambs,—the wind And the huge billow bursting close behind, Even then beneath the weltering waters bear _15 The staggering ship—they suddenly appear, On yellow wings rushing athwart the sky, And lull the blasts in mute tranquillity, And strew the waves on the white Ocean’s bed, Fair omen of the voyage; from toil and dread _20 The sailors rest, rejoicing in the sight, And plough the quiet sea in safe delight.

NOTE: _6 steed-subduing emend. Rossetti; steel-subduing 1839, 2nd edition.

***

HOMER’S HYMN TO THE MOON.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition; dated 1818.]

Daughters of Jove, whose voice is melody, Muses, who know and rule all minstrelsy Sing the wide-winged Moon! Around the earth, From her immortal head in Heaven shot forth, Far light is scattered—boundless glory springs; _5 Where’er she spreads her many-beaming wings The lampless air glows round her golden crown.

But when the Moon divine from Heaven is gone Under the sea, her beams within abide, Till, bathing her bright limbs in Ocean’s tide, _10 Clothing her form in garments glittering far, And having yoked to her immortal car The beam-invested steeds whose necks on high Curve back, she drives to a remoter sky A western Crescent, borne impetuously. _15 Then is made full the circle of her light, And as she grows, her beams more bright and bright Are poured from Heaven, where she is hovering then, A wonder and a sign to mortal men.

The Son of Saturn with this glorious Power _20 Mingled in love and sleep—to whom she bore Pandeia, a bright maid of beauty rare Among the Gods, whose lives eternal are.

Hail Queen, great Moon, white-armed Divinity, Fair-haired and favourable! thus with thee _25 My song beginning, by its music sweet Shall make immortal many a glorious feat Of demigods, with lovely lips, so well Which minstrels, servants of the Muses, tell.

***

HOMER’S HYMN TO THE SUN.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition; dated 1818.]

Offspring of Jove, Calliope, once more To the bright Sun, thy hymn of music pour; Whom to the child of star-clad Heaven and Earth Euryphaessa, large-eyed nymph, brought forth; Euryphaessa, the famed sister fair _5 Of great Hyperion, who to him did bear A race of loveliest children; the young Morn, Whose arms are like twin roses newly born, The fair-haired Moon, and the immortal Sun, Who borne by heavenly steeds his race doth run _10 Unconquerably, illuming the abodes Of mortal Men and the eternal Gods.

Fiercely look forth his awe-inspiring eyes, Beneath his golden helmet, whence arise And are shot forth afar, clear beams of light; _15 His countenance, with radiant glory bright, Beneath his graceful locks far shines around, And the light vest with which his limbs are bound, Of woof aethereal delicately twined, Glows in the stream of the uplifting wind. _20 His rapid steeds soon bear him to the West; Where their steep flight his hands divine arrest, And the fleet car with yoke of gold, which he Sends from bright Heaven beneath the shadowy sea.

***

HOMER’S HYMN TO THE EARTH: MOTHER OF ALL.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition; dated 1818.]

O universal Mother, who dost keep From everlasting thy foundations deep, Eldest of things, Great Earth, I sing of thee! All shapes that have their dwelling in the sea, All things that fly, or on the ground divine _5 Live, move, and there are nourished—these are thine; These from thy wealth thou dost sustain; from thee Fair babes are born, and fruits on every tree Hang ripe and large, revered Divinity!

The life of mortal men beneath thy sway _10 Is held; thy power both gives and takes away! Happy are they whom thy mild favours nourish; All things unstinted round them grow and flourish. For them, endures the life-sustaining field Its load of harvest, and their cattle yield _15 Large increase, and their house with wealth is filled. Such honoured dwell in cities fair and free, The homes of lovely women, prosperously; Their sons exult in youth’s new budding gladness, And their fresh daughters free from care or sadness, _20 With bloom-inwoven dance and happy song, On the soft flowers the meadow-grass among, Leap round them sporting—such delights by thee Are given, rich Power, revered Divinity.

Mother of gods, thou Wife of starry Heaven, _25 Farewell! be thou propitious, and be given A happy life for this brief melody, Nor thou nor other songs shall unremembered be.

***

HOMER’S HYMN TO MINERVA.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition; dated 1818.]

I sing the glorious Power with azure eyes, Athenian Pallas! tameless, chaste, and wise, Tritogenia, town-preserving Maid, Revered and mighty; from his awful head Whom Jove brought forth, in warlike armour dressed, _5 Golden, all radiant! wonder strange possessed The everlasting Gods that Shape to see, Shaking a javelin keen, impetuously Rush from the crest of Aegis-bearing Jove; Fearfully Heaven was shaken, and did move _10 Beneath the might of the Cerulean-eyed; Earth dreadfully resounded, far and wide; And, lifted from its depths, the sea swelled high In purple billows, the tide suddenly Stood still, and great Hyperion’s son long time _15 Checked his swift steeds, till, where she stood sublime, Pallas from her immortal shoulders threw The arms divine; wise Jove rejoiced to view. Child of the Aegis-bearer, hail to thee, Nor thine nor others’ praise shall unremembered be. _20

***

HOMER’S HYMN TO VENUS.

[Published by Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862; dated 1818.]

[VERSES 1-55, WITH SOME OMISSIONS.]

Muse, sing the deeds of golden Aphrodite, Who wakens with her smile the lulled delight Of sweet desire, taming the eternal kings Of Heaven, and men, and all the living things That fleet along the air, or whom the sea, _5 Or earth, with her maternal ministry, Nourish innumerable, thy delight All seek ... O crowned Aphrodite! Three spirits canst thou not deceive or quell:— Minerva, child of Jove, who loves too well _10 Fierce war and mingling combat, and the fame Of glorious deeds, to heed thy gentle flame. Diana ... golden-shafted queen, Is tamed not by thy smiles; the shadows green Of the wild woods, the bow, the... _15 And piercing cries amid the swift pursuit Of beasts among waste mountains,—such delight Is hers, and men who know and do the right. Nor Saturn’s first-born daughter, Vesta chaste, Whom Neptune and Apollo wooed the last, _20 Such was the will of aegis-bearing Jove; But sternly she refused the ills of Love, And by her mighty Father’s head she swore An oath not unperformed, that evermore A virgin she would live mid deities _25 Divine: her father, for such gentle ties Renounced, gave glorious gifts—thus in his hall She sits and feeds luxuriously. O’er all In every fane, her honours first arise From men—the eldest of Divinities. _30

These spirits she persuades not, nor deceives, But none beside escape, so well she weaves Her unseen toils; nor mortal men, nor gods Who live secure in their unseen abodes. She won the soul of him whose fierce delight _35 Is thunder—first in glory and in might. And, as she willed, his mighty mind deceiving, With mortal limbs his deathless limbs inweaving, Concealed him from his spouse and sister fair, Whom to wise Saturn ancient Rhea bare. _40 but in return, In Venus Jove did soft desire awaken, That by her own enchantments overtaken, She might, no more from human union free, Burn for a nursling of mortality. _45 For once amid the assembled Deities, The laughter-loving Venus from her eyes

Shot forth the light of a soft starlight smile, And boasting said, that she, secure the while, Could bring at Will to the assembled Gods _50 The mortal tenants of earth’s dark abodes, And mortal offspring from a deathless stem She could produce in scorn and spite of them. Therefore he poured desire into her breast Of young Anchises, _55 Feeding his herds among the mossy fountains Of the wide Ida’s many-folded mountains,— Whom Venus saw, and loved, and the love clung Like wasting fire her senses wild among.

***

THE CYCLOPS.

A SATYRIC DRAMA TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF EURIPIDES.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824; dated 1819. Amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian there is a copy, ‘practically complete,’ which has been collated by Mr. C.D. Locock. See “Examination”, etc., 1903, pages 64-70. ‘Though legible throughout, and comparatively free from corrections, it has the appearance of being a first draft’ (Locock).]

SILENUS. ULYSSES. CHORUS OF SATYRS. THE CYCLOPS.

SILENUS: O Bacchus, what a world of toil, both now And ere these limbs were overworn with age, Have I endured for thee! First, when thou fled’st The mountain-nymphs who nursed thee, driven afar By the strange madness Juno sent upon thee; _5 Then in the battle of the Sons of Earth, When I stood foot by foot close to thy side, No unpropitious fellow-combatant, And, driving through his shield my winged spear, Slew vast Enceladus. Consider now, _10 Is it a dream of which I speak to thee? By Jove it is not, for you have the trophies! And now I suffer more than all before. For when I heard that Juno had devised A tedious voyage for you, I put to sea _15 With all my children quaint in search of you, And I myself stood on the beaked prow And fixed the naked mast; and all my boys Leaning upon their oars, with splash and strain Made white with foam the green and purple sea,— _20 And so we sought you, king. We were sailing Near Malea, when an eastern wind arose, And drove us to this waste Aetnean rock; The one-eyed children of the Ocean God, The man-destroying Cyclopses, inhabit, _25 On this wild shore, their solitary caves, And one of these, named Polypheme, has caught us To be his slaves; and so, for all delight Of Bacchic sports, sweet dance and melody, We keep this lawless giant’s wandering flocks. _30 My sons indeed on far declivities, Young things themselves, tend on the youngling sheep, But I remain to fill the water-casks, Or sweeping the hard floor, or ministering Some impious and abominable meal _35 To the fell Cyclops. I am wearied of it! And now I must scrape up the littered floor With this great iron rake, so to receive My absent master and his evening sheep In a cave neat and clean. Even now I see _40 My children tending the flocks hitherward. Ha! what is this? are your Sicinnian measures Even now the same, as when with dance and song You brought young Bacchus to Althaea’s halls?

NOTE: _23 waste B.; wild 1824; ‘cf. 26, where waste is cancelled for wild’ (Locock).

CHORUS OF SATYRS:

STROPHE: Where has he of race divine _45 Wandered in the winding rocks? Here the air is calm and fine For the father of the flocks;— Here the grass is soft and sweet, And the river-eddies meet _50 In the trough beside the cave, Bright as in their fountain wave.— Neither here, nor on the dew Of the lawny uplands feeding? Oh, you come!—a stone at you _55 Will I throw to mend your breeding;— Get along, you horned thing, Wild, seditious, rambling!

EPODE: An Iacchic melody To the golden Aphrodite _60 Will I lift, as erst did I Seeking her and her delight With the Maenads, whose white feet To the music glance and fleet. Bacchus, O beloved, where, _65 Shaking wide thy yellow hair, Wanderest thou alone, afar? To the one-eyed Cyclops, we, Who by right thy servants are, Minister in misery, _70 In these wretched goat-skins clad, Far from thy delights and thee.

SILENUS: Be silent, sons; command the slaves to drive The gathered flocks into the rock-roofed cave.

CHORUS: Go! But what needs this serious haste, O father? _75

SILENUS: I see a Grecian vessel on the coast, And thence the rowers with some general Approaching to this cave.—About their necks Hang empty vessels, as they wanted food, And water-flasks.—Oh, miserable strangers! _80 Whence come they, that they know not what and who My master is, approaching in ill hour The inhospitable roof of Polypheme, And the Cyclopian jaw-bone, man-destroying? Be silent, Satyrs, while I ask and hear _85 Whence coming, they arrive the Aetnean hill.

ULYSSES: Friends, can you show me some clear water-spring, The remedy of our thirst? Will any one Furnish with food seamen in want of it? Ha! what is this? We seem to be arrived _90 At the blithe court of Bacchus. I observe This sportive band of Satyrs near the caves. First let me greet the elder.—Hail!

SILENUS: Hail thou, O Stranger! tell thy country and thy race.

ULYSSES: The Ithacan Ulysses and the king _95 Of Cephalonia.

SILENUS: Oh! I know the man, Wordy and shrewd, the son of Sisyphus.

ULYSSES: I am the same, but do not rail upon me.—

SILENUS: Whence sailing do you come to Sicily?

ULYSSES: From Ilion, and from the Trojan toils. _100

SILENUS: How, touched you not at your paternal shore?

ULYSSES: The strength of tempests bore me here by force.

SILENUS: The self-same accident occurred to me.

ULYSSES: Were you then driven here by stress of weather?

SILENUS: Following the Pirates who had kidnapped Bacchus. _105

ULYSSES: What land is this, and who inhabit it?—

SILENUS: Aetna, the loftiest peak in Sicily.

ULYSSES: And are there walls, and tower-surrounded towns?

SILENUS: There are not.—These lone rocks are bare of men.

ULYSSES: And who possess the land? the race of beasts? _110

SILENUS: Cyclops, who live in caverns, not in houses.

ULYSSES: Obeying whom? Or is the state popular?

SILENUS: Shepherds: no one obeys any in aught.

ULYSSES: How live they? do they sow the corn of Ceres?

SILENUS: On milk and cheese, and on the flesh of sheep. _115

ULYSSES: Have they the Bromian drink from the vine’s stream?

SILENUS: Ah! no; they live in an ungracious land.

ULYSSES: And are they just to strangers?—hospitable?

SILENUS: They think the sweetest thing a stranger brings Is his own flesh.

ULYSSES: What! do they eat man’s flesh? _120

SILENUS: No one comes here who is not eaten up.

ULYSSES: The Cyclops now—where is he? Not at home?

SILENUS: Absent on Aetna, hunting with his dogs.

ULYSSES: Know’st thou what thou must do to aid us hence?

SILENUS: I know not: we will help you all we can. _125

ULYSSES: Provide us food, of which we are in want.

SILENUS: Here is not anything, as I said, but meat.

ULYSSES: But meat is a sweet remedy for hunger.

SILENUS: Cow’s milk there is, and store of curdled cheese.

ULYSSES: Bring out:—I would see all before I bargain. _130

SILENUS: But how much gold will you engage to give?

ULYSSES: I bring no gold, but Bacchic juice.

SILENUS: Oh, joy! Tis long since these dry lips were wet with wine.

ULYSSES: Maron, the son of the God, gave it me.

SILENUS: Whom I have nursed a baby in my arms. _135

ULYSSES: The son of Bacchus, for your clearer knowledge.

SILENUS: Have you it now?—or is it in the ship?

ULYSSES: Old man, this skin contains it, which you see.

SILENUS: Why, this would hardly be a mouthful for me.

ULYSSES: Nay, twice as much as you can draw from thence. _140

SILENUS: You speak of a fair fountain, sweet to me.

ULYSSES: Would you first taste of the unmingled wine?

SILENUS: ’Tis just—tasting invites the purchaser.

ULYSSES: Here is the cup, together with the skin.

SILENUS: Pour: that the draught may fillip my remembrance.

ULYSSES: See! _145

SILENUS: Papaiapax! what a sweet smell it has!

ULYSSES: You see it then?—

SILENUS: By Jove, no! but I smell it.

ULYSSES: Taste, that you may not praise it in words only.

SILENUS: Babai! Great Bacchus calls me forth to dance! Joy! joy!

ULYSSES: Did it flow sweetly down your throat? _150

SILENUS: So that it tingled to my very nails.

ULYSSES: And in addition I will give you gold.

SILENUS: Let gold alone! only unlock the cask.

ULYSSES: Bring out some cheeses now, or a young goat.

SILENUS: That will I do, despising any master. _155 Yes, let me drink one cup, and I will give All that the Cyclops feed upon their mountains.

...

CHORUS: Ye have taken Troy and laid your hands on Helen?

ULYSSES: And utterly destroyed the race of Priam.

...

SILENUS: The wanton wretch! she was bewitched to see _160 The many-coloured anklets and the chain Of woven gold which girt the neck of Paris, And so she left that good man Menelaus. There should be no more women in the world But such as are reserved for me alone.— _165 See, here are sheep, and here are goats, Ulysses, Here are unsparing cheeses of pressed milk; Take them; depart with what good speed ye may; First leaving my reward, the Bacchic dew Of joy-inspiring grapes.

ULYSSES: Ah me! Alas! _170 What shall we do? the Cyclops is at hand! Old man, we perish! whither can we fly?

SILENUS: Hide yourselves quick within that hollow rock.

ULYSSES: ’Twere perilous to fly into the net.

SILENUS: The cavern has recesses numberless; _175 Hide yourselves quick.

ULYSSES: That will I never do! The mighty Troy would be indeed disgraced If I should fly one man. How many times Have I withstood, with shield immovable. Ten thousand Phrygians!—if I needs must die, _180 Yet will I die with glory;—if I live, The praise which I have gained will yet remain.

SILENUS: What, ho! assistance, comrades, haste, assistance!

[THE CYCLOPS, SILENUS, ULYSSES; CHORUS.]

CYCLOPS: What is this tumult? Bacchus is not here, Nor tympanies nor brazen castanets. _185 How are my young lambs in the cavern? Milking Their dams or playing by their sides? And is The new cheese pressed into the bulrush baskets? Speak! I’ll beat some of you till you rain tears— Look up, not downwards when I speak to you. _190

SILENUS: See! I now gape at Jupiter himself; I stare upon Orion and the stars.

CYCLOPS: Well, is the dinner fitly cooked and laid?

SILENUS: All ready, if your throat is ready too.

CYCLOPS: Are the bowls full of milk besides?

SILENUS: O’er-brimming; _195 So you may drink a tunful if you will.

CYCLOPS: Is it ewe’s milk or cow’s milk, or both mixed?—

SILENUS: Both, either; only pray don’t swallow me.

CYCLOPS: By no means.— ... What is this crowd I see beside the stalls? _200 Outlaws or thieves? for near my cavern-home I see my young lambs coupled two by two With willow bands; mixed with my cheeses lie Their implements; and this old fellow here Has his bald head broken with stripes.

SILENUS: Ah me! _205 I have been beaten till I burn with fever.

CYCLOPS: By whom? Who laid his fist upon your head?

SILENUS: Those men, because I would not suffer them To steal your goods.

CYCLOPS: Did not the rascals know I am a God, sprung from the race of Heaven? _210

SILENUS: I told them so, but they bore off your things, And ate the cheese in spite of all I said, And carried out the lambs—and said, moreover, They’d pin you down with a three-cubit collar, And pull your vitals out through your one eye, _215 Furrow your back with stripes, then, binding you, Throw you as ballast into the ship’s hold, And then deliver you, a slave, to move Enormous rocks, or found a vestibule.

NOTE: _216 Furrow B.; Torture (evidently misread for Furrow) 1824.

CYCLOPS: In truth? Nay, haste, and place in order quickly The cooking-knives, and heap upon the hearth, _221 And kindle it, a great faggot of wood.— As soon as they are slaughtered, they shall fill My belly, broiling warm from the live coals, Or boiled and seethed within the bubbling caldron. _225 I am quite sick of the wild mountain game; Of stags and lions I have gorged enough, And I grow hungry for the flesh of men.

SILENUS: Nay, master, something new is very pleasant After one thing forever, and of late _230 Very few strangers have approached our cave.

ULYSSES: Hear, Cyclops, a plain tale on the other side. We, wanting to buy food, came from our ship Into the neighbourhood of your cave, and here This old Silenus gave us in exchange _235 These lambs for wine, the which he took and drank, And all by mutual compact, without force. There is no word of truth in what he says, For slyly he was selling all your store.

SILENUS: I? May you perish, wretch—

ULYSSES: If I speak false! _240

SILENUS: Cyclops, I swear by Neptune who begot thee, By mighty Triton and by Nereus old, Calypso and the glaucous Ocean Nymphs, The sacred waves and all the race of fishes— Be these the witnesses, my dear sweet master, _245 My darling little Cyclops, that I never Gave any of your stores to these false strangers;— If I speak false may those whom most I love, My children, perish wretchedly!

CHORUS: There stop! I saw him giving these things to the strangers. _250 If I speak false, then may my father perish, But do not thou wrong hospitality.

CYCLOPS: You lie! I swear that he is juster far Than Rhadamanthus—I trust more in him. But let me ask, whence have ye sailed, O strangers? _255 Who are you? And what city nourished ye?

ULYSSES: Our race is Ithacan—having destroyed The town of Troy, the tempests of the sea Have driven us on thy land, O Polypheme.

CYCLOPS: What, have ye shared in the unenvied spoil _260 Of the false Helen, near Scamander’s stream?

ULYSSES: The same, having endured a woful toil.

CYCLOPS: Oh, basest expedition! sailed ye not From Greece to Phrygia for one woman’s sake?

ULYSSES: ’Twas the Gods’ work—no mortal was in fault. _265 But, O great Offspring of the Ocean-King, We pray thee and admonish thee with freedom, That thou dost spare thy friends who visit thee, And place no impious food within thy jaws. For in the depths of Greece we have upreared _270 Temples to thy great Father, which are all His homes. The sacred bay of Taenarus Remains inviolate, and each dim recess Scooped high on the Malean promontory, And aery Sunium’s silver-veined crag, _275 Which divine Pallas keeps unprofaned ever, The Gerastian asylums, and whate’er Within wide Greece our enterprise has kept From Phrygian contumely; and in which You have a common care, for you inhabit _280 The skirts of Grecian land, under the roots Of Aetna and its crags, spotted with fire. Turn then to converse under human laws, Receive us shipwrecked suppliants, and provide Food, clothes, and fire, and hospitable gifts; _285 Nor fixing upon oxen-piercing spits Our limbs, so fill your belly and your jaws. Priam’s wide land has widowed Greece enough; And weapon-winged murder leaped together Enough of dead, and wives are husbandless, _290 And ancient women and gray fathers wail Their childless age;—if you should roast the rest— And ’tis a bitter feast that you prepare— Where then would any turn? Yet be persuaded; Forgo the lust of your jaw-bone; prefer _295 Pious humanity to wicked will: Many have bought too dear their evil joys.

SILENUS: Let me advise you, do not spare a morsel Of all his flesh. If you should eat his tongue You would become most eloquent, O Cyclops. _300

CYCLOPS: Wealth, my good fellow, is the wise man’s God, All other things are a pretence and boast. What are my father’s ocean promontories, The sacred rocks whereon he dwells, to me? Stranger, I laugh to scorn Jove’s thunderbolt, _305 I know not that his strength is more than mine. As to the rest I care not.—When he pours Rain from above, I have a close pavilion Under this rock, in which I lie supine, Feasting on a roast calf or some wild beast, _310 And drinking pans of milk, and gloriously Emulating the thunder of high Heaven. And when the Thracian wind pours down the snow, I wrap my body in the skins of beasts, Kindle a fire, and bid the snow whirl on. _315 The earth, by force, whether it will or no, Bringing forth grass, fattens my flocks and herds, Which, to what other God but to myself And this great belly, first of deities, Should I be bound to sacrifice? I well know _320 The wise man’s only Jupiter is this, To eat and drink during his little day, And give himself no care. And as for those Who complicate with laws the life of man, I freely give them tears for their reward. _325 I will not cheat my soul of its delight, Or hesitate in dining upon you:— And that I may be quit of all demands, These are my hospitable gifts;—fierce fire And yon ancestral caldron, which o’er-bubbling _330 Shall finely cook your miserable flesh. Creep in!—

...

ULYSSES: Ai! ai! I have escaped the Trojan toils, I have escaped the sea, and now I fall Under the cruel grasp of one impious man. _335 O Pallas, Mistress, Goddess, sprung from Jove, Now, now, assist me! Mightier toils than Troy Are these;—I totter on the chasms of peril;— And thou who inhabitest the thrones Of the bright stars, look, hospitable Jove, _340 Upon this outrage of thy deity, Otherwise be considered as no God!

CHORUS (ALONE): For your gaping gulf and your gullet wide, The ravin is ready on every side, The limbs of the strangers are cooked and done; _345 There is boiled meat, and roast meat, and meat from the coal, You may chop it, and tear it, and gnash it for fun, An hairy goat’s-skin contains the whole. Let me but escape, and ferry me o’er The stream of your wrath to a safer shore. _350 The Cyclops Aetnean is cruel and bold, He murders the strangers That sit on his hearth, And dreads no avengers To rise from the earth. _355 He roasts the men before they are cold, He snatches them broiling from the coal, And from the caldron pulls them whole, And minces their flesh and gnaws their bone With his cursed teeth, till all be gone. _360 Farewell, foul pavilion: Farewell, rites of dread! The Cyclops vermilion, With slaughter uncloying, Now feasts on the dead, _365 In the flesh of strangers joying!

NOTE: _344 ravin Rossetti; spelt ravine in B., editions 1824, 1839.

ULYSSES: O Jupiter! I saw within the cave Horrible things; deeds to be feigned in words, But not to be believed as being done.

NOTE: _369 not to be believed B.; not believed 1824.

CHORUS: What! sawest thou the impious Polypheme _370 Feasting upon your loved companions now?

ULYSSES: Selecting two, the plumpest of the crowd, He grasped them in his hands.—

CHORUS: Unhappy man!

...

ULYSSES: Soon as we came into this craggy place, Kindling a fire, he cast on the broad hearth _375 The knotty limbs of an enormous oak, Three waggon-loads at least, and then he strewed Upon the ground, beside the red firelight, His couch of pine-leaves; and he milked the cows, And pouring forth the white milk, filled a bowl _380 Three cubits wide and four in depth, as much As would contain ten amphorae, and bound it With ivy wreaths; then placed upon the fire A brazen pot to boil, and made red hot The points of spits, not sharpened with the sickle _385 But with a fruit tree bough, and with the jaws Of axes for Aetnean slaughterings. And when this God-abandoned Cook of Hell Had made all ready, he seized two of us And killed them in a kind of measured manner; _390 For he flung one against the brazen rivets Of the huge caldron, and seized the other By the foot’s tendon, and knocked out his brains Upon the sharp edge of the craggy stone: Then peeled his flesh with a great cooking-knife _395 And put him down to roast. The other’s limbs He chopped into the caldron to be boiled. And I, with the tears raining from my eyes, Stood near the Cyclops, ministering to him; The rest, in the recesses of the cave, _400 Clung to the rock like bats, bloodless with fear. When he was filled with my companions’ flesh, He threw himself upon the ground and sent A loathsome exhalation from his maw. Then a divine thought came to me. I filled _405 The cup of Maron, and I offered him To taste, and said:—‘Child of the Ocean God, Behold what drink the vines of Greece produce, The exultation and the joy of Bacchus.’ He, satiated with his unnatural food, _410 Received it, and at one draught drank it off, And taking my hand, praised me:—‘Thou hast given A sweet draught after a sweet meal, dear guest.’ And I, perceiving that it pleased him, filled Another cup, well knowing that the wine _415 Would wound him soon and take a sure revenge. And the charm fascinated him, and I Plied him cup after cup, until the drink Had warmed his entrails, and he sang aloud In concert with my wailing fellow-seamen _420 A hideous discord—and the cavern rung. I have stolen out, so that if you will You may achieve my safety and your own. But say, do you desire, or not, to fly This uncompanionable man, and dwell _425 As was your wont among the Grecian Nymphs Within the fanes of your beloved God? Your father there within agrees to it, But he is weak and overcome with wine, And caught as if with bird-lime by the cup, _430 He claps his wings and crows in doting joy. You who are young escape with me, and find Bacchus your ancient friend; unsuited he To this rude Cyclops.

NOTES: _382 ten cj. Swinburne; four 1824; four cancelled for ten (possibly) B. _387 I confess I do not understand this.—[SHELLEY’S NOTE.] _416 take]grant (as alternative) B.

CHORUS: Oh my dearest friend, That I could see that day, and leave for ever _435 The impious Cyclops.

...

ULYSSES: Listen then what a punishment I have For this fell monster, how secure a flight From your hard servitude.

CHORUS: O sweeter far Than is the music of an Asian lyre _440 Would be the news of Polypheme destroyed.

ULYSSES: Delighted with the Bacchic drink he goes To call his brother Cyclops—who inhabit A village upon Aetna not far off.

CHORUS: I understand, catching him when alone _445 You think by some measure to dispatch him, Or thrust him from the precipice.

NOTE: _446 by some measure 1824; with some measures B.

ULYSSES: Oh no; Nothing of that kind; my device is subtle.

CHORUS: How then? I heard of old that thou wert wise.

ULYSSES: I will dissuade him from this plan, by saying _450 It were unwise to give the Cyclopses This precious drink, which if enjoyed alone Would make life sweeter for a longer time. When, vanquished by the Bacchic power, he sleeps, There is a trunk of olive wood within, _455 Whose point having made sharp with this good sword I will conceal in fire, and when I see It is alight, will fix it, burning yet, Within the socket of the Cyclops’ eye And melt it out with fire—as when a man _460 Turns by its handle a great auger round, Fitting the framework of a ship with beams, So will I, in the Cyclops’ fiery eye Turn round the brand and dry the pupil up.

CHORUS: Joy! I am mad with joy at your device. _465

ULYSSES: And then with you, my friends, and the old man, We’ll load the hollow depth of our black ship, And row with double strokes from this dread shore.

CHORUS: May I, as in libations to a God, Share in the blinding him with the red brand? _470 I would have some communion in his death.

ULYSSES: Doubtless: the brand is a great brand to hold.

CHORUS: Oh! I would lift an hundred waggon-loads, If like a wasp’s nest I could scoop the eye out Of the detested Cyclops.

ULYSSES: Silence now! _475 Ye know the close device—and when I call, Look ye obey the masters of the craft. I will not save myself and leave behind My comrades in the cave: I might escape, Having got clear from that obscure recess, _480 But ’twere unjust to leave in jeopardy The dear companions who sailed here with me.

CHORUS: Come! who is first, that with his hand Will urge down the burning brand Through the lids, and quench and pierce _485 The Cyclops’ eye so fiery fierce?

SEMICHORUS 1 [SONG WITHIN]: Listen! listen! he is coming, A most hideous discord humming. Drunken, museless, awkward, yelling, Far along his rocky dwelling; _490 Let us with some comic spell Teach the yet unteachable. By all means he must be blinded, If my counsel be but minded.

SEMICHORUS 2: Happy thou made odorous _495 With the dew which sweet grapes weep, To the village hastening thus, Seek the vines that soothe to sleep; Having first embraced thy friend, Thou in luxury without end, _500 With the strings of yellow hair, Of thy voluptuous leman fair, Shalt sit playing on a bed!— Speak! what door is opened?

NOTES: _495 thou cj. Swinburne, Rossetti; those 1824; ‘the word is doubtful in B.’ (Locock). _500 Thou B.; There 1824.

CYCLOPS: Ha! ha! ha! I’m full of wine, _505 Heavy with the joy divine, With the young feast oversated; Like a merchant’s vessel freighted To the water’s edge, my crop Is laden to the gullet’s top. _510 The fresh meadow grass of spring Tempts me forth thus wandering To my brothers on the mountains, Who shall share the wine’s sweet fountains. Bring the cask, O stranger, bring! _515

NOTE: _508 merchant’s 1824; merchant B.

CHORUS: One with eyes the fairest Cometh from his dwelling; Some one loves thee, rarest Bright beyond my telling. In thy grace thou shinest _520 Like some nymph divinest In her caverns dewy:— All delights pursue thee, Soon pied flowers, sweet-breathing, Shall thy head be wreathing. _525

ULYSSES: Listen, O Cyclops, for I am well skilled In Bacchus, whom I gave thee of to drink.

CYCLOPS: What sort of God is Bacchus then accounted?

ULYSSES: The greatest among men for joy of life.

CYCLOPS: I gulped him down with very great delight. _530

ULYSSES: This is a God who never injures men.

CYCLOPS: How does the God like living in a skin?

ULYSSES: He is content wherever he is put.

CYCLOPS: Gods should not have their body in a skin.

ULYSSES: If he gives joy, what is his skin to you? _535

CYCLOPS: I hate the skin, but love the wine within.

ULYSSES: Stay here now: drink, and make your spirit glad.

NOTE: _537 Stay here now, drink B.; stay here, now drink 1824.

CYCLOPS: Should I not share this liquor with my brothers?

ULYSSES: Keep it yourself, and be more honoured so.

CYCLOPS: I were more useful, giving to my friends. _540

ULYSSES: But village mirth breeds contests, broils, and blows.

CYCLOPS: When I am drunk none shall lay hands on me.—

ULYSSES: A drunken man is better within doors.

CYCLOPS: He is a fool, who drinking, loves not mirth.

ULYSSES: But he is wise, who drunk, remains at home. _545

CYCLOPS: What shall I do, Silenus? Shall I stay?

SILENUS: Stay—for what need have you of pot companions?

CYCLOPS: Indeed this place is closely carpeted With flowers and grass.

SILENUS: And in the sun-warm noon ’Tis sweet to drink. Lie down beside me now, _550 Placing your mighty sides upon the ground.

CYCLOPS: What do you put the cup behind me for?

SILENUS: That no one here may touch it.

CYCLOPS: Thievish One! You want to drink;—here place it in the midst. And thou, O stranger, tell how art thou called? _555

ULYSSES: My name is Nobody. What favour now Shall I receive to praise you at your hands?

CYCLOPS: I’ll feast on you the last of your companions.

ULYSSES: You grant your guest a fair reward, O Cyclops.

CYCLOPS: Ha! what is this? Stealing the wine, you rogue! _560

SILENUS: It was this stranger kissing me because I looked so beautiful.

CYCLOPS: You shall repent For kissing the coy wine that loves you not.

SILENUS: By Jupiter! you said that I am fair.

CYCLOPS: Pour out, and only give me the cup full. _565

SILENUS: How is it mixed? let me observe.

CYCLOPS: Curse you! Give it me so.

SILENUS: Not till I see you wear That coronal, and taste the cup to you.

CYCLOPS: Thou wily traitor!

SILENUS: But the wine is sweet. Ay, you will roar if you are caught in drinking. _570

CYCLOPS: See now, my lip is clean and all my beard.

SILENUS: Now put your elbow right and drink again. As you see me drink—...

CYCLOPS: How now?

SILENUS: Ye Gods, what a delicious gulp!

CYCLOPS: Guest, take it;—you pour out the wine for me. _575

ULYSSES: The wine is well accustomed to my hand.

CYCLOPS: Pour out the wine!

ULYSSES: I pour; only be silent.

CYCLOPS: Silence is a hard task to him who drinks.

ULYSSES: Take it and drink it off; leave not a dreg. Oh that the drinker died with his own draught! _580

CYCLOPS: Papai! the vine must be a sapient plant.

ULYSSES: If you drink much after a mighty feast, Moistening your thirsty maw, you will sleep well; If you leave aught, Bacchus will dry you up.

CYCLOPS: Ho! ho! I can scarce rise. What pure delight! _585 The heavens and earth appear to whirl about Confusedly. I see the throne of Jove And the clear congregation of the Gods. Now if the Graces tempted me to kiss I would not—for the loveliest of them all _590 I would not leave this Ganymede.

SILENUS: Polypheme, I am the Ganymede of Jupiter.

CYCLOPS: By Jove, you are; I bore you off from Dardanus.

...

[ULYSSES AND THE CHORUS.]

ULYSSES: Come, boys of Bacchus, children of high race, This man within is folded up in sleep, _595 And soon will vomit flesh from his fell maw; The brand under the shed thrusts out its smoke, No preparation needs, but to burn out The monster’s eye;—but bear yourselves like men.

CHORUS: We will have courage like the adamant rock, _600 All things are ready for you here; go in, Before our father shall perceive the noise.

ULYSSES: Vulcan, Aetnean king! burn out with fire The shining eye of this thy neighbouring monster! And thou, O Sleep, nursling of gloomy Night, _605 Descend unmixed on this God-hated beast, And suffer not Ulysses and his comrades, Returning from their famous Trojan toils, To perish by this man, who cares not either For God or mortal; or I needs must think _610 That Chance is a supreme divinity, And things divine are subject to her power.

NOTE: _606 God-hated 1824; God-hating (as an alternative) B.

CHORUS: Soon a crab the throat will seize Of him who feeds upon his guest, Fire will burn his lamp-like eyes _615 In revenge of such a feast! A great oak stump now is lying In the ashes yet undying. Come, Maron, come! Raging let him fix the doom, _620 Let him tear the eyelid up Of the Cyclops—that his cup May be evil! Oh! I long to dance and revel With sweet Bromian, long desired, _625 In loved ivy wreaths attired; Leaving this abandoned home— Will the moment ever come?

ULYSSES: Be silent, ye wild things! Nay, hold your peace, And keep your lips quite close; dare not to breathe, _630 Or spit, or e’en wink, lest ye wake the monster, Until his eye be tortured out with fire.

CHORUS: Nay, we are silent, and we chaw the air.

ULYSSES: Come now, and lend a hand to the great stake Within—it is delightfully red hot. _635

CHORUS: You then command who first should seize the stake To burn the Cyclops’ eye, that all may share In the great enterprise.

SEMICHORUS 1: We are too far; We cannot at this distance from the door Thrust fire into his eye.

SEMICHORUS 2: And we just now _640 Have become lame! cannot move hand or foot.

CHORUS: The same thing has occurred to us,—our ankles Are sprained with standing here, I know not how.

ULYSSES: What, sprained with standing still?

CHORUS: And there is dust Or ashes in our eyes, I know not whence. _645

ULYSSES: Cowardly dogs! ye will not aid me then?

CHORUS: With pitying my own back and my back-bone, And with not wishing all my teeth knocked out, This cowardice comes of itself—but stay, I know a famous Orphic incantation _650 To make the brand stick of its own accord Into the skull of this one-eyed son of Earth.

ULYSSES: Of old I knew ye thus by nature; now I know ye better.—I will use the aid Of my own comrades. Yet though weak of hand _655 Speak cheerfully, that so ye may awaken The courage of my friends with your blithe words.

CHORUS: This I will do with peril of my life, And blind you with my exhortations, Cyclops. Hasten and thrust, _660 And parch up to dust, The eye of the beast Who feeds on his guest. Burn and blind The Aetnean hind! _665 Scoop and draw, But beware lest he claw Your limbs near his maw.

CYCLOPS: Ah me! my eyesight is parched up to cinders.

CHORUS: What a sweet paean! sing me that again! _670

CYCLOPS: Ah me! indeed, what woe has fallen upon me! But, wretched nothings, think ye not to flee Out of this rock; I, standing at the outlet, Will bar the way and catch you as you pass.

CHORUS: What are you roaring out, Cyclops?

CYCLOPS: I perish! _675

CHORUS: For you are wicked.

CYCLOPS: And besides miserable.

CHORUS: What, did you fall into the fire when drunk?

CYCLOPS: ’Twas Nobody destroyed me.

CHORUS: Why then no one Can be to blame.

CYCLOPS: I say ’twas Nobody Who blinded me.

CHORUS: Why then you are not blind. _680

CYCLOPS: I wish you were as blind as I am.

CHORUS: Nay, It cannot be that no one made you blind.

CYCLOPS: You jeer me; where, I ask, is Nobody?

CHORUS: Nowhere, O Cyclops.

CYCLOPS: It was that stranger ruined me:—the wretch _685 First gave me wine and then burned out my eye, For wine is strong and hard to struggle with. Have they escaped, or are they yet within?

CHORUS: They stand under the darkness of the rock And cling to it.

CYCLOPS: At my right hand or left? _690

CHORUS: Close on your right.

CYCLOPS: Where?

CHORUS: Near the rock itself. You have them.

CYCLOPS: Oh, misfortune on misfortune! I’ve cracked my skull.

CHORUS: Now they escape you—there.

NOTE: _693 So B.; Now they escape you there 1824.

CYCLOPS: Not there, although you say so.

CHORUS: Not on that side.

CYCLOPS: Where then?

CHORUS: They creep about you on your left. _695

CYCLOPS: Ah! I am mocked! They jeer me in my ills.

CHORUS: Not there! he is a little there beyond you.

CYCLOPS: Detested wretch! where are you?

ULYSSES: Far from you I keep with care this body of Ulysses.

CYCLOPS: What do you say? You proffer a new name. _700

ULYSSES: My father named me so; and I have taken A full revenge for your unnatural feast; I should have done ill to have burned down Troy And not revenged the murder of my comrades.

CYCLOPS: Ai! ai! the ancient oracle is accomplished; _705 It said that I should have my eyesight blinded By your coming from Troy, yet it foretold That you should pay the penalty for this By wandering long over the homeless sea.

ULYSSES: I bid thee weep—consider what I say; _710 I go towards the shore to drive my ship To mine own land, o’er the Sicilian wave.

CYCLOPS: Not so, if, whelming you with this huge stone, I can crush you and all your men together; I will descend upon the shore, though blind, _715 Groping my way adown the steep ravine.

CHORUS: And we, the shipmates of Ulysses now, Will serve our Bacchus all our happy lives.

***

EPIGRAMS.

[These four Epigrams were published—numbers 2 and 4 without title—by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]

1.—TO STELLA.

FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.

Thou wert the morning star among the living, Ere thy fair light had fled;— Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving New splendour to the dead.

2.—KISSING HELENA.

FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.

Kissing Helena, together With my kiss, my soul beside it Came to my lips, and there I kept it,— For the poor thing had wandered thither, To follow where the kiss should guide it, _5 Oh, cruel I, to intercept it!

3.—SPIRIT OF PLATO.

FROM THE GREEK.

Eagle! why soarest thou above that tomb? To what sublime and star-ypaven home Floatest thou?— I am the image of swift Plato’s spirit, Ascending heaven; Athens doth inherit _5 His corpse below.

NOTE: _5 doth Boscombe manuscript; does edition 1839.

4.—CIRCUMSTANCE.

FROM THE GREEK.

A man who was about to hang himself, Finding a purse, then threw away his rope; The owner, coming to reclaim his pelf, The halter found; and used it. So is Hope Changed for Despair—one laid upon the shelf, _5 We take the other. Under Heaven’s high cope Fortune is God—all you endure and do Depends on circumstance as much as you.

***

FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ADONIS.

PROM THE GREEK OF BION.

[Published by Forman, “Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1876.]

I mourn Adonis dead—loveliest Adonis— Dead, dead Adonis—and the Loves lament. Sleep no more, Venus, wrapped in purple woof— Wake violet-stoled queen, and weave the crown Of Death,—’tis Misery calls,—for he is dead. _5

The lovely one lies wounded in the mountains, His white thigh struck with the white tooth; he scarce Yet breathes; and Venus hangs in agony there. The dark blood wanders o’er his snowy limbs, His eyes beneath their lids are lustreless, _10 The rose has fled from his wan lips, and there That kiss is dead, which Venus gathers yet.

A deep, deep wound Adonis... A deeper Venus bears upon her heart. See, his beloved dogs are gathering round— _15 The Oread nymphs are weeping—Aphrodite With hair unbound is wandering through the woods, ‘Wildered, ungirt, unsandalled—the thorns pierce Her hastening feet and drink her sacred blood. Bitterly screaming out, she is driven on _20 Through the long vales; and her Assyrian boy, Her love, her husband, calls—the purple blood From his struck thigh stains her white navel now, Her bosom, and her neck before like snow.

Alas for Cytherea—the Loves mourn— _25 The lovely, the beloved is gone!—and now Her sacred beauty vanishes away. For Venus whilst Adonis lived was fair— Alas! her loveliness is dead with him. The oaks and mountains cry, Ai! ai! Adonis! _30 The springs their waters change to tears and weep— The flowers are withered up with grief...

Ai! ai! ... Adonis is dead Echo resounds ... Adonis dead. Who will weep not thy dreadful woe. O Venus? _35 Soon as she saw and knew the mortal wound Of her Adonis—saw the life-blood flow From his fair thigh, now wasting,—wailing loud She clasped him, and cried ... ‘Stay, Adonis! Stay, dearest one,... _40 and mix my lips with thine— Wake yet a while, Adonis—oh, but once, That I may kiss thee now for the last time— But for as long as one short kiss may live— Oh, let thy breath flow from thy dying soul _45 Even to my mouth and heart, that I may suck That...’

NOTE: _23 his Rossetti, Dowden, Woodberry; her Boscombe manuscript, Forman.

***

FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF BION.

FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.

[Published from the Hunt manuscripts by Forman, “Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1876.]

Ye Dorian woods and waves, lament aloud,— Augment your tide, O streams, with fruitless tears, For the beloved Bion is no more. Let every tender herb and plant and flower, From each dejected bud and drooping bloom, _5 Shed dews of liquid sorrow, and with breath Of melancholy sweetness on the wind Diffuse its languid love; let roses blush, Anemones grow paler for the loss Their dells have known; and thou, O hyacinth, _10 Utter thy legend now—yet more, dumb flower, Than ‘Ah! alas!’—thine is no common grief— Bion the [sweetest singer] is no more.

NOTE: _2 tears]sorrow (as alternative) Hunt manuscript.