The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley — Complete
Chapter 65
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.
EARLY POEMS [1814, 1815]:
STANZA, WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL.
STANZAS.—APRIL, 1814.
TO HARRIET.
TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN.
TO —. ‘YET LOOK ON ME’.
MUTABILITY.
ON DEATH.
A SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD.
TO —. ‘OH! THERE ARE SPIRITS OF THE AIR’.
TO WORDSWORTH.
FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE
LINES: ‘THE COLD EARTH SLEPT BELOW’
NOTE ON THE EARLY POEMS, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816:
THE SUNSET.
HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY.
MONT BLANC.
CANCELLED PASSAGE OF MONT BLANC.
FRAGMENT: HOME.
FRAGMENT OF A GHOST STORY.
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1816, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817:
MARIANNE’S DREAM.
TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING.
THE SAME: STANZAS 1 AND 2.
TO CONSTANTIA.
FRAGMENT: TO ONE SINGING.
A FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC.
ANOTHER FRAGMENT TO MUSIC.
‘MIGHTY EAGLE’.
TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR.
TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.
FROM THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THE POEM TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.
ON FANNY GODWIN.
LINES: ‘THAT TIME IS DEAD FOR EVER’.
DEATH.
OTHO.
FRAGMENTS SUPPOSED TO BE PARTS OF OTHO.
‘O THAT A CHARIOT OF CLOUD WERE MINE’.
FRAGMENTS: TO A FRIEND RELEASED FROM PRISON. SATAN BROKEN LOOSE. IGNICULUS DESIDERII. AMOR AETERNUS. THOUGHTS COME AND GO IN SOLITUDE.
A HATE-SONG.
LINES TO A CRITIC.
OZYMANDIAS.
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1817, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818.
TO THE NILE.
PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES.
THE PAST.
TO MARY —.
ON A FADED VIOLET.
LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS.
SCENE FROM “TASSO”.
SONG FOR “TASSO”.
INVOCATION TO MISERY.
STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES.
THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE.
MARENGHI.
SONNET: ‘LIFT NOT THE PAINTED VEIL’.
FRAGMENTS: TO BYRON. APOSTROPHE TO SILENCE. THE LAKE’S MARGIN. ‘MY HEAD IS WILD WITH WEEPING’. THE VINE-SHROUD.
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819:
LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION.
SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND.
SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819.
FRAGMENT: TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.
FRAGMENT: ‘WHAT MEN GAIN FAIRLY’.
A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM.
SONNET: ENGLAND IN 1819.
AN ODE WRITTEN OCTOBER, 1819.
CANCELLED STANZA.
ODE TO HEAVEN.
ODE TO THE WEST WIND.
AN EXHORTATION.
THE INDIAN SERENADE.
CANCELLED PASSAGE.
TO SOPHIA [MISS STACEY].
TO WILLIAM SHELLEY, 1.
TO WILLIAM SHELLEY, 2.
TO MARY SHELLEY, 1.
TO MARY SHELLEY, 2.
ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI.
LOVE’S PHILOSOPHY.
FRAGMENT: ‘FOLLOW TO THE DEEP WOOD’S WEEDS’.
THE BIRTH OF PLEASURE.
FRAGMENTS: LOVE THE UNIVERSE TO-DAY. ‘A GENTLE STORY OF TWO LOVERS YOUNG’. LOVE’S TENDER ATMOSPHERE. WEDDED SOULS. ‘IS IT THAT IN SOME BRIGHTER SPHERE’. SUFFICIENT UNTO THE DAY. ‘YE GENTLE VISITATIONS OF CALM THOUGHT’. MUSIC AND SWEET POETRY. THE SEPULCHRE OF MEMORY. ‘WHEN A LOVER CLASPS HIS FAIREST’. ‘WAKE THE SERPENT NOT’. RAIN. A TALE UNTOLD. TO ITALY. WINE OF THE FAIRIES. A ROMAN’S CHAMBER. ROME AND NATURE.
VARIATION OF THE SONG OF THE MOON.
CANCELLED STANZA OF THE MASK OF ANARCHY.
NOTE BY MRS. SHELLEY.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820:
THE SENSITIVE PLANT.
CANCELLED PASSAGE.
A VISION OF THE SEA.
THE CLOUD.
TO A SKYLARK.
ODE TO LIBERTY.
CANCELLED PASSAGE.
TO —. ‘I FEAR THY KISSES, GENTLE MAIDEN’.
ARETHUSA.
SONG OF PROSERPINE.
HYMN OF APOLLO.
HYMN OF PAN.
THE QUESTION.
THE TWO SPIRITS. AN ALLEGORY.
ODE TO NAPLES.
AUTUMN: A DIRGE.
THE WANING MOON.
TO THE MOON.
DEATH.
LIBERTY.
SUMMER AND WINTER.
THE TOWER OF FAMINE.
AN ALLEGORY.
THE WORLD’S WANDERERS.
SONNET: ‘YE HASTEN TO THE GRAVE!‘.
LINES TO A REVIEWER.
FRAGMENT OF A SATIRE ON SATIRE.
GOOD-NIGHT.
BUONA NOTTE.
ORPHEUS.
FIORDISPINA.
TIME LONG PAST.
FRAGMENTS: THE DESERTS OF DIM SLEEP. ‘THE VIEWLESS AND INVISIBLE CONSEQUENCE’. A SERPENT-FACE. DEATH IN LIFE. ‘SUCH HOPE, AS IS THE SICK DESPAIR OF GOOD’. ‘ALAS THIS IS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT LIFE WAS’. MILTON’S SPIRIT. ‘UNRISEN SPLENDOUR OF THE BRIGHTEST SUN’. PATER OMNIPOTENS. TO THE MIND OF MAN.
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS SHELLEY.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821:
DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.
TO NIGHT.
TIME.
LINES: ‘FAR, FAR AWAY’.
FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION.
TO EMILIA VIVIANI.
THE FUGITIVES.
TO —. ‘MUSIC, WHEN SOFT VOICES DIE’.
SONG: ‘RARELY, RARELY, COMEST THOU’.
MUTABILITY.
LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS.
THE AZIOLA.
A LAMENT.
REMEMBRANCE.
TO EDWARD WILLIAMS.
TO —. ‘ONE WORD IS TOO OFTEN PROFANED’.
TO —. ‘WHEN PASSION’S TRANCE IS OVERPAST’.
A BRIDAL SONG.
EPITHALAMIUM.
ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME.
LOVE, HOPE, DESIRE, AND FEAR.
FRAGMENTS WRITTEN FOR “HELLAS”.
FRAGMENT: ‘I WOULD NOT BE A KING’.
GINEVRA.
EVENING: PONTE AL MARE, PISA.
THE BOAT ON THE SERCHIO.
MUSIC.
SONNET TO BYRON.
FRAGMENT ON KEATS.
FRAGMENT: ‘METHOUGHT I WAS A BILLOW IN THE CROWD’.
TO-MORROW.
STANZA: ‘IF I WALK IN AUTUMN’S EVEN’.
FRAGMENTS: A WANDERER. LIFE ROUNDED WITH SLEEP. ‘I FAINT, I PERISH WITH MY LOVE’. THE LADY OF THE SOUTH. ZEPHYRUS THE AWAKENER. RAIN. ‘WHEN SOFT WINDS AND SUNNY SKIES’. ‘AND THAT I WALK THUS PROUDLY CROWNED’. ‘THE RUDE WIND IS SINGING’. ‘GREAT SPIRIT’. ‘O THOU IMMORTAL DEITY’. THE FALSE LAUREL AND THE TRUE. MAY THE LIMNER. BEAUTY’S HALO. ‘THE DEATH KNELL IS RINGING’. ‘I STOOD UPON A HEAVEN-CLEAVING TURRET’.
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1821, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1822:
THE ZUCCA.
THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER PATIENT.
LINES: ‘WHEN THE LAMP IS SHATTERED’.
TO JANE: THE INVITATION.
TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION.
THE PINE FOREST OF THE CASCINE NEAR PISA.
WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE.
TO JANE: ‘THE KEEN STARS WERE TWINKLING’.
A DIRGE.
LINES WRITTEN IN THE BAY OF LERICI.
LINES: ‘WE MEET NOT AS WE PARTED’.
THE ISLE.
FRAGMENT: TO THE MOON.
EPITAPH.
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1822, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
***
EARLY POEMS [1814, 1815].
[The poems which follow appeared, with a few exceptions, either in the volumes published from time to time by Shelley himself, or in the “Posthumous Poems” of 1824, or in the “Poetical Works” of 1839, of which a second and enlarged edition was published by Mrs. Shelley in the same year. A few made their first appearance in some fugitive publication—such as Leigh Hunt’s “Literary Pocket-Book”—and were subsequently incorporated in the collective editions. In every case the editio princeps and (where this is possible) the exact date of composition are indicated below the title.]
***
STANZA, WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL.
[Composed March, 1814. Published in Hogg’s “Life of Shelley”, 1858.]
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy gentle words stir poison there; Thou hast disturbed the only rest That was the portion of despair! Subdued to Duty’s hard control, _5 I could have borne my wayward lot: The chains that bind this ruined soul Had cankered then—but crushed it not.
***
STANZAS.—APRIL, 1814.
[Composed at Bracknell, April, 1814. Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even: Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven.
Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away! _5 Tempt not with one last tear thy friend’s ungentle mood: Thy lover’s eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; _10 Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth.
The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head: The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet: But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, _15 Ere midnight’s frown and morning’s smile, ere thou and peace may meet.
The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep: Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. _20
Thou in the grave shalt rest—yet till the phantoms flee Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile.
NOTE: _6 tear 1816; glance 1839.
***
TO HARRIET.
[Composed May, 1814. Published (from the Esdaile manuscript) by Dowden, “Life of Shelley”, 1887.]
Thy look of love has power to calm The stormiest passion of my soul; Thy gentle words are drops of balm In life’s too bitter bowl; No grief is mine, but that alone _5 These choicest blessings I have known.
Harriet! if all who long to live In the warm sunshine of thine eye, That price beyond all pain must give,— Beneath thy scorn to die; _10 Then hear thy chosen own too late His heart most worthy of thy hate.
Be thou, then, one among mankind Whose heart is harder not for state, Thou only virtuous, gentle, kind, _15 Amid a world of hate; And by a slight endurance seal A fellow-being’s lasting weal.
For pale with anguish is his cheek, His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim, _20 Thy name is struggling ere he speak, Weak is each trembling limb; In mercy let him not endure The misery of a fatal cure.
Oh, trust for once no erring guide! _25 Bid the remorseless feeling flee; ’Tis malice, ’tis revenge, ’tis pride, ’Tis anything but thee; Oh, deign a nobler pride to prove, And pity if thou canst not love. _30
***
TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN.
[Composed June, 1814. Published in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
1. Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, I was firm—thus wert not thou;— My baffled looks did fear yet dread To meet thy looks—I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine _5 With soothing pity upon mine.
2. To sit and curb the soul’s mute rage Which preys upon itself alone; To curse the life which is the cage Of fettered grief that dares not groan, _10 Hiding from many a careless eye The scorned load of agony.
3. Whilst thou alone, then not regarded, The ... thou alone should be, To spend years thus, and be rewarded, _15 As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near—Oh! I did wake From torture for that moment’s sake.
4. Upon my heart thy accents sweet Of peace and pity fell like dew _20 On flowers half dead;—thy lips did meet Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain.
5. We are not happy, sweet! our state _25 Is strange and full of doubt and fear; More need of words that ills abate;— Reserve or censure come not near Our sacred friendship, lest there be No solace left for thee and me. _30
6. Gentle and good and mild thou art, Nor can I live if thou appear Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart Away from me, or stoop to wear The mask of scorn, although it be _35 To hide the love thou feel’st for me.
NOTES: _2 wert 1839; did 1824. _3 fear 1824, 1839; yearn cj. Rossetti. _23 Their 1839; thy 1824. _30 thee]thou 1824, 1839. _32 can I 1839; I can 1824. _36 feel’st 1839; feel 1824.
***
TO —.
[Published in “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition. See Editor’s Note.]
Yet look on me—take not thine eyes away, Which feed upon the love within mine own, Which is indeed but the reflected ray Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown. Yet speak to me—thy voice is as the tone _5 Of my heart’s echo, and I think I hear That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone Like one before a mirror, without care Of aught but thine own features, imaged there;
And yet I wear out life in watching thee; _10 A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed Art kind when I am sick, and pity me...
***
MUTABILITY.
[Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly!—yet soon Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings _5 Give various response to each varying blast, To whose frail frame no second motion brings One mood or modulation like the last.
We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep; We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day; _10 We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep; Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:
It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free: Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow; _15 Nought may endure but Mutability.
NOTES: _15 may 1816; can Lodore, chapter 49, 1835 (Mrs. Shelley). _16 Nought may endure but 1816; Nor aught endure save Lodore, chapter 49, 1835 (Mrs. Shelley).
***
ON DEATH.
[For the date of composition see Editor’s Note. Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
THERE IS NO WORK, NOR DEVICE, NOR KNOWLEDGE, NOR WISDOM, IN THE GRAVE, WHITHER THOU GOEST.—Ecclesiastes.
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle, Ere the dawning of morn’s undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone. _5
O man! hold thee on in courage of soul Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way, And the billows of cloud that around thee roll Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, _10 Where Hell and Heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny.
This world is the nurse of all we know, This world is the mother of all we feel, And the coming of death is a fearful blow _15 To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel; When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass like an unreal mystery.
The secret things of the grave are there, Where all but this frame must surely be, _20 Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear No longer will live to hear or to see All that is great and all that is strange In the boundless realm of unending change.
Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death? _25 Who lifteth the veil of what is to come? Who painteth the shadows that are beneath The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see? _30
***
A SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD.
LECHLADE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE.
[Composed September, 1815. Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere Each vapour that obscured the sunset’s ray; And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day: Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men, _5 Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.
They breathe their spells towards the departing day, Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea; Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway, Responding to the charm with its own mystery. _10 The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass Knows not their gentle motions as they pass.
Thou too, aereal Pile! whose pinnacles Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells, _15 Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire, Around whose lessening and invisible height Gather among the stars the clouds of night.
The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres: And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound, _20 Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs, Breathed from their wormy beds all living things around, And mingling with the still night and mute sky Its awful hush is felt inaudibly.
Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild _25 And terrorless as this serenest night: Here could I hope, like some inquiring child Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human sight Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep. _30
***
TO —.
[Published with “Alastor”, 1816. See Editor’s Note.]
DAKRTSI DIOISO POTMON ‘APOTMON.
Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair As star-beams among twilight trees:— Such lovely ministers to meet _5 Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.
With mountain winds, and babbling springs, And moonlight seas, that are the voice Of these inexplicable things, Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice _10 When they did answer thee; but they Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.
And thou hast sought in starry eyes Beams that were never meant for thine, Another’s wealth:—tame sacrifice To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? _15 Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?
Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope On the false earth’s inconstancy? _20 Did thine own mind afford no scope Of love, or moving thoughts to thee? That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?
Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled _25 Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted; The glory of the moon is dead; Night’s ghosts and dreams have now departed; Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery. _30
This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever Beside thee like thy shadow hangs, Dream not to chase;—the mad endeavour Would scourge thee to severer pangs. Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, Dark as it is, all change would aggravate. _35
NOTES: _1 of 1816; in 1839. _8 moonlight 1816; mountain 1839.
***
TO WORDSWORTH.
[Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know That things depart which never may return: Childhood and youth, friendship and love’s first glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine _5 Which thou too feel’st, yet I alone deplore. Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine On some frail bark in winter’s midnight roar: Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood Above the blind and battling multitude: _10 In honoured poverty thy voice did weave Songs consecrate to truth and liberty,— Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve, Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.
***
FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE.
[Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan To think that a most unambitious slave, Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave Of Liberty. Thou mightst have built thy throne Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer _5 A frail and bloody pomp which Time has swept In fragments towards Oblivion. Massacre, For this I prayed, would on thy sleep have crept, Treason and Slavery, Rapine, Fear, and Lust, And stifled thee, their minister. I know _10 Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, That Virtue owns a more eternal foe Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, legal Crime, And bloody Faith the foulest birth of Time.
***
LINES.
[Published in Hunt’s “Literary Pocket-Book”, 1823, where it is headed “November, 1815”. Reprinted in the “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. See Editor’s Note.]
1. The cold earth slept below, Above the cold sky shone; And all around, with a chilling sound, From caves of ice and fields of snow, The breath of night like death did flow _5 Beneath the sinking moon.
2. The wintry hedge was black, The green grass was not seen, The birds did rest on the bare thorn’s breast, Whose roots, beside the pathway track, _10 Had bound their folds o’er many a crack Which the frost had made between.
3. Thine eyes glowed in the glare Of the moon’s dying light; As a fen-fire’s beam on a sluggish stream _15 Gleams dimly, so the moon shone there, And it yellowed the strings of thy raven hair, That shook in the wind of night.
4. The moon made thy lips pale, beloved— The wind made thy bosom chill— _20 The night did shed on thy dear head Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie Where the bitter breath of the naked sky Might visit thee at will.
NOTE: _17 raven 1823; tangled 1824.
***
NOTE ON THE EARLY POEMS, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
The remainder of Shelley’s Poems will be arranged in the order in which they were written. Of course, mistakes will occur in placing some of the shorter ones; for, as I have said, many of these were thrown aside, and I never saw them till I had the misery of looking over his writings after the hand that traced them was dust; and some were in the hands of others, and I never saw them till now. The subjects of the poems are often to me an unerring guide; but on other occasions I can only guess, by finding them in the pages of the same manuscript book that contains poems with the date of whose composition I am fully conversant. In the present arrangement all his poetical translations will be placed together at the end.
The loss of his early papers prevents my being able to give any of the poetry of his boyhood. Of the few I give as “Early Poems”, the greater part were published with “Alastor”; some of them were written previously, some at the same period. The poem beginning ‘Oh, there are spirits in the air’ was addressed in idea to Coleridge, whom he never knew; and at whose character he could only guess imperfectly, through his writings, and accounts he heard of him from some who knew him well. He regarded his change of opinions as rather an act of will than conviction, and believed that in his inner heart he would be haunted by what Shelley considered the better and holier aspirations of his youth. The summer evening that suggested to him the poem written in the churchyard of Lechlade occurred during his voyage up the Thames in 1815. He had been advised by a physician to live as much as possible in the open air; and a fortnight of a bright warm July was spent in tracing the Thames to its source. He never spent a season more tranquilly than the summer of 1815. He had just recovered from a severe pulmonary attack; the weather was warm and pleasant. He lived near Windsor Forest; and his life was spent under its shades or on the water, meditating subjects for verse. Hitherto, he had chiefly aimed at extending his political doctrines, and attempted so to do by appeals in prose essays to the people, exhorting them to claim their rights; but he had now begun to feel that the time for action was not ripe in England, and that the pen was the only instrument wherewith to prepare the way for better things.
In the scanty journals kept during those years I find a record of the books that Shelley read during several years. During the years of 1814 and 1815 the list is extensive. It includes, in Greek, Homer, Hesiod, Theocritus, the histories of Thucydides and Herodotus, and Diogenes Laertius. In Latin, Petronius, Suetonius, some of the works of Cicero, a large proportion of those of Seneca and Livy. In English, Milton’s poems, Wordsworth’s “Excursion”, Southey’s “Madoc” and “Thalaba”, Locke “On the Human Understanding”, Bacon’s “Novum Organum”. In Italian, Ariosto, Tasso, and Alfieri. In French, the “Reveries d’un Solitaire” of Rousseau. To these may be added several modern books of travel. He read few novels.
***
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816.
THE SUNSET.
[Written at Bishopsgate, 1816 (spring). Published in full in the “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Lines 9-20, and 28-42, appeared in Hunt’s “Literary Pocket-Book”, 1823, under the titles, respectively, of “Sunset. From an Unpublished Poem”, And “Grief. A Fragment”.]
There late was One within whose subtle being, As light and wind within some delicate cloud That fades amid the blue noon’s burning sky, Genius and death contended. None may know The sweetness of the joy which made his breath _5 Fail, like the trances of the summer air, When, with the Lady of his love, who then First knew the unreserve of mingled being, He walked along the pathway of a field Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o’er, _10 But to the west was open to the sky. There now the sun had sunk, but lines of gold Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points Of the far level grass and nodding flowers And the old dandelion’s hoary beard, _15 And, mingled with the shades of twilight, lay On the brown massy woods—and in the east The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose Between the black trunks of the crowded trees, While the faint stars were gathering overhead.— _20 ‘Is it not strange, Isabel,’ said the youth, ‘I never saw the sun? We will walk here To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me.’
That night the youth and lady mingled lay In love and sleep—but when the morning came _25 The lady found her lover dead and cold. Let none believe that God in mercy gave That stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild, But year by year lived on—in truth I think Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles, _30 And that she did not die, but lived to tend Her aged father, were a kind of madness, If madness ’tis to be unlike the world. For but to see her were to read the tale Woven by some subtlest bard, to make hard hearts _35 Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief;— Her eyes were black and lustreless and wan: Her eyelashes were worn away with tears, Her lips and cheeks were like things dead—so pale; Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins _40 And weak articulations might be seen Day’s ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day, Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!
‘Inheritor of more than earth can give, _45 Passionless calm and silence unreproved, Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest, And are the uncomplaining things they seem, Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love; Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were—Peace!’ _50 This was the only moan she ever made.
NOTES: _4 death 1839; youth 1824. _22 sun? We will walk 1824; sunrise? We will wake cj. Forman. _37 Her eyes...wan Hunt, 1823; omitted 1824, 1839. _38 worn 1824; torn 1839.
***
HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY.
[Composed, probably, in Switzerland, in the summer of 1816. Published in Hunt’s “Examiner”, January 19, 1817, and with “Rosalind and Helen”, 1819.]
1. The awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats though unseen among us,—visiting This various world with as inconstant wing As summer winds that creep from flower to flower,— Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower, _5 It visits with inconstant glance Each human heart and countenance; Like hues and harmonies of evening,— Like clouds in starlight widely spread,— Like memory of music fled,— _10 Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.
2. Spirit of BEAUTY, that dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shine upon Of human thought or form,—where art thou gone? _15 Why dost thou pass away and leave our state, This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desolate? Ask why the sunlight not for ever Weaves rainbows o’er yon mountain-river, Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown, _20 Why fear and dream and death and birth Cast on the daylight of this earth Such gloom,—why man has such a scope For love and hate, despondency and hope?
3. No voice from some sublimer world hath ever _25 To sage or poet these responses given— Therefore the names of Demon, Ghost, and Heaven. Remain the records of their vain endeavour, Frail spells—whose uttered charm might not avail to sever, From all we hear and all we see, _30 Doubt, chance, and mutability. Thy light alone—like mist o’er mountains driven, Or music by the night-wind sent Through strings of some still instrument, Or moonlight on a midnight stream, _35 Gives grace and truth to life’s unquiet dream.
4. Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds depart And come, for some uncertain moments lent. Man were immortal, and omnipotent, Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, _40 Keep with thy glorious train firm state within his heart. Thou messenger of sympathies, That wax and wane in lovers’ eyes— Thou—that to human thought art nourishment, Like darkness to a dying flame! _45 Depart not as thy shadow came Depart not—lest the grave should be, Like life and fear, a dark reality.
5. While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped Through many a listening chamber, cave and ruin, _50 And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead. I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed; I was not heard—I saw them not— When musing deeply on the lot _55 Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing All vital things that wake to bring News of birds and blossoming,— Sudden, thy shadow fell on me; I shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy! _60
6. I vowed that I would dedicate my powers To thee and thine—have I not kept the vow? With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now I call the phantoms of a thousand hours Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers _65 Of studious zeal or love’s delight Outwatched with me the envious night— They know that never joy illumed my brow Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free This world from its dark slavery, _70 That thou—O awful LOVELINESS, Wouldst give whate’er these words cannot express.
7. The day becomes more solemn and serene When noon is past—there is a harmony In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, _75 Which through the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been! Thus let thy power, which like the truth Of nature on my passive youth Descended, to my onward life supply _80 Its calm—to one who worships thee, And every form containing thee, Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind To fear himself, and love all human kind.
NOTES: _2 among 1819; amongst 1817. _14 dost 1819; doth 1817. _21 fear and dream 1819; care and pain Boscombe manuscript. _37-_48 omitted Boscombe manuscript. _44 art 1817; are 1819. _76 or 1819; nor 1839.
***
MONT BLANC.
LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.
[Composed in Switzerland, July, 1816 (see date below). Printed at the end of the “History of a Six Weeks’ Tour” published by Shelley in 1817, and reprinted with “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Amongst the Boscombe manuscripts is a draft of this Ode, mainly in pencil, which has been collated by Dr. Garnett.]
1. The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom— Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings _5 Of waters,—with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river _10 Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.
2. Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine— Thou many-coloured, many-voiced vale, Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail Fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene, _15 Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down From the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne, Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame Of lightning through the tempest;—thou dost lie, Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging, _20 Children of elder time, in whose devotion The chainless winds still come and ever came To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging To hear—an old and solemn harmony; Thine earthly rainbows stretched across the sweep _25 Of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil Robes some unsculptured image; the strange sleep Which when the voices of the desert fail Wraps all in its own deep eternity;— Thy caverns echoing to the Arve’s commotion, _30 A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame; Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion, Thou art the path of that unresting sound— Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee I seem as in a trance sublime and strange _35 To muse on my own separate fantasy, My own, my human mind, which passively Now renders and receives fast influencings, Holding an unremitting interchange With the clear universe of things around; _40 One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings Now float above thy darkness, and now rest Where that or thou art no unbidden guest, In the still cave of the witch Poesy, Seeking among the shadows that pass by _45 Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee, Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!
3. Some say that gleams of a remoter world Visit the soul in sleep,—that death is slumber, _50 And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber Of those who wake and live.—I look on high; Has some unknown omnipotence unfurled The veil of life and death? or do I lie In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep _55 Spread far around and inaccessibly Its circles? For the very spirit fails, Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep That vanishes among the viewless gales! Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky, _60 Mont Blanc appears,—still, snowy, and serene— Its subject mountains their unearthly forms Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps, Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread _65 And wind among the accumulated steeps; A desert peopled by the storms alone, Save when the eagle brings some hunter’s bone, And the wolf tracts her there—how hideously Its shapes are heaped around! rude, bare, and high, _70 Ghastly, and scarred, and riven.—Is this the scene Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea Of fire envelope once this silent snow? None can reply—all seems eternal now. _75 The wilderness has a mysterious tongue Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild, So solemn, so serene, that man may be, But for such faith, with nature reconciled; Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal _80 Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood By all, but which the wise, and great, and good Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.
4. The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams, Ocean, and all the living things that dwell _85 Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain, Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane, The torpor of the year when feeble dreams Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep Holds every future leaf and flower;—the bound _90 With which from that detested trance they leap; The works and ways of man, their death and birth, And that of him and all that his may be; All things that move and breathe with toil and sound Are born and die; revolve, subside, and swell. _95 Power dwells apart in its tranquillity, Remote, serene, and inaccessible: And THIS, the naked countenance of earth, On which I gaze, even these primaeval mountains Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep _100 Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains, Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice, Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power Have piled: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle, A city of death, distinct with many a tower _105 And wall impregnable of beaming ice. Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing Its destined path, or in the mangled soil _110 Branchless and shattered stand; the rocks, drawn down From yon remotest waste, have overthrown The limits of the dead and living world, Never to be reclaimed. The dwelling-place Of insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil; _115 Their food and their retreat for ever gone, So much of life and joy is lost. The race Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling Vanish, like smoke before the tempest’s stream, And their place is not known. Below, vast caves _120 Shine in the rushing torrents’ restless gleam, Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling Meet in the vale, and one majestic River, The breath and blood of distant lands, for ever Rolls its loud waters to the ocean waves, _125 Breathes its swift vapours to the circling air.
5. Mont Blanc yet gleams on high—the power is there, The still and solemn power of many sights, And many sounds, and much of life and death. In the calm darkness of the moonless nights, _130 In the lone glare of day, the snows descend Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there, Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun, Or the star-beams dart through them:—Winds contend Silently there, and heap the snow with breath _135 Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home The voiceless lightning in these solitudes Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods Over the snow. The secret strength of things Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome _140 Of heaven is as a law, inhabits thee! And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea, If to the human mind’s imaginings Silence and solitude were vacancy?
July 23, 1816.
NOTES: _15 cloud-shadows]cloud shadows 1817; cloud, shadows 1824; clouds, shadows 1839. _20 Thy 1824; The 1839. _53 unfurled]upfurled cj. James Thomson (‘B.V.’). _56 Spread 1824; Speed 1839. _69 tracks her there 1824; watches her Boscombe manuscript. _79 But for such 1824; In such a Boscombe manuscript. _108 boundaries of the sky]boundary of the skies cj. Rossetti (cf. lines 102, 106). _121 torrents’]torrent’s 1817, 1824, 1839.
***
CANCELLED PASSAGE OF MONT BLANC.
[Published by Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
There is a voice, not understood by all, Sent from these desert-caves. It is the roar Of the rent ice-cliff which the sunbeams call, Plunging into the vale—it is the blast Descending on the pines—the torrents pour... _5
***
FRAGMENT: HOME.
[Published by Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
Dear home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys, The least of which wronged Memory ever makes Bitterer than all thine unremembered tears.
***
FRAGMENT OF A GHOST STORY.
[Published by Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
A shovel of his ashes took From the hearth’s obscurest nook, Muttering mysteries as she went. Helen and Henry knew that Granny Was as much afraid of Ghosts as any, _5 And so they followed hard— But Helen clung to her brother’s arm, And her own spasm made her shake.
***
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1816, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
Shelley wrote little during this year. The poem entitled “The Sunset” was written in the spring of the year, while still residing at Bishopsgate. He spent the summer on the shores of the Lake of Geneva. The “Hymn to Intellectual Beauty” was conceived during his voyage round the lake with Lord Byron. He occupied himself during this voyage by reading the “Nouvelle Heloise” for the first time. The reading it on the very spot where the scenes are laid added to the interest; and he was at once surprised and charmed by the passionate eloquence and earnest enthralling interest that pervade this work. There was something in the character of Saint-Preux, in his abnegation of self, and in the worship he paid to Love, that coincided with Shelley’s own disposition; and, though differing in many of the views and shocked by others, yet the effect of the whole was fascinating and delightful.
“Mont Blanc” was inspired by a view of that mountain and its surrounding peaks and valleys, as he lingered on the Bridge of Arve on his way through the Valley of Chamouni. Shelley makes the following mention of this poem in his publication of the “History of a Six Weeks’ Tour, and Letters from Switzerland”: ‘The poem entitled “Mont Blanc” is written by the author of the two letters from Chamouni and Vevai. It was composed under the immediate impression of the deep and powerful feelings excited by the objects which it attempts to describe; and, as an undisciplined overflowing of the soul, rests its claim to approbation on an attempt to imitate the untamable wildness and inaccessible solemnity from which those feelings sprang.’
This was an eventful year, and less time was given to study than usual. In the list of his reading I find, in Greek, Theocritus, the “Prometheus” of Aeschylus, several of Plutarch’s “Lives”, and the works of Lucian. In Latin, Lucretius, Pliny’s “Letters”, the “Annals” and “Germany” of Tacitus. In French, the “History of the French Revolution” by Lacretelle. He read for the first time, this year, Montaigne’s “Essays”, and regarded them ever after as one of the most delightful and instructive books in the world. The list is scanty in English works: Locke’s “Essay”, “Political Justice”, and Coleridge’s “Lay Sermon”, form nearly the whole. It was his frequent habit to read aloud to me in the evening; in this way we read, this year, the New Testament, “Paradise Lost”, Spenser’s “Faery Queen”, and “Don Quixote”.
***
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817.
MARIANNE’S DREAM.
[Composed at Marlow, 1817. Published in Hunt’s “Literary Pocket-Book”, 1819, and reprinted in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
1. A pale Dream came to a Lady fair, And said, A boon, a boon, I pray! I know the secrets of the air, And things are lost in the glare of day, Which I can make the sleeping see, _5 If they will put their trust in me.
2. And thou shalt know of things unknown, If thou wilt let me rest between The veiny lids, whose fringe is thrown Over thine eyes so dark and sheen: _10 And half in hope, and half in fright, The Lady closed her eyes so bright.
3. At first all deadly shapes were driven Tumultuously across her sleep, And o’er the vast cope of bending heaven _15 All ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep; And the Lady ever looked to spy If the golden sun shone forth on high.
4. And as towards the east she turned, She saw aloft in the morning air, _20 Which now with hues of sunrise burned, A great black Anchor rising there; And wherever the Lady turned her eyes, It hung before her in the skies.
5. The sky was blue as the summer sea, _25 The depths were cloudless overhead, The air was calm as it could be, There was no sight or sound of dread, But that black Anchor floating still Over the piny eastern hill. _30
6. The Lady grew sick with a weight of fear To see that Anchor ever hanging, And veiled her eyes; she then did hear The sound as of a dim low clanging, And looked abroad if she might know _35 Was it aught else, or but the flow Of the blood in her own veins, to and fro.
7. There was a mist in the sunless air, Which shook as it were with an earthquake’s shock, But the very weeds that blossomed there _40 Were moveless, and each mighty rock Stood on its basis steadfastly; The Anchor was seen no more on high.
8. But piled around, with summits hid In lines of cloud at intervals, _45 Stood many a mountain pyramid Among whose everlasting walls Two mighty cities shone, and ever Through the red mist their domes did quiver.
9. On two dread mountains, from whose crest, _50 Might seem, the eagle, for her brood, Would ne’er have hung her dizzy nest, Those tower-encircled cities stood. A vision strange such towers to see, Sculptured and wrought so gorgeously, _55 Where human art could never be.
10. And columns framed of marble white, And giant fanes, dome over dome Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright With workmanship, which could not come _60 From touch of mortal instrument, Shot o’er the vales, or lustre lent From its own shapes magnificent.
11. But still the Lady heard that clang Filling the wide air far away; _65 And still the mist whose light did hang Among the mountains shook alway, So that the Lady’s heart beat fast, As half in joy, and half aghast, On those high domes her look she cast. _70
12. Sudden, from out that city sprung A light that made the earth grow red; Two flames that each with quivering tongue Licked its high domes, and overhead Among those mighty towers and fanes _75 Dropped fire, as a volcano rains Its sulphurous ruin on the plains.
13. And hark! a rush as if the deep Had burst its bonds; she looked behind And saw over the western steep _80 A raging flood descend, and wind Through that wide vale; she felt no fear, But said within herself, ’Tis clear These towers are Nature’s own, and she To save them has sent forth the sea. _85
14. And now those raging billows came Where that fair Lady sate, and she Was borne towards the showering flame By the wild waves heaped tumultuously. And, on a little plank, the flow _90 Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.
15. The flames were fiercely vomited From every tower and every dome, And dreary light did widely shed O’er that vast flood’s suspended foam, _95 Beneath the smoke which hung its night On the stained cope of heaven’s light.
16. The plank whereon that Lady sate Was driven through the chasms, about and about, Between the peaks so desolate _100 Of the drowning mountains, in and out, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails— While the flood was filling those hollow vales.
17. At last her plank an eddy crossed, And bore her to the city’s wall, _105 Which now the flood had reached almost; It might the stoutest heart appal To hear the fire roar and hiss Through the domes of those mighty palaces.
18. The eddy whirled her round and round _110 Before a gorgeous gate, which stood Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound Its aery arch with light like blood; She looked on that gate of marble clear, With wonder that extinguished fear. _115
19. For it was filled with sculptures rarest, Of forms most beautiful and strange, Like nothing human, but the fairest Of winged shapes, whose legions range Throughout the sleep of those that are, _120 Like this same Lady, good and fair.
20. And as she looked, still lovelier grew Those marble forms;—the sculptor sure Was a strong spirit, and the hue Of his own mind did there endure _125 After the touch, whose power had braided Such grace, was in some sad change faded.
21. She looked, the flames were dim, the flood Grew tranquil as a woodland river Winding through hills in solitude; _130 Those marble shapes then seemed to quiver, And their fair limbs to float in motion, Like weeds unfolding in the ocean.
22. And their lips moved; one seemed to speak, When suddenly the mountains cracked, _135 And through the chasm the flood did break With an earth-uplifting cataract: The statues gave a joyous scream, And on its wings the pale thin Dream Lifted the Lady from the stream. _140
23. The dizzy flight of that phantom pale Waked the fair Lady from her sleep, And she arose, while from the veil Of her dark eyes the Dream did creep, And she walked about as one who knew _145 That sleep has sights as clear and true As any waking eyes can view.
NOTES: _18 golden 1819; gold 1824, 1839. _28 or 1824; nor 1839. _62 or]a cj. Rossetti. _63 its]their cj. Rossetti. _92 flames cj. Rossetti; waves 1819, 1824, 1839. _101 mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839. _106 flood]flames cj. James Thomson (‘B.V.’). _120 that 1819, 1824; who 1839. _135 mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839.
***
TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian is a chaotic first draft, from which Mr. Locock [“Examination”, etc., 1903, pages 60-62] has, with patient ingenuity, disengaged a first and a second stanza consistent with the metrical scheme of stanzas 3 and 4. The two stanzas thus recovered are printed here immediately below the poem as edited by Mrs. Shelley. It need hardly be added that Mr. Locock’s restored version cannot, any more than Mrs. Shelley’s obviously imperfect one, be regarded in the light of a final recension.]
1. Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die, Perchance were death indeed!—Constantia, turn! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn Between thy lips, are laid to sleep; _5 Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour, it is yet, And from thy touch like fire doth leap. Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet. Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget!
2. A breathless awe, like the swift change _10 Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers, Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange, Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers. The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven By the enchantment of thy strain, _15 And on my shoulders wings are woven, To follow its sublime career Beyond the mighty moons that wane Upon the verge of Nature’s utmost sphere, Till the world’s shadowy walls are past and disappear. _20
3. Her voice is hovering o’er my soul—it lingers O’ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings, The blood and life within those snowy fingers Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. My brain is wild, my breath comes quick— _25 The blood is listening in my frame, And thronging shadows, fast and thick, Fall on my overflowing eyes; My heart is quivering like a flame; As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies, _30 I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies.
4. I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee, Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song Flows on, and fills all things with melody.— Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, _35 On which, like one in trance upborne, Secure o’er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn. Now ’tis the breath of summer night, Which when the starry waters sleep, Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, _40 Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.
STANZAS 1 AND 2.
As restored by Mr. C.D. Locock.
1. Cease, cease—for such wild lessons madmen learn Thus to be lost, and thus to sink and die Perchance were death indeed!—Constantia turn In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie Even though the sounds its voice that were _5 Between [thy] lips are laid to sleep: Within thy breath, and on thy hair Like odour, it is [lingering] yet And from thy touch like fire doth leap— Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet— _10 Alas, that the torn heart can bleed but not forget.
2. [A deep and] breathless awe like the swift change Of dreams unseen but felt in youthful slumbers Wild sweet yet incommunicably strange Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers... _15
***
TO CONSTANTIA. [Dated 1817 by Mrs. Shelley, and printed by her in the “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. A copy exists amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian. See Mr. C.D. Locock’s “Examination”, etc., 1903, page 46.]
1. The rose that drinks the fountain dew In the pleasant air of noon, Grows pale and blue with altered hue— In the gaze of the nightly moon; For the planet of frost, so cold and bright, _5 Makes it wan with her borrowed light.
2. Such is my heart—roses are fair, And that at best a withered blossom; But thy false care did idly wear Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom; _10 And fed with love, like air and dew, Its growth—
NOTES: _1 The rose]The red Rose B. _2 pleasant]fragrant B. _6 her omitted B.
***
FRAGMENT: TO ONE SINGING.
[Dated 1817 by Mrs. Shelley, and published in the “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. The manuscript original, by which Mr. Locock has revised and (by one line) enlarged the text, is amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian. The metre, as Mr. Locock (“Examination”, etc., 1903, page 63) points out, is terza rima.]
My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing, Far far away into the regions dim
Of rapture—as a boat, with swift sails winging Its way adown some many-winding river, _5 Speeds through dark forests o’er the waters swinging...
NOTES: _3 Far far away B.; Far away 1839. _6 Speeds...swinging B.; omitted 1839.
***
A FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC.
[Published in “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. Dated 1817 (Mrs. Shelley).]
Silver key of the fountain of tears, Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild; Softest grave of a thousand fears, Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child, Is laid asleep in flowers. _5
***
ANOTHER FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC.
[Published in “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. Dated 1817 (Mrs. Shelley).]
No, Music, thou art not the ‘food of Love.’ Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self, Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.
***
‘MIGHTY EAGLE’.
SUPPOSED TO BE ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM GODWIN.
[Published in 1882 (“Poetical Works of P. B. S.”) by Mr. H. Buxton Forman, C.B., by whom it is dated 1817.]
Mighty eagle! thou that soarest O’er the misty mountain forest, And amid the light of morning Like a cloud of glory hiest, And when night descends defiest _5 The embattled tempests’ warning!
***
TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR.
[Published in part (5-9, 14) by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition (without title); in full 2nd edition (with title). Four transcripts in Mrs. Shelley’s hand are extant: two—Leigh Hunt’s and Ch. Cowden Clarke’s—described by Forman, and two belonging to Mr. C.W. Frederickson of Brooklyn, described by Woodberry [“Poetical Works”, Centenary Edition, 3 193-6]. One of the latter (here referred to as Fa) is corrected in Shelley’s autograph. A much-corrected draft in Shelley’s hand is in the Harvard manuscript book.]
1. Thy country’s curse is on thee, darkest crest Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm Which rends our Mother’s bosom—Priestly Pest! Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!
2. Thy country’s curse is on thee! Justice sold, _5 Truth trampled, Nature’s landmarks overthrown, And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold, Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction’s throne.
3. And whilst that sure slow Angel which aye stands Watching the beck of Mutability _10 Delays to execute her high commands, And, though a nation weeps, spares thine and thee,
4. Oh, let a father’s curse be on thy soul, And let a daughter’s hope be on thy tomb; Be both, on thy gray head, a leaden cowl _15 To weigh thee down to thine approaching doom.
5. I curse thee by a parent’s outraged love, By hopes long cherished and too lately lost, By gentle feelings thou couldst never prove, By griefs which thy stern nature never crossed; _20
6. By those infantine smiles of happy light, Which were a fire within a stranger’s hearth, Quenched even when kindled, in untimely night Hiding the promise of a lovely birth:
7. By those unpractised accents of young speech, _25 Which he who is a father thought to frame To gentlest lore, such as the wisest teach— THOU strike the lyre of mind!—oh, grief and shame!
8. By all the happy see in children’s growth— That undeveloped flower of budding years— _30 Sweetness and sadness interwoven both, Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest fears-
9. By all the days, under an hireling’s care, Of dull constraint and bitter heaviness,— O wretched ye if ever any were,— _35 Sadder than orphans, yet not fatherless!
10. By the false cant which on their innocent lips Must hang like poison on an opening bloom, By the dark creeds which cover with eclipse Their pathway from the cradle to the tomb— _40
11. By thy most impious Hell, and all its terror; By all the grief, the madness, and the guilt Of thine impostures, which must be their error— That sand on which thy crumbling power is built—
12. By thy complicity with lust and hate— _45 Thy thirst for tears—thy hunger after gold— The ready frauds which ever on thee wait— The servile arts in which thou hast grown old—
13. By thy most killing sneer, and by thy smile— By all the arts and snares of thy black den, _50 And—for thou canst outweep the crocodile— By thy false tears—those millstones braining men—
14. By all the hate which checks a father’s love— By all the scorn which kills a father’s care— By those most impious hands which dared remove _55 Nature’s high bounds—by thee—and by despair—
15. Yes, the despair which bids a father groan, And cry, ‘My children are no longer mine— The blood within those veins may be mine own, But—Tyrant—their polluted souls are thine;— _60
16. I curse thee—though I hate thee not.—O slave! If thou couldst quench the earth-consuming Hell Of which thou art a daemon, on thy grave This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well!
NOTES: _9 Angel which aye cancelled by Shelley for Fate which ever Fa. _24 promise of a 1839, 2nd edition; promises of 1839, 1st edition. _27 lore]love Fa. _32 and saddest]the saddest Fa. _36 yet not fatherless! cancelled by Shelley for why not fatherless? Fa. _41-_44 By...built ‘crossed by Shelley and marked dele by Mrs. Shelley’ (Woodberry) Fa. _50 arts and snares 1839, 1st edition; snares and arts Harvard Coll. manuscript; snares and nets Fa.; acts and snares 1839, 2nd edition. _59 those]their Fa.
***
TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley (1, 5, 6), “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition; in full, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition. A transcript is extant in Mrs. Shelley’s hand.]
1. The billows on the beach are leaping around it, The bark is weak and frail, The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it Darkly strew the gale. Come with me, thou delightful child, Come with me, though the wave is wild, _5 And the winds are loose, we must not stay, Or the slaves of the law may rend thee away.
2. They have taken thy brother and sister dear, They have made them unfit for thee; _10 They have withered the smile and dried the tear Which should have been sacred to me. To a blighting faith and a cause of crime They have bound them slaves in youthly prime, And they will curse my name and thee _15 Because we fearless are and free.
3. Come thou, beloved as thou art; Another sleepeth still Near thy sweet mother’s anxious heart, Which thou with joy shalt fill, _20 With fairest smiles of wonder thrown On that which is indeed our own, And which in distant lands will be The dearest playmate unto thee.
4. Fear not the tyrants will rule for ever, _25 Or the priests of the evil faith; They stand on the brink of that raging river, Whose waves they have tainted with death. It is fed from the depth of a thousand dells, Around them it foams and rages and swells; _30 And their swords and their sceptres I floating see, Like wrecks on the surge of eternity.
5. Rest, rest, and shriek not, thou gentle child! The rocking of the boat thou fearest, And the cold spray and the clamour wild?— _35 There, sit between us two, thou dearest— Me and thy mother—well we know The storm at which thou tremblest so, With all its dark and hungry graves, Less cruel than the savage slaves _40 Who hunt us o’er these sheltering waves.
6. This hour will in thy memory Be a dream of days forgotten long. We soon shall dwell by the azure sea Of serene and golden Italy, Or Greece, the Mother of the free; _45 And I will teach thine infant tongue To call upon those heroes old In their own language, and will mould Thy growing spirit in the flame Of Grecian lore, that by such name _50 A patriot’s birthright thou mayst claim!
NOTES: _1 on the beach omitted 1839, 1st edition. _8 of the law 1839, 1st edition; of law 1839, 2nd edition. _14 prime transcript; time editions 1839. _16 fearless are editions 1839; are fearless transcript. _20 shalt transcript; wilt editions 1839. _25-_32 Fear...eternity omitted, transcript. See “Rosalind and Helen”, lines 894-901. _33 and transcript; omitted editions 1839. _41 us transcript, 1839, 1st edition; thee 1839, 2nd edition. _42 will in transcript, 1839, 2nd edition; will sometime in 1839, 1st edition. _43 long transcript; omitted editions 1839. _48 those transcript, 1839, 1st edition; their 1839, 2nd edition.
***
FROM THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THE POEM TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.
[Published in Dr. Garnett’s “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
1. The world is now our dwelling-place; Where’er the earth one fading trace Of what was great and free does keep, That is our home!... Mild thoughts of man’s ungentle race _5 Shall our contented exile reap; For who that in some happy place His own free thoughts can freely chase By woods and waves can clothe his face In cynic smiles? Child! we shall weep. _10
2. This lament, The memory of thy grievous wrong Will fade... But genius is omnipotent To hallow... _15
***
ON FANNY GODWIN.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, among the poems of 1817, in “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
Her voice did quiver as we parted, Yet knew I not that heart was broken From which it came, and I departed Heeding not the words then spoken. Misery—O Misery, _5 This world is all too wide for thee.
***
LINES.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley with the date ‘November 5th, 1817,’ in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
1. That time is dead for ever, child! Drowned, frozen, dead for ever! We look on the past And stare aghast At the spectres wailing, pale and ghast, _5 Of hopes which thou and I beguiled To death on life’s dark river.
2. The stream we gazed on then rolled by; Its waves are unreturning; But we yet stand _10 In a lone land, Like tombs to mark the memory Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee In the light of life’s dim morning.
***
DEATH.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
1. They die—the dead return not—Misery Sits near an open grave and calls them over, A Youth with hoary hair and haggard eye— They are the names of kindred, friend and lover, Which he so feebly calls—they all are gone— _5 Fond wretch, all dead! those vacant names alone, This most familiar scene, my pain— These tombs—alone remain.
2. Misery, my sweetest friend—oh, weep no more! Thou wilt not be consoled—I wonder not! _10 For I have seen thee from thy dwelling’s door Watch the calm sunset with them, and this spot Was even as bright and calm, but transitory, And now thy hopes are gone, thy hair is hoary; This most familiar scene, my pain— _15 These tombs—alone remain.
NOTE: _5 calls editions 1839; called 1824.
***
OTHO.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
1. Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou couldst not be, Last of the Romans, though thy memory claim From Brutus his own glory—and on thee Rests the full splendour of his sacred fame: Nor he who dared make the foul tyrant quail _5 Amid his cowering senate with thy name, Though thou and he were great—it will avail To thine own fame that Otho’s should not fail.
2. ‘Twill wrong thee not—thou wouldst, if thou couldst feel, Abjure such envious fame—great Otho died _10 Like thee—he sanctified his country’s steel, At once the tyrant and tyrannicide, In his own blood—a deed it was to bring Tears from all men—though full of gentle pride, Such pride as from impetuous love may spring, _15 That will not be refused its offering.
NOTE: _13 bring cj. Garnett; buy 1839, 1st edition; wring cj. Rossetti.
***
FRAGMENTS SUPPOSED TO BE PARTS OF OTHO.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862,—where, however, only the fragment numbered 2 is assigned to “Otho”. Forman (1876) connects all three fragments with that projected poem.]
1. Those whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil, Nor custom, queen of many slaves, makes blind, Have ever grieved that man should be the spoil Of his own weakness, and with earnest mind Fed hopes of its redemption; these recur _5 Chastened by deathful victory now, and find Foundations in this foulest age, and stir Me whom they cheer to be their minister.
2. Dark is the realm of grief: but human things Those may not know who cannot weep for them. _10
...
3. Once more descend The shadows of my soul upon mankind, For to those hearts with which they never blend, Thoughts are but shadows which the flashing mind From the swift clouds which track its flight of fire, _15 Casts on the gloomy world it leaves behind.
...
***
‘O THAT A CHARIOT OF CLOUD WERE MINE’.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
O that a chariot of cloud were mine! Of cloud which the wild tempest weaves in air, When the moon over the ocean’s line Is spreading the locks of her bright gray hair. O that a chariot of cloud were mine! _5 I would sail on the waves of the billowy wind To the mountain peak and the rocky lake, And the...
***
FRAGMENT: TO A FRIEND RELEASED FROM PRISON.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
For me, my friend, if not that tears did tremble In my faint eyes, and that my heart beat fast With feelings which make rapture pain resemble, Yet, from thy voice that falsehood starts aghast, I thank thee—let the tyrant keep _5 His chains and tears, yea, let him weep With rage to see thee freshly risen, Like strength from slumber, from the prison, In which he vainly hoped the soul to bind Which on the chains must prey that fetter humankind. _10
NOTE: For the metre see Fragment: “A Gentle Story” (A.C. Bradley.)
***
FRAGMENT: SATAN BROKEN LOOSE.
[Published by Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1870.]
A golden-winged Angel stood Before the Eternal Judgement-seat: His looks were wild, and Devils’ blood Stained his dainty hands and feet. The Father and the Son _5 Knew that strife was now begun. They knew that Satan had broken his chain, And with millions of daemons in his train, Was ranging over the world again. Before the Angel had told his tale, _10 A sweet and a creeping sound Like the rushing of wings was heard around; And suddenly the lamps grew pale— The lamps, before the Archangels seven, That burn continually in Heaven. _15
***
FRAGMENT: “IGNICULUS DESIDERII”.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. This fragment is amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian. See Mr. C.D. Locock’s “Examination”, etc., 1903, page 63.]
To thirst and find no fill—to wail and wander With short unsteady steps—to pause and ponder— To feel the blood run through the veins and tingle Where busy thought and blind sensation mingle; To nurse the image of unfelt caresses _5 Till dim imagination just possesses The half-created shadow, then all the night Sick...
NOTES: _2 unsteady B.; uneasy 1839, 1st edition. _7, _8 then...Sick B.; wanting, 1839, 1st edition.
***
FRAGMENT: “AMOR AETERNUS”.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
Wealth and dominion fade into the mass Of the great sea of human right and wrong, When once from our possession they must pass; But love, though misdirected, is among The things which are immortal, and surpass _5 All that frail stuff which will be—or which was.
***
FRAGMENT: THOUGHTS COME AND GO IN SOLITUDE.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
My thoughts arise and fade in solitude, The verse that would invest them melts away Like moonlight in the heaven of spreading day: How beautiful they were, how firm they stood, Flecking the starry sky like woven pearl! _5
***
A HATE-SONG.
[Published by Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1870.]
A hater he came and sat by a ditch, And he took an old cracked lute; And he sang a song which was more of a screech ’Gainst a woman that was a brute.
***
LINES TO A CRITIC.
[Published by Hunt in “The Liberal”, No. 3, 1823. Reprinted in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, where it is dated December, 1817.]
1. Honey from silkworms who can gather, Or silk from the yellow bee? The grass may grow in winter weather As soon as hate in me.
2. Hate men who cant, and men who pray, _5 And men who rail like thee; An equal passion to repay They are not coy like me.
3. Or seek some slave of power and gold To be thy dear heart’s mate; _10 Thy love will move that bigot cold Sooner than me, thy hate.
4. A passion like the one I prove Cannot divided be; I hate thy want of truth and love— _15 How should I then hate thee?
***
OZYMANDIAS.
[Published by Hunt in “The Examiner”, January, 1818. Reprinted with “Rosalind and Helen”, 1819. There is a copy amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. C.D. Locock’s “Examination”, etc., 1903, page 46.]
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert...Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, _5 Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: _10 Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.
NOTE: _9 these words appear]this legend clear B.
***
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1817, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
The very illness that oppressed, and the aspect of death which had approached so near Shelley, appear to have kindled to yet keener life the Spirit of Poetry in his heart. The restless thoughts kept awake by pain clothed themselves in verse. Much was composed during this year. The “Revolt of Islam”, written and printed, was a great effort—“Rosalind and Helen” was begun—and the fragments and poems I can trace to the same period show how full of passion and reflection were his solitary hours.
In addition to such poems as have an intelligible aim and shape, many a stray idea and transitory emotion found imperfect and abrupt expression, and then again lost themselves in silence. As he never wandered without a book and without implements of writing, I find many such, in his manuscript books, that scarcely bear record; while some of them, broken and vague as they are, will appear valuable to those who love Shelley’s mind, and desire to trace its workings.
He projected also translating the “Hymns” of Homer; his version of several of the shorter ones remains, as well as that to Mercury already published in the “Posthumous Poems”. His readings this year were chiefly Greek. Besides the “Hymns” of Homer and the “Iliad”, he read the dramas of Aeschylus and Sophocles, the “Symposium” of Plato, and Arrian’s “Historia Indica”. In Latin, Apuleius alone is named. In English, the Bible was his constant study; he read a great portion of it aloud in the evening. Among these evening readings I find also mentioned the “Faerie Queen”; and other modern works, the production of his contemporaries, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Moore and Byron.
His life was now spent more in thought than action—he had lost the eager spirit which believed it could achieve what it projected for the benefit of mankind. And yet in the converse of daily life Shelley was far from being a melancholy man. He was eloquent when philosophy or politics or taste were the subjects of conversation. He was playful; and indulged in the wild spirit that mocked itself and others—not in bitterness, but in sport. The author of “Nightmare Abbey” seized on some points of his character and some habits of his life when he painted Scythrop. He was not addicted to ‘port or madeira,’ but in youth he had read of ‘Illuminati and Eleutherarchs,’ and believed that he possessed the power of operating an immediate change in the minds of men and the state of society. These wild dreams had faded; sorrow and adversity had struck home; but he struggled with despondency as he did with physical pain. There are few who remember him sailing paper boats, and watching the navigation of his tiny craft with eagerness—or repeating with wild energy “The Ancient Mariner”, and Southey’s “Old Woman of Berkeley”; but those who do will recollect that it was in such, and in the creations of his own fancy when that was most daring and ideal, that he sheltered himself from the storms and disappointments, the pain and sorrow, that beset his life.
No words can express the anguish he felt when his elder children were torn from him. In his first resentment against the Chancellor, on the passing of the decree, he had written a curse, in which there breathes, besides haughty indignation, all the tenderness of a father’s love, which could imagine and fondly dwell upon its loss and the consequences.
At one time, while the question was still pending, the Chancellor had said some words that seemed to intimate that Shelley should not be permitted the care of any of his children, and for a moment he feared that our infant son would be torn from us. He did not hesitate to resolve, if such were menaced, to abandon country, fortune, everything, and to escape with his child; and I find some unfinished stanzas addressed to this son, whom afterwards we lost at Rome, written under the idea that we might suddenly be forced to cross the sea, so to preserve him. This poem, as well as the one previously quoted, were not written to exhibit the pangs of distress to the public; they were the spontaneous outbursts of a man who brooded over his wrongs and woes, and was impelled to shed the grace of his genius over the uncontrollable emotions of his heart. I ought to observe that the fourth verse of this effusion is introduced in “Rosalind and Helen”. When afterwards this child died at Rome, he wrote, a propos of the English burying-ground in that city: ‘This spot is the repository of a sacred loss, of which the yearnings of a parent’s heart are now prophetic; he is rendered immortal by love, as his memory is by death. My beloved child lies buried here. I envy death the body far less than the oppressors the minds of those whom they have torn from me. The one can only kill the body, the other crushes the affections.’
***
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818.
TO THE NILE.
[‘Found by Mr. Townshend Meyer among the papers of Leigh Hunt, [and] published in the “St. James’s Magazine” for March, 1876.’ (Mr. H. Buxton Forman, C.B.; “Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, Library Edition, 1876, volume 3 page 410.) First included among Shelley’s poetical works in Mr. Forman’s Library Edition, where a facsimile of the manuscript is given. Composed February 4, 1818. See “Complete Works of John Keats”, edition H. Buxton Forman, Glasgow, 1901, volume 4 page 76.]
Month after month the gathered rains descend Drenching yon secret Aethiopian dells, And from the desert’s ice-girt pinnacles Where Frost and Heat in strange embraces blend On Atlas, fields of moist snow half depend. _5 Girt there with blasts and meteors Tempest dwells By Nile’s aereal urn, with rapid spells Urging those waters to their mighty end. O’er Egypt’s land of Memory floods are level And they are thine, O Nile—and well thou knowest _10 That soul-sustaining airs and blasts of evil And fruits and poisons spring where’er thou flowest. Beware, O Man—for knowledge must to thee, Like the great flood to Egypt, ever be.
***
PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES.
[Composed May 4, 1818. Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. There is a copy amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library, which supplies the last word of the fragment.]
Listen, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thunder’s roar, Or like the sea on a northern shore, Heard in its raging ebb and flow _5 By the captives pent in the cave below. The Apennine in the light of day Is a mighty mountain dim and gray, Which between the earth and sky doth lay; But when night comes, a chaos dread _10 On the dim starlight then is spread, And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm, Shrouding...
***
THE PAST.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
1. Wilt thou forget the happy hours Which we buried in Love’s sweet bowers, Heaping over their corpses cold Blossoms and leaves, instead of mould? Blossoms which were the joys that fell, _5 And leaves, the hopes that yet remain.
2. Forget the dead, the past? Oh, yet There are ghosts that may take revenge for it, Memories that make the heart a tomb, Regrets which glide through the spirit’s gloom, _10 And with ghastly whispers tell That joy, once lost, is pain.
***
TO MARY —.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
O Mary dear, that you were here With your brown eyes bright and clear. And your sweet voice, like a bird Singing love to its lone mate In the ivy bower disconsolate; _5 Voice the sweetest ever heard! And your brow more... Than the ... sky Of this azure Italy. Mary dear, come to me soon, _10 I am not well whilst thou art far; As sunset to the sphered moon, As twilight to the western star, Thou, beloved, art to me.
O Mary dear, that you were here; _15 The Castle echo whispers ‘Here!’
***
ON A FADED VIOLET.
[Published by Hunt, “Literary Pocket-Book”, 1821. Reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Again reprinted, with several variants, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. Our text is that of the editio princeps, 1821. A transcript is extant in a letter from Shelley to Sophia Stacey, dated March 7, 1820.]
1. The odour from the flower is gone Which like thy kisses breathed on me; The colour from the flower is flown Which glowed of thee and only thee!
2. A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form, _5 It lies on my abandoned breast, And mocks the heart which yet is warm, With cold and silent rest.
3. I weep,—my tears revive it not! I sigh,—it breathes no more on me; _10 Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be.
NOTES: _1 odour]colour 1839. _2 kisses breathed]sweet eyes smiled 1839. _3 colour]odour 1839. _4 glowed]breathed 1839. _5 shrivelled]withered 1839. _8 cold and silent all editions; its cold, silent Stacey manuscript.
***
LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS.
OCTOBER, 1818.
[Composed at Este, October, 1818. Published with “Rosalind and Helen”, 1819. Amongst the late Mr. Fredk. Locker-Lampson’s collections at Rowfant there is a manuscript of the lines (167-205) on Byron, interpolated after the completion of the poem.]
Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on— Day and night, and night and day, _5 Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel’s track: Whilst above the sunless sky, Big with clouds, hangs heavily, _10 And behind the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet, Riving sail, and cord, and plank, Till the ship has almost drank Death from the o’er-brimming deep; _15 And sinks down, down, like that sleep When the dreamer seems to be Weltering through eternity; And the dim low line before Of a dark and distant shore _20 Still recedes, as ever still Longing with divided will, But no power to seek or shun, He is ever drifted on O’er the unreposing wave _25 To the haven of the grave. What, if there no friends will greet; What, if there no heart will meet His with love’s impatient beat; Wander wheresoe’er he may, _30 Can he dream before that day To find refuge from distress In friendship’s smile, in love’s caress? Then ‘twill wreak him little woe Whether such there be or no: _35 Senseless is the breast, and cold, Which relenting love would fold; Bloodless are the veins and chill Which the pulse of pain did fill; Every little living nerve _40 That from bitter words did swerve Round the tortured lips and brow, Are like sapless leaflets now Frozen upon December’s bough.
On the beach of a northern sea _45 Which tempests shake eternally, As once the wretch there lay to sleep, Lies a solitary heap, One white skull and seven dry bones, On the margin of the stones, _50 Where a few gray rushes stand, Boundaries of the sea and land: Nor is heard one voice of wail But the sea-mews, as they sail O’er the billows of the gale; _55 Or the whirlwind up and down Howling, like a slaughtered town, When a king in glory rides Through the pomp of fratricides: Those unburied bones around _60 There is many a mournful sound; There is no lament for him, Like a sunless vapour, dim, Who once clothed with life and thought What now moves nor murmurs not. _65
Ay, many flowering islands lie In the waters of wide Agony: To such a one this morn was led, My bark by soft winds piloted: ‘Mid the mountains Euganean _70 I stood listening to the paean With which the legioned rooks did hail The sun’s uprise majestical; Gathering round with wings all hoar, Through the dewy mist they soar _75 Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven Bursts, and then, as clouds of even, Flecked with fire and azure, lie In the unfathomable sky, So their plumes of purple grain, _80 Starred with drops of golden rain, Gleam above the sunlight woods, As in silent multitudes On the morning’s fitful gale Through the broken mist they sail, _85 And the vapours cloven and gleaming Follow, down the dark steep streaming, Till all is bright, and clear, and still, Round the solitary hill.
Beneath is spread like a green sea _90 The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by the vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair; Underneath Day’s azure eyes Ocean’s nursling, Venice lies, _95 A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite’s destined halls, Which her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves. Lo! the sun upsprings behind, _100 Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined On the level quivering line Of the waters crystalline; And before that chasm of light, As within a furnace bright, _105 Column, tower, and dome, and spire, Shine like obelisks of fire, Pointing with inconstant motion From the altar of dark ocean To the sapphire-tinted skies; _110 As the flames of sacrifice From the marble shrines did rise, As to pierce the dome of gold Where Apollo spoke of old.
Sun-girt City, thou hast been _115 Ocean’s child, and then his queen; Now is come a darker day, And thou soon must be his prey, If the power that raised thee here Hallow so thy watery bier. _120 A less drear ruin then than now, With thy conquest-branded brow Stooping to the slave of slaves From thy throne, among the waves Wilt thou be, when the sea-mew _125 Flies, as once before it flew, O’er thine isles depopulate, And all is in its ancient state, Save where many a palace gate _130 With green sea-flowers overgrown Like a rock of Ocean’s own, Topples o’er the abandoned sea As the tides change sullenly. The fisher on his watery way, Wandering at the close of day, _135 Will spread his sail and seize his oar Till he pass the gloomy shore, Lest thy dead should, from their sleep Bursting o’er the starlight deep, Lead a rapid masque of death _140 O’er the waters of his path.
Those who alone thy towers behold Quivering through aereal gold, As I now behold them here, Would imagine not they were _145 Sepulchres, where human forms, Like pollution-nourished worms, To the corpse of greatness cling, Murdered, and now mouldering: But if Freedom should awake _150 In her omnipotence, and shake From the Celtic Anarch’s hold All the keys of dungeons cold, Where a hundred cities lie Chained like thee, ingloriously, _155 Thou and all thy sister band Might adorn this sunny land, Twining memories of old time With new virtues more sublime; If not, perish thou and they!— _160 Clouds which stain truth’s rising day By her sun consumed away— Earth can spare ye: while like flowers, In the waste of years and hours, From your dust new nations spring _165 With more kindly blossoming.
Perish—let there only be Floating o’er thy hearthless sea As the garment of thy sky Clothes the world immortally, _170 One remembrance, more sublime Than the tattered pall of time, Which scarce hides thy visage wan;— That a tempest-cleaving Swan Of the songs of Albion, _175 Driven from his ancestral streams By the might of evil dreams, Found a nest in thee; and Ocean Welcomed him with such emotion That its joy grew his, and sprung _180 From his lips like music flung O’er a mighty thunder-fit, Chastening terror:—what though yet Poesy’s unfailing River, Which through Albion winds forever _185 Lashing with melodious wave Many a sacred Poet’s grave, Mourn its latest nursling fled? What though thou with all thy dead Scarce can for this fame repay _190 Aught thine own? oh, rather say Though thy sins and slaveries foul Overcloud a sunlike soul? As the ghost of Homer clings Round Scamander’s wasting springs; _195 As divinest Shakespeare’s might Fills Avon and the world with light Like omniscient power which he Imaged ‘mid mortality; As the love from Petrarch’s urn, _200 Yet amid yon hills doth burn, A quenchless lamp by which the heart Sees things unearthly;—so thou art, Mighty spirit—so shall be The City that did refuge thee. _205
Lo, the sun floats up the sky Like thought-winged Liberty, Till the universal light Seems to level plain and height; From the sea a mist has spread, _210 And the beams of morn lie dead On the towers of Venice now, Like its glory long ago. By the skirts of that gray cloud Many-domed Padua proud _215 Stands, a peopled solitude, ‘Mid the harvest-shining plain, Where the peasant heaps his grain In the garner of his foe, And the milk-white oxen slow _220 With the purple vintage strain, Heaped upon the creaking wain, That the brutal Celt may swill Drunken sleep with savage will; And the sickle to the sword _225 Lies unchanged, though many a lord, Like a weed whose shade is poison, Overgrows this region’s foison, Sheaves of whom are ripe to come To destruction’s harvest-home: _230 Men must reap the things they sow, Force from force must ever flow, Or worse; but ’tis a bitter woe That love or reason cannot change The despot’s rage, the slave’s revenge. _235
Padua, thou within whose walls Those mute guests at festivals, Son and Mother, Death and Sin, Played at dice for Ezzelin, Till Death cried, “I win, I win!” _240 And Sin cursed to lose the wager, But Death promised, to assuage her, That he would petition for Her to be made Vice-Emperor, When the destined years were o’er, _245 Over all between the Po And the eastern Alpine snow, Under the mighty Austrian. Sin smiled so as Sin only can, And since that time, ay, long before, _250 Both have ruled from shore to shore,— That incestuous pair, who follow Tyrants as the sun the swallow, As Repentance follows Crime, And as changes follow Time. _255
In thine halls the lamp of learning, Padua, now no more is burning; Like a meteor, whose wild way Is lost over the grave of day, It gleams betrayed and to betray: _260 Once remotest nations came To adore that sacred flame, When it lit not many a hearth On this cold and gloomy earth: Now new fires from antique light _265 Spring beneath the wide world’s might; But their spark lies dead in thee, Trampled out by Tyranny. As the Norway woodman quells, In the depth of piny dells, _270 One light flame among the brakes, While the boundless forest shakes, And its mighty trunks are torn By the fire thus lowly born: The spark beneath his feet is dead, _275 He starts to see the flames it fed Howling through the darkened sky With a myriad tongues victoriously, And sinks down in fear: so thou, O Tyranny, beholdest now _280 Light around thee, and thou hearest The loud flames ascend, and fearest: Grovel on the earth; ay, hide In the dust thy purple pride!
Noon descends around me now: _285 ’Tis the noon of autumn’s glow, When a soft and purple mist Like a vaporous amethyst, Or an air-dissolved star Mingling light and fragrance, far _290 From the curved horizon’s bound To the point of Heaven’s profound, Fills the overflowing sky; And the plains that silent lie Underneath, the leaves unsodden _295 Where the infant Frost has trodden With his morning-winged feet, Whose bright print is gleaming yet; And the red and golden vines, Piercing with their trellised lines _300 The rough, dark-skirted wilderness; The dun and bladed grass no less, Pointing from this hoary tower In the windless air; the flower Glimmering at my feet; the line _305 Of the olive-sandalled Apennine In the south dimly islanded; And the Alps, whose snows are spread High between the clouds and sun; And of living things each one; _310 And my spirit which so long Darkened this swift stream of song,— Interpenetrated lie By the glory of the sky: Be it love, light, harmony, _315 Odour, or the soul of all Which from Heaven like dew doth fall, Or the mind which feeds this verse Peopling the lone universe.
Noon descends, and after noon _320 Autumn’s evening meets me soon, Leading the infantine moon, And that one star, which to her Almost seems to minister Half the crimson light she brings _325 From the sunset’s radiant springs: And the soft dreams of the morn (Which like winged winds had borne To that silent isle, which lies Mid remembered agonies, _330 The frail bark of this lone being) Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, And its ancient pilot, Pain, Sits beside the helm again.
Other flowering isles must be _335 In the sea of Life and Agony: Other spirits float and flee O’er that gulf: even now, perhaps, On some rock the wild wave wraps, With folded wings they waiting sit _340 For my bark, to pilot it To some calm and blooming cove, Where for me, and those I love, May a windless bower be built, Far from passion, pain, and guilt, _345 In a dell mid lawny hills, Which the wild sea-murmur fills, And soft sunshine, and the sound Of old forests echoing round, And the light and smell divine _350 Of all flowers that breathe and shine: We may live so happy there, That the Spirits of the Air, Envying us, may even entice To our healing Paradise _355 The polluting multitude; But their rage would be subdued By that clime divine and calm, And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves _360 Under which the bright sea heaves; While each breathless interval In their whisperings musical The inspired soul supplies With its own deep melodies; _365 And the love which heals all strife Circling, like the breath of life, All things in that sweet abode With its own mild brotherhood, They, not it, would change; and soon _370 Every sprite beneath the moon Would repent its envy vain, And the earth grow young again.
NOTES: _54 seamews 1819; seamew’s Rossetti. _115 Sun-girt]Sea-girt cj. Palgrave. _165 From your dust new 1819; From thy dust shall Rowfant manuscript (heading of lines 167-205). _175 songs 1819; sons cj. Forman. _278 a 1819; wanting, 1839.
***
SCENE FROM ‘TASSO’.
[Composed, 1818. Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
MADDALO, A COURTIER. MALPIGLIO, A POET. PIGNA, A MINISTER. ALBANO, AN USHER.
MADDALO: No access to the Duke! You have not said That the Count Maddalo would speak with him?
PIGNA: Did you inform his Grace that Signor Pigna Waits with state papers for his signature?
MALPIGLIO: The Lady Leonora cannot know _5 That I have written a sonnet to her fame, In which I ... Venus and Adonis. You should not take my gold and serve me not.
ALBANO: In truth I told her, and she smiled and said, ‘If I am Venus, thou, coy Poesy, _10 Art the Adonis whom I love, and he The Erymanthian boar that wounded him.’ O trust to me, Signor Malpiglio, Those nods and smiles were favours worth the zechin.
MALPIGLIO: The words are twisted in some double sense _15 That I reach not: the smiles fell not on me.
PIGNA: How are the Duke and Duchess occupied?
ALBANO: Buried in some strange talk. The Duke was leaning, His finger on his brow, his lips unclosed. The Princess sate within the window-seat, _20 And so her face was hid; but on her knee Her hands were clasped, veined, and pale as snow, And quivering—young Tasso, too, was there.
MADDALO: Thou seest on whom from thine own worshipped heaven Thou drawest down smiles—they did not rain on thee. _25
MALPIGLIO: Would they were parching lightnings for his sake On whom they fell!
***
SONG FOR ‘TASSO’.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
1. I loved—alas! our life is love; But when we cease to breathe and move I do suppose love ceases too. I thought, but not as now I do, Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore, _5 Of all that men had thought before. And all that Nature shows, and more.
2. And still I love and still I think, But strangely, for my heart can drink The dregs of such despair, and live, _10 And love;... And if I think, my thoughts come fast, I mix the present with the past, And each seems uglier than the last.
3. Sometimes I see before me flee _15 A silver spirit’s form, like thee, O Leonora, and I sit ...still watching it, Till by the grated casement’s ledge It fades, with such a sigh, as sedge _20 Breathes o’er the breezy streamlet’s edge.
***
INVOCATION TO MISERY.
[Published by Medwin, “The Athenaeum”, September 8, 1832. Reprinted (as “Misery, a Fragment”) by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition. Our text is that of 1839. A pencil copy of this poem is amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. C.D. Locock’s “Examination”, etc., 1903, page 38. The readings of this copy are indicated by the letter B. in the footnotes.]
1. Come, be happy!—sit near me, Shadow-vested Misery: Coy, unwilling, silent bride, Mourning in thy robe of pride, Desolation—deified! _5
2. Come, be happy!—sit near me: Sad as I may seem to thee, I am happier far than thou, Lady, whose imperial brow Is endiademed with woe. _10
3. Misery! we have known each other, Like a sister and a brother Living in the same lone home, Many years—we must live some Hours or ages yet to come. _15
4. ’Tis an evil lot, and yet Let us make the best of it; If love can live when pleasure dies, We two will love, till in our eyes This heart’s Hell seem Paradise. _20
5. Come, be happy!—lie thee down On the fresh grass newly mown, Where the Grasshopper doth sing Merrily—one joyous thing In a world of sorrowing! _25
6. There our tent shall be the willow, And mine arm shall be thy pillow; Sounds and odours, sorrowful Because they once were sweet, shall lull Us to slumber, deep and dull. _30
7. Ha! thy frozen pulses flutter With a love thou darest not utter. Thou art murmuring—thou art weeping— Is thine icy bosom leaping While my burning heart lies sleeping? _35
8. Kiss me;—oh! thy lips are cold: Round my neck thine arms enfold— They are soft, but chill and dead; And thy tears upon my head Burn like points of frozen lead. _40
9. Hasten to the bridal bed— Underneath the grave ’tis spread: In darkness may our love be hid, Oblivion be our coverlid— We may rest, and none forbid. _45
10. Clasp me till our hearts be grown Like two shadows into one; Till this dreadful transport may Like a vapour fade away, In the sleep that lasts alway. _50
11. We may dream, in that long sleep, That we are not those who weep; E’en as Pleasure dreams of thee, Life-deserting Misery, Thou mayst dream of her with me. _55
12. Let us laugh, and make our mirth, At the shadows of the earth, As dogs bay the moonlight clouds, Which, like spectres wrapped in shrouds, Pass o’er night in multitudes. _60
13. All the wide world, beside us, Show like multitudinous Puppets passing from a scene; What but mockery can they mean, Where I am—where thou hast been? _65
NOTES: _1 near B., 1839; by 1832. _8 happier far]merrier yet B. _15 Hours or]Years and 1832. _17 best]most 1832. _19 We two will]We will 1832. _27 mine arm shall be thy B., 1839; thine arm shall be my 1832. _33 represented by asterisks, 1832. _34, _35 Thou art murmuring, thou art weeping, Whilst my burning bosom’s leaping 1832; Was thine icy bosom leaping While my burning heart was sleeping B. _40 frozen 1832, 1839, B.; molten cj. Forman. _44 be]is B. _47 shadows]lovers 1832, B. _59 which B., 1839; that 1832. _62 Show]Are 1832, B. _63 Puppets passing]Shadows shifting 1832; Shadows passing B. _64, _65 So B.: What but mockery may they mean? Where am I?—Where thou hast been 1832.
***
STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, where it is dated ‘December, 1818.’ A draft of stanza 1 is amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. (Garnett).]
1. The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon’s transparent might, The breath of the moist earth is light, _5 Around its unexpanded buds; Like many a voice of one delight, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, The City’s voice itself, is soft like Solitude’s.
2. I see the Deep’s untrampled floor _10 With green and purple seaweeds strown; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: I sit upon the sands alone,— The lightning of the noontide ocean _15 Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.
3. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, _20 Nor that content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found, And walked with inward glory crowned— Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround— _25 Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;— To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
4. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; I could lie down like a tired child, _30 And weep away the life of care Which I have borne and yet must bear, Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea _35 Breathe o’er my dying brain its last monotony.
5. Some might lament that I were cold, As I, when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan; _40 They might lament—for I am one Whom men love not,—and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. _45
NOTES: _4 might Boscombe manuscript, Medwin 1847; light 1824, 1839. _5 The...light Boscombe manuscript, 1839, Medwin 1847; omitted, 1824. moist earth Boscombe manuscript; moist air 1839; west wind Medwin 1847. _17 measured 1824; mingled 1847. _18 did any heart now 1824; if any heart could Medwin 1847. _31 the 1824; this Medwin 1847. _36 dying 1824; outworn Medwin 1847.
***
THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE.
[Published in part (1-67) by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824; the remainder (68-70) by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
A woodman whose rough heart was out of tune (I think such hearts yet never came to good) Hated to hear, under the stars or moon,
One nightingale in an interfluous wood Satiate the hungry dark with melody;— _5 And as a vale is watered by a flood,
Or as the moonlight fills the open sky Struggling with darkness—as a tuberose Peoples some Indian dell with scents which lie
Like clouds above the flower from which they rose, _10 The singing of that happy nightingale In this sweet forest, from the golden close
Of evening till the star of dawn may fail, Was interfused upon the silentness; The folded roses and the violets pale _15
Heard her within their slumbers, the abyss Of heaven with all its planets; the dull ear Of the night-cradled earth; the loneliness
Of the circumfluous waters,—every sphere And every flower and beam and cloud and wave, _20 And every wind of the mute atmosphere,
And every beast stretched in its rugged cave, And every bird lulled on its mossy bough, And every silver moth fresh from the grave
Which is its cradle—ever from below _25 Aspiring like one who loves too fair, too far, To be consumed within the purest glow
Of one serene and unapproached star, As if it were a lamp of earthly light, Unconscious, as some human lovers are, _30
Itself how low, how high beyond all height The heaven where it would perish!—and every form That worshipped in the temple of the night
Was awed into delight, and by the charm Girt as with an interminable zone, _35 Whilst that sweet bird, whose music was a storm
Of sound, shook forth the dull oblivion Out of their dreams; harmony became love In every soul but one.
...
And so this man returned with axe and saw _40 At evening close from killing the tall treen, The soul of whom by Nature’s gentle law
Was each a wood-nymph, and kept ever green The pavement and the roof of the wild copse, Chequering the sunlight of the blue serene _45
With jagged leaves,—and from the forest tops Singing the winds to sleep—or weeping oft Fast showers of aereal water-drops
Into their mother’s bosom, sweet and soft, Nature’s pure tears which have no bitterness;— _50 Around the cradles of the birds aloft
They spread themselves into the loveliness Of fan-like leaves, and over pallid flowers Hang like moist clouds:—or, where high branches kiss,
Make a green space among the silent bowers, _55 Like a vast fane in a metropolis, Surrounded by the columns and the towers
All overwrought with branch-like traceries In which there is religion—and the mute Persuasion of unkindled melodies, _60
Odours and gleams and murmurs, which the lute Of the blind pilot-spirit of the blast Stirs as it sails, now grave and now acute,
Wakening the leaves and waves, ere it has passed To such brief unison as on the brain _65 One tone, which never can recur, has cast, One accent never to return again.
...
The world is full of Woodmen who expel Love’s gentle Dryads from the haunts of life, And vex the nightingales in every dell. _70
NOTE: _8 —or as a tuberose cj. A.C. Bradley.
***
MARENGHI. (This fragment refers to an event told in Sismondi’s “Histoire des Republiques Italiennes”, which occurred during the war when Florence finally subdued Pisa, and reduced it to a province.—[MRS. SHELLEY’S NOTE, 1824.])
[Published in part (stanzas 7-15.) by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824; stanzas 1-28 by W.M. Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1870. The Boscombe manuscript—evidently a first draft—from which (through Dr. Garnett) Rossetti derived the text of 1870 is now at the Bodleian, and has recently been collated by Mr. C.D. Locock, to whom the enlarged and amended text here printed is owing. The substitution, in title and text, of “Marenghi” for “Mazenghi” (1824) is due to Rossetti. Here as elsewhere in the footnotes B. = the Bodleian manuscript.]
1. Let those who pine in pride or in revenge, Or think that ill for ill should be repaid, Who barter wrong for wrong, until the exchange Ruins the merchants of such thriftless trade, Visit the tower of Vado, and unlearn _5 Such bitter faith beside Marenghi’s urn.
2. A massy tower yet overhangs the town, A scattered group of ruined dwellings now...
...
3. Another scene are wise Etruria knew Its second ruin through internal strife _10 And tyrants through the breach of discord threw The chain which binds and kills. As death to life, As winter to fair flowers (though some be poison) So Monarchy succeeds to Freedom’s foison.
4. In Pisa’s church a cup of sculptured gold _15 Was brimming with the blood of feuds forsworn: A Sacrament more holy ne’er of old Etrurians mingled mid the shades forlorn Of moon-illumined forests, when...
5. And reconciling factions wet their lips _20 With that dread wine, and swear to keep each spirit Undarkened by their country’s last eclipse...
...
6. Was Florence the liberticide? that band Of free and glorious brothers who had planted, Like a green isle mid Aethiopian sand, _25 A nation amid slaveries, disenchanted Of many impious faiths—wise, just—do they, Does Florence, gorge the sated tyrants’ prey?
7. O foster-nurse of man’s abandoned glory, Since Athens, its great mother, sunk in splendour; _30 Thou shadowest forth that mighty shape in story, As ocean its wrecked fanes, severe yet tender:— The light-invested angel Poesy Was drawn from the dim world to welcome thee.
8. And thou in painting didst transcribe all taught _35 By loftiest meditations; marble knew The sculptor’s fearless soul—and as he wrought, The grace of his own power and freedom grew. And more than all, heroic, just, sublime, Thou wart among the false...was this thy crime? _40
9. Yes; and on Pisa’s marble walls the twine Of direst weeds hangs garlanded—the snake Inhabits its wrecked palaces;—in thine A beast of subtler venom now doth make Its lair, and sits amid their glories overthrown, _45 And thus thy victim’s fate is as thine own.
10. The sweetest flowers are ever frail and rare, And love and freedom blossom but to wither; And good and ill like vines entangled are, So that their grapes may oft be plucked together;— _50 Divide the vintage ere thou drink, then make Thy heart rejoice for dead Marenghi’s sake.
10a. [Albert] Marenghi was a Florentine; If he had wealth, or children, or a wife Or friends, [or farm] or cherished thoughts which twine _55 The sights and sounds of home with life’s own life Of these he was despoiled and Florence sent...
...
11. No record of his crime remains in story, But if the morning bright as evening shone, _60 It was some high and holy deed, by glory Pursued into forgetfulness, which won From the blind crowd he made secure and free The patriot’s meed, toil, death, and infamy.
12. For when by sound of trumpet was declared A price upon his life, and there was set _65 A penalty of blood on all who shared So much of water with him as might wet His lips, which speech divided not—he went Alone, as you may guess, to banishment.
13. Amid the mountains, like a hunted beast, He hid himself, and hunger, toil, and cold, _70 Month after month endured; it was a feast Whene’er he found those globes of deep-red gold Which in the woods the strawberry-tree doth bear, Suspended in their emerald atmosphere. _75
14. And in the roofless huts of vast morasses, Deserted by the fever-stricken serf, All overgrown with reeds and long rank grasses, And hillocks heaped of moss-inwoven turf, And where the huge and speckled aloe made, _80 Rooted in stones, a broad and pointed shade,—
15. He housed himself. There is a point of strand Near Vado’s tower and town; and on one side The treacherous marsh divides it from the land, Shadowed by pine and ilex forests wide, _85 And on the other, creeps eternally, Through muddy weeds, the shallow sullen sea.
16. Here the earth’s breath is pestilence, and few But things whose nature is at war with life— Snakes and ill worms—endure its mortal dew. The trophies of the clime’s victorious strife— _90 And ringed horns which the buffalo did wear, And the wolf’s dark gray scalp who tracked him there.
17. And at the utmost point...stood there The relics of a reed-inwoven cot, _95 Thatched with broad flags. An outlawed murderer Had lived seven days there: the pursuit was hot When he was cold. The birds that were his grave Fell dead after their feast in Vado’s wave.
18. There must have burned within Marenghi’s breast _100 That fire, more warm and bright than life and hope, (Which to the martyr makes his dungeon... More joyous than free heaven’s majestic cope To his oppressor), warring with decay,— Or he could ne’er have lived years, day by day. _105
19. Nor was his state so lone as you might think. He had tamed every newt and snake and toad, And every seagull which sailed down to drink Those freshes ere the death-mist went abroad. And each one, with peculiar talk and play, _110 Wiled, not untaught, his silent time away.
20. And the marsh-meteors, like tame beasts, at night Came licking with blue tongues his veined feet; And he would watch them, as, like spirits bright, In many entangled figures quaint and sweet _115 To some enchanted music they would dance— Until they vanished at the first moon-glance.
21. He mocked the stars by grouping on each weed The summer dew-globes in the golden dawn; And, ere the hoar-frost languished, he could read _120 Its pictured path, as on bare spots of lawn Its delicate brief touch in silver weaves The likeness of the wood’s remembered leaves.
22. And many a fresh Spring morn would he awaken— While yet the unrisen sun made glow, like iron _125 Quivering in crimson fire, the peaks unshaken Of mountains and blue isles which did environ With air-clad crags that plain of land and sea,— And feel ... liberty.
23. And in the moonless nights when the dun ocean _130 Heaved underneath wide heaven, star-impearled, Starting from dreams... Communed with the immeasurable world; And felt his life beyond his limbs dilated, Till his mind grew like that it contemplated. _135
24. His food was the wild fig and strawberry; The milky pine-nuts which the autumn-blast Shakes into the tall grass; or such small fry As from the sea by winter-storms are cast; And the coarse bulbs of iris-flowers he found _140 Knotted in clumps under the spongy ground.
25. And so were kindled powers and thoughts which made His solitude less dark. When memory came (For years gone by leave each a deepening shade), His spirit basked in its internal flame,— _145 As, when the black storm hurries round at night, The fisher basks beside his red firelight.
26. Yet human hopes and cares and faiths and errors, Like billows unawakened by the wind, Slept in Marenghi still; but that all terrors, _150 Weakness, and doubt, had withered in his mind. His couch...
...
27. And, when he saw beneath the sunset’s planet A black ship walk over the crimson ocean,— Its pennon streaming on the blasts that fan it, _155 Its sails and ropes all tense and without motion, Like the dark ghost of the unburied even Striding athwart the orange-coloured heaven,—
28. The thought of his own kind who made the soul Which sped that winged shape through night and day,— _160 The thought of his own country...
...
NOTES: _3 Who B.; Or 1870. _6 Marenghi’s 1870; Mazenghi’s B. _7 town 1870; sea B. _8 ruined 1870; squalid B. (‘the whole line is cancelled,’ Locock). _11 threw 1870; cancelled, B. _17 A Sacrament more B.; At Sacrament: more 1870. _18 mid B.; with 1870. _19 forests when... B.; forests. 1870. _23, _24 that band Of free and glorious brothers who had 1870; omitted, B. _25 a 1870; one B. _27 wise, just—do they 1870; omitted, B. _28 Does 1870; Doth B. prey 1870; spoil B. _33 angel 1824; Herald [?] B. _34 to welcome thee 1824; cancelled for... by thee B. _42 direst 1824; Desert B. _45 sits amid 1824 amid cancelled for soils (?) B. _53-_57 Albert...sent B.; omitted 1824, 1870. Albert cancelled B.: Pietro is the correct name. _53 Marenghi]Mazenghi B. _55 farm doubtful: perh. fame (Locock). _62 he 1824; thus B. _70 Amid the mountains 1824; Mid desert mountains [?] B. _71 toil, and cold]cold and toil editions 1824, 1839. _92, _93 And... there B. (see Editor’s Note); White bones, and locks of dun and yellow hair, And ringed horns which buffaloes did wear— 1870. _94 at the utmost point 1870; cancelled for when (where?) B. _95 reed B.; weed 1870. _99 after B.; upon 1870. _100 burned within Marenghi’s breast B.; lived within Marenghi’s heart 1870. _101 and B.; or 1870. _103 free B.; the 1870. _109 freshes B.; omitted, 1870. _118 by 1870; with B. _119 dew-globes B.; dewdrops 1870. _120 languished B.; vanished 1870. _121 path, as on [bare] B.; footprints, as on 1870. _122 silver B.; silence 1870. _130 And in the moonless nights 1870; cancelled, B. dun B.; dim 1870. _131 Heaved 1870; cancelled, B. wide B.; the 1870. star-impearled B.; omitted, 1870. _132 Starting from dreams 1870; cancelled for He B. _137 autumn B.; autumnal 1870. _138 or B.; and 1870. _155 pennon B.; pennons 1870. _158 athwart B.; across 1870.
***
SONNET.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Our text is that of the “Poetical Works”, 1839.]
Lift not the painted veil which those who live Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there, And it but mimic all we would believe With colours idly spread,—behind, lurk Fear And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave _5 Their shadows, o’er the chasm, sightless and drear. I knew one who had lifted it—he sought, For his lost heart was tender, things to love But found them not, alas! nor was there aught The world contains, the which he could approve. _10 Through the unheeding many he did move, A splendour among shadows, a bright blot Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.
NOTES: _6 Their...drear 1839; The shadows, which the world calls substance, there 1824. _7 who had lifted 1839; who lifted 1824.
***
FRAGMENT: TO BYRON.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
O mighty mind, in whose deep stream this age Shakes like a reed in the unheeding storm, Why dost thou curb not thine own sacred rage?
***
FRAGMENT: APOSTROPHE TO SILENCE.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862. A transcript by Mrs. Shelley, given to Charles Cowden Clarke, presents one or two variants.]
Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou Three brethren named, the guardians gloomy-winged Of one abyss, where life, and truth, and joy Are swallowed up—yet spare me, Spirit, pity me, Until the sounds I hear become my soul, _5 And it has left these faint and weary limbs, To track along the lapses of the air This wandering melody until it rests Among lone mountains in some...
NOTES: _4 Spirit 1862; O Spirit C.C.C. manuscript. _8 This wandering melody 1862; These wandering melodies... C.C.C. manuscript.
***
FRAGMENT: THE LAKE’S MARGIN.
[Published by W.M. Rossetti, 1870.]
The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses Track not the steps of him who drinks of it; For the light breezes, which for ever fleet Around its margin, heap the sand thereon.
***
FRAGMENT: ‘MY HEAD IS WILD WITH WEEPING’.
[Published by W.M. Rossetti, 1870.]
My head is wild with weeping for a grief Which is the shadow of a gentle mind. I walk into the air (but no relief To seek,—or haply, if I sought, to find; It came unsought);—to wonder that a chief _5 Among men’s spirits should be cold and blind.
NOTE: _4 find cj. A.C. Bradley.
***
FRAGMENT: THE VINE-SHROUD.
[Published by W.M. Rossetti, 1870.]
Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee; For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below The rotting bones of dead antiquity.
***
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
We often hear of persons disappointed by a first visit to Italy. This was not Shelley’s case. The aspect of its nature, its sunny sky, its majestic storms, of the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and the noble marble-built cities, enchanted him. The sight of the works of art was full enjoyment and wonder. He had not studied pictures or statues before; he now did so with the eye of taste, that referred not to the rules of schools, but to those of Nature and truth. The first entrance to Rome opened to him a scene of remains of antique grandeur that far surpassed his expectations; and the unspeakable beauty of Naples and its environs added to the impression he received of the transcendent and glorious beauty of Italy.
Our winter was spent at Naples. Here he wrote the fragments of “Marenghi” and “The Woodman and the Nightingale”, which he afterwards threw aside. At this time, Shelley suffered greatly in health. He put himself under the care of a medical man, who promised great things, and made him endure severe bodily pain, without any good results. Constant and poignant physical suffering exhausted him; and though he preserved the appearance of cheerfulness, and often greatly enjoyed our wanderings in the environs of Naples, and our excursions on its sunny sea, yet many hours were passed when his thoughts, shadowed by illness, became gloomy,—and then he escaped to solitude, and in verses, which he hid from fear of wounding me, poured forth morbid but too natural bursts of discontent and sadness. One looks back with unspeakable regret and gnawing remorse to such periods; fancying that, had one been more alive to the nature of his feelings, and more attentive to soothe them, such would not have existed. And yet, enjoying as he appeared to do every sight or influence of earth or sky, it was difficult to imagine that any melancholy he showed was aught but the effect of the constant pain to which he was a martyr.
We lived in utter solitude. And such is often not the nurse of cheerfulness; for then, at least with those who have been exposed to adversity, the mind broods over its sorrows too intently; while the society of the enlightened, the witty, and the wise, enables us to forget ourselves by making us the sharers of the thoughts of others, which is a portion of the philosophy of happiness. Shelley never liked society in numbers,—it harassed and wearied him; but neither did he like loneliness, and usually, when alone, sheltered himself against memory and reflection in a book. But, with one or two whom he loved, he gave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversation expounded his opinions with vivacity and eloquence. If an argument arose, no man ever argued better. He was clear, logical, and earnest, in supporting his own views; attentive, patient, and impartial, while listening to those on the adverse side. Had not a wall of prejudice been raised at this time between him and his countrymen, how many would have sought the acquaintance of one whom to know was to love and to revere! How many of the more enlightened of his contemporaries have since regretted that they did not seek him! how very few knew his worth while he lived! and, of those few, several were withheld by timidity or envy from declaring their sense of it. But no man was ever more enthusiastically loved—more looked up to, as one superior to his fellows in intellectual endowments and moral worth, by the few who knew him well, and had sufficient nobleness of soul to appreciate his superiority. His excellence is now acknowledged; but, even while admitted, not duly appreciated. For who, except those who were acquainted with him, can imagine his unwearied benevolence, his generosity, his systematic forbearance? And still less is his vast superiority in intellectual attainments sufficiently understood—his sagacity, his clear understanding, his learning, his prodigious memory. All these as displayed in conversation, were known to few while he lived, and are now silent in the tomb:
‘Ahi orbo mondo ingrato! Gran cagion hai di dever pianger meco; Che quel ben ch’ era in te, perdut’ hai seco.’
***
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819.
LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION.
[Published by Medwin, “The Athenaeum”, December 8, 1832; reprinted, “Poetical Works”, 1839. There is a transcript amongst the Harvard manuscripts, and another in the possession of Mr. C.W. Frederickson of Brooklyn. Variants from these two sources are given by Professor Woodberry, “Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, Centenary Edition, 1893, volume 3 pages 225, 226. The transcripts are referred to in our footnotes as Harvard and Fred. respectively.]
1. Corpses are cold in the tomb; Stones on the pavement are dumb; Abortions are dead in the womb, And their mothers look pale—like the death-white shore Of Albion, free no more. _5
2. Her sons are as stones in the way— They are masses of senseless clay— They are trodden, and move not away,— The abortion with which SHE travaileth Is Liberty, smitten to death. _10
3. Then trample and dance, thou Oppressor! For thy victim is no redresser; Thou art sole lord and possessor Of her corpses, and clods, and abortions—they pave Thy path to the grave. _15
4. Hearest thou the festival din Of Death, and Destruction, and Sin, And Wealth crying “Havoc!” within? ’Tis the bacchanal triumph that makes Truth dumb, Thine Epithalamium. _20
5. Ay, marry thy ghastly wife! Let Fear and Disquiet and Strife Spread thy couch in the chamber of Life! Marry Ruin, thou Tyrant! and Hell be thy guide To the bed of the bride! _25
NOTES: _4 death-white Harvard, Fred.; white 1832, 1839. _16 festival Harvard, Fred., 1839; festal 1832. _19 that Fred.; which Harvard 1832. _22 Disquiet Harvard, Fred., 1839; Disgust 1832. _24 Hell Fred.; God Harvard, 1832, 1839. _25 the bride Harvard, Fred., 1839; thy bride 1832.
***
SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
1. Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear?
2. Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, _5 From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who would Drain your sweat—nay, drink your blood?
3. Wherefore, Bees of England, forge Many a weapon, chain, and scourge, _10 That these stingless drones may spoil The forced produce of your toil?
4. Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, Shelter, food, love’s gentle balm? Or what is it ye buy so dear _15 With your pain and with your fear?
5. The seed ye sow, another reaps; The wealth ye find, another keeps; The robes ye weave, another wears; The arms ye forge; another bears. _20
6. Sow seed,—but let no tyrant reap; Find wealth,—let no impostor heap; Weave robes,—let not the idle wear; Forge arms,—in your defence to bear.
7. Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells; _25 In halls ye deck another dwells. Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see The steel ye tempered glance on ye.
8. With plough and spade, and hoe and loom, Trace your grave, and build your tomb, _30 And weave your winding-sheet, till fair England be your sepulchre.
***
SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819.
[Published by Medwin, “The Athenaeum”, August 25, 1832; reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839. Our title is that of 1839, 2nd edition. The poem is found amongst the Harvard manuscripts, headed “To S—th and O—gh”.]
1. As from an ancestral oak Two empty ravens sound their clarion, Yell by yell, and croak by croak, When they scent the noonday smoke Of fresh human carrion:— _5
2. As two gibbering night-birds flit From their bowers of deadly yew Through the night to frighten it, When the moon is in a fit, And the stars are none, or few:— _10
3. As a shark and dog-fish wait Under an Atlantic isle, For the negro-ship, whose freight Is the theme of their debate, Wrinkling their red gills the while— _15
4. Are ye, two vultures sick for battle, Two scorpions under one wet stone, Two bloodless wolves whose dry throats rattle, Two crows perched on the murrained cattle, Two vipers tangled into one. _20
NOTE: _7 yew 1832; hue 1839.
**
FRAGMENT: TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
People of England, ye who toil and groan, Who reap the harvests which are not your own, Who weave the clothes which your oppressors wear, And for your own take the inclement air; Who build warm houses... _5 And are like gods who give them all they have, And nurse them from the cradle to the grave...
...
***
FRAGMENT: ‘WHAT MEN GAIN FAIRLY’. (Perhaps connected with that immediately preceding (Forman).—ED.)
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
What men gain fairly—that they should possess, And children may inherit idleness, From him who earns it—This is understood; Private injustice may be general good. But he who gains by base and armed wrong, _5 Or guilty fraud, or base compliances, May be despoiled; even as a stolen dress Is stripped from a convicted thief; and he Left in the nakedness of infamy.
***
A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
1. God prosper, speed, and save, God raise from England’s grave Her murdered Queen! Pave with swift victory The steps of Liberty, _5 Whom Britons own to be Immortal Queen.
2. See, she comes throned on high, On swift Eternity! God save the Queen! _10 Millions on millions wait, Firm, rapid, and elate, On her majestic state! God save the Queen!
3. She is Thine own pure soul _15 Moulding the mighty whole,— God save the Queen! She is Thine own deep love Rained down from Heaven above,— Wherever she rest or move, _20 God save our Queen!
4. ‘Wilder her enemies In their own dark disguise,— God save our Queen! All earthly things that dare _25 Her sacred name to bear, Strip them, as kings are, bare; God save the Queen!
5. Be her eternal throne Built in our hearts alone— _30 God save the Queen! Let the oppressor hold Canopied seats of gold; She sits enthroned of old O’er our hearts Queen. _35
6. Lips touched by seraphim Breathe out the choral hymn ‘God save the Queen!’ Sweet as if angels sang, Loud as that trumpet’s clang _40 Wakening the world’s dead gang,— God save the Queen!
***
SONNET: ENGLAND IN 1819.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,— Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn,—mud from a muddy spring,— Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, But leech-like to their fainting country cling, _5 Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,— A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,— An army, which liberticide and prey Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield,— Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay; _10 Religion Christless, Godless—a book sealed; A Senate,—Time’s worst statute, unrepealed,— Are graves from which a glorious Phantom may Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.
***
AN ODE, WRITTEN OCTOBER, 1819, BEFORE THE SPANIARDS HAD RECOVERED THEIR LIBERTY.
[Published with “Prometheus Unbound”, 1820.]
Arise, arise, arise! There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread; Be your wounds like eyes To weep for the dead, the dead, the dead. What other grief were it just to pay? _5 Your sons, your wives, your brethren, were they; Who said they were slain on the battle day?
Awaken, awaken, awaken! The slave and the tyrant are twin-born foes; Be the cold chains shaken _10 To the dust where your kindred repose, repose: Their bones in the grave will start and move, When they hear the voices of those they love, Most loud in the holy combat above.
Wave, wave high the banner! _15 When Freedom is riding to conquest by: Though the slaves that fan her Be Famine and Toil, giving sigh for sigh. And ye who attend her imperial car, Lift not your hands in the banded war, _20 But in her defence whose children ye are.
Glory, glory, glory, To those who have greatly suffered and done! Never name in story Was greater than that which ye shall have won. _25 Conquerors have conquered their foes alone, Whose revenge, pride, and power they have overthrown Ride ye, more victorious, over your own.
Bind, bind every brow With crownals of violet, ivy, and pine: _30 Hide the blood-stains now With hues which sweet Nature has made divine: Green strength, azure hope, and eternity: But let not the pansy among them be; Ye were injured, and that means memory. _35
***
CANCELLED STANZA.
[Published in “The Times” (Rossetti).]
Gather, O gather, Foeman and friend in love and peace! Waves sleep together When the blasts that called them to battle, cease. For fangless Power grown tame and mild _5 Is at play with Freedom’s fearless child— The dove and the serpent reconciled!
***
ODE TO HEAVEN.
[Published with “Prometheus Unbound”, 1820. Dated ‘Florence, December, 1819’ in Harvard manuscript (Woodberry). A transcript exists amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. See Mr. C.D. Locock’s “Examination”, etc., page 39.]
CHORUS OF SPIRITS:
FIRST SPIRIT: Palace-roof of cloudless nights! Paradise of golden lights! Deep, immeasurable, vast, Which art now, and which wert then Of the Present and the Past, _5 Of the eternal Where and When, Presence-chamber, temple, home, Ever-canopying dome, Of acts and ages yet to come!
Glorious shapes have life in thee, _10 Earth, and all earth’s company; Living globes which ever throng Thy deep chasms and wildernesses; And green worlds that glide along; And swift stars with flashing tresses; _15 And icy moons most cold and bright, And mighty suns beyond the night, Atoms of intensest light.
Even thy name is as a god, Heaven! for thou art the abode _20 Of that Power which is the glass Wherein man his nature sees. Generations as they pass Worship thee with bended knees. Their unremaining gods and they _25 Like a river roll away: Thou remainest such—alway!—
SECOND SPIRIT: Thou art but the mind’s first chamber, Round which its young fancies clamber, Like weak insects in a cave, _30 Lighted up by stalactites; But the portal of the grave, Where a world of new delights Will make thy best glories seem But a dim and noonday gleam _35 From the shadow of a dream!
THIRD SPIRIT: Peace! the abyss is wreathed with scorn At your presumption, atom-born! What is Heaven? and what are ye Who its brief expanse inherit? _40 What are suns and spheres which flee With the instinct of that Spirit Of which ye are but a part? Drops which Nature’s mighty heart Drives through thinnest veins! Depart! _45
What is Heaven? a globe of dew, Filling in the morning new Some eyed flower whose young leaves waken On an unimagined world: Constellated suns unshaken, _50 Orbits measureless, are furled In that frail and fading sphere, With ten millions gathered there, To tremble, gleam, and disappear.
***
CANCELLED FRAGMENTS OF THE ODE TO HEAVEN.
[Published by Mr. C.D. Locock, “Examination”, etc., 1903.]
The [living frame which sustains my soul] Is [sinking beneath the fierce control] Down through the lampless deep of song I am drawn and driven along—
When a Nation screams aloud _5 Like an eagle from the cloud When a...
...
When the night...
...
Watch the look askance and old— See neglect, and falsehood fold... _10
***
ODE TO THE WEST WIND.
(This poem was conceived and chiefly written in a wood that skirts the Arno, near Florence, and on a day when that tempestuous wind, whose temperature is at once mild and animating, was collecting the vapours which pour down the autumnal rains. They began, as I foresaw, at sunset with a violent tempest of hail and rain, attended by that magnificent thunder and lightning peculiar to the Cisalpine regions.
The phenomenon alluded to at the conclusion of the third stanza is well known to naturalists. The vegetation at the bottom of the sea, of rivers, and of lakes, sympathizes with that of the land in the change of seasons, and is consequently influenced by the winds which announce it.—[SHELLEY’S NOTE.])
[Published with “Prometheus Unbound”, 1820.]
1. O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, _5 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill _10 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!
2. Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky’s commotion, _15 Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread On the blue surface of thine aery surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head _20
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith’s height, The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, _25 Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh, hear!
3. Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, _30 Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers _35 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know _40
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves: oh, hear!
4. If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share _45
The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed _50 Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne’er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed _55 One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
5. Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, _60 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, _65
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O, Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? _70
***
AN EXHORTATION.
[Published with “Prometheus Unbound”, 1820. Dated ‘Pisa, April, 1820’ in Harvard manuscript (Woodberry), but assigned by Mrs. Shelley to 1819.]
Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets’ food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care Poets could but find the same With as little toil as they, _5 Would they ever change their hue As the light chameleons do, Suiting it to every ray Twenty times a day?
Poets are on this cold earth, _10 As chameleons might be, Hidden from their early birth in a cave beneath the sea; Where light is, chameleons change: Where love is not, poets do: _15 Fame is love disguised: if few Find either, never think it strange That poets range.
Yet dare not stain with wealth or power A poet’s free and heavenly mind: _20 If bright chameleons should devour Any food but beams and wind, They would grow as earthly soon As their brother lizards are. Children of a sunnier star, _25 Spirits from beyond the moon, Oh, refuse the boon!
***
THE INDIAN SERENADE.
[Published, with the title, “Song written for an Indian Air”, in “The Liberal”, 2, 1822. Reprinted (“Lines to an Indian Air”) by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. The poem is included in the Harvard manuscript book, and there is a description by Robert Browning of an autograph copy presenting some variations from the text of 1824. See Leigh Hunt’s “Correspondence”, 2, pages 264-8.]
1. I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, _5 And a spirit in my feet Hath led me—who knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet!
2. The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream— _10 The Champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale’s complaint, It dies upon her heart;— As I must on thine, _15 Oh, beloved as thou art!
3. Oh lift me from the grass! I die! I faint! I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. _20 My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast;— Oh! press it to thine own again, Where it will break at last.
NOTES: _3 Harvard manuscript omits When. _4 shining]burning Harvard manuscript, 1822. _7 Hath led Browning manuscript, 1822; Has borne Harvard manuscript; Has led 1824. _11 The Champak Harvard manuscript, 1822, 1824; And the Champak’s Browning manuscript. _15 As I must on 1822, 1824; As I must die on Harvard manuscript, 1839, 1st edition. _16 Oh, beloved Browning manuscript, Harvard manuscript, 1839, 1st edition; Beloved 1822, 1824. _23 press it to thine own Browning manuscript; press it close to thine Harvard manuscript, 1824, 1839, 1st edition; press me to thine own, 1822.
***
CANCELLED PASSAGE.
[Published by W.M. Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works”, 1870.]
O pillow cold and wet with tears! Thou breathest sleep no more!
***
TO SOPHIA [MISS STACEY].
[Published by W.M. Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works”, 1870.]
1. Thou art fair, and few are fairer Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean; They are robes that fit the wearer— Those soft limbs of thine, whose motion Ever falls and shifts and glances _5 As the life within them dances.
2. Thy deep eyes, a double Planet, Gaze the wisest into madness With soft clear fire,—the winds that fan it Are those thoughts of tender gladness _10 Which, like zephyrs on the billow, Make thy gentle soul their pillow.
3. If, whatever face thou paintest In those eyes, grows pale with pleasure, If the fainting soul is faintest _15 When it hears thy harp’s wild measure, Wonder not that when thou speakest Of the weak my heart is weakest.
4. As dew beneath the wind of morning, As the sea which whirlwinds waken, _20 As the birds at thunder’s warning, As aught mute yet deeply shaken, As one who feels an unseen spirit Is my heart when thine is near it.
***
TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. The fragment included in the Harvard manuscript book.]
(With what truth may I say— Roma! Roma! Roma! Non e piu come era prima!)
1. My lost William, thou in whom Some bright spirit lived, and did That decaying robe consume Which its lustre faintly hid,— Here its ashes find a tomb, _5 But beneath this pyramid Thou art not—if a thing divine Like thee can die, thy funeral shrine Is thy mother’s grief and mine.
2. Where art thou, my gentle child? _10 Let me think thy spirit feeds, With its life intense and mild, The love of living leaves and weeds Among these tombs and ruins wild;— Let me think that through low seeds _15 Of sweet flowers and sunny grass Into their hues and scents may pass A portion—
NOTE:
Motto _1 may I Harvard manuscript; I may 1824. _12 With Harvard manuscript, Mrs. Shelley, 1847; Within 1824, 1839. _16 Of sweet Harvard manuscript; Of the sweet 1824, 1839.
***
TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
Thy little footsteps on the sands Of a remote and lonely shore; The twinkling of thine infant hands, Where now the worm will feed no more; Thy mingled look of love and glee _5 When we returned to gaze on thee—
***
TO MARY SHELLEY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone, And left me in this dreary world alone? Thy form is here indeed—a lovely one— But thou art fled, gone down the dreary road, That leads to Sorrow’s most obscure abode; _5 Thou sittest on the hearth of pale despair, Where For thine own sake I cannot follow thee.
***
TO MARY SHELLEY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
The world is dreary, And I am weary Of wandering on without thee, Mary; A joy was erewhile In thy voice and thy smile, _5 And ’tis gone, when I should be gone too, Mary.
***
ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI IN THE FLORENTINE GALLERY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
1. It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky, Upon the cloudy mountain-peak supine; Below, far lands are seen tremblingly; Its horror and its beauty are divine. Upon its lips and eyelids seems to lie _5 Loveliness like a shadow, from which shine, Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath, The agonies of anguish and of death.
2. Yet it is less the horror than the grace Which turns the gazer’s spirit into stone, _10 Whereon the lineaments of that dead face Are graven, till the characters be grown Into itself, and thought no more can trace; ’Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain, Which humanize and harmonize the strain. _15
3. And from its head as from one body grow, As ... grass out of a watery rock, Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flow And their long tangles in each other lock, _20 And with unending involutions show Their mailed radiance, as it were to mock The torture and the death within, and saw The solid air with many a ragged jaw.
4. And, from a stone beside, a poisonous eft _25 Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes; Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereft Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise Out of the cave this hideous light had cleft, And he comes hastening like a moth that hies _30 After a taper; and the midnight sky Flares, a light more dread than obscurity.
5. ’Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror; For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare Kindled by that inextricable error, _35 Which makes a thrilling vapour of the air Become a ... and ever-shifting mirror Of all the beauty and the terror there— A woman’s countenance, with serpent-locks, Gazing in death on Heaven from those wet rocks. _40
NOTES: _5 seems 1839; seem 1824. _6 shine]shrine 1824, 1839. _26 those 1824; these 1839.
***
LOVE’S PHILOSOPHY.
[Published by Leigh Hunt, “The Indicator”, December 22, 1819. Reprinted by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. Included in the Harvard manuscript book, where it is headed “An Anacreontic”, and dated ‘January, 1820.’ Written by Shelley in a copy of Hunt’s “Literary Pocket-Book”, 1819, and presented to Sophia Stacey, December 29, 1820.]
1. The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; _5 All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?—
2. See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another; _10 No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth And the moonbeams kiss the sea: What is all this sweet work worth _15 If thou kiss not me?
NOTES: _3 mix for ever 1819, Stacey manuscript; meet together, Harvard manuscript. _7 In one spirit meet and Stacey manuscript; In one another’s being 1819, Harvard manuscript. _11 No sister 1824, Harvard and Stacey manuscripts; No leaf or 1819. _12 disdained its 1824, Harvard and Stacey manuscripts; disdained to kiss its 1819. _15 is all this sweet work Stacey manuscript; were these examples Harvard manuscript; are all these kissings 1819, 1824.
***
FRAGMENT: ‘FOLLOW TO THE DEEP WOOD’S WEEDS’.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
Follow to the deep wood’s weeds, Follow to the wild-briar dingle, Where we seek to intermingle, And the violet tells her tale To the odour-scented gale, _5 For they two have enough to do Of such work as I and you.
***
THE BIRTH OF PLEASURE.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
At the creation of the Earth Pleasure, that divinest birth, From the soil of Heaven did rise, Wrapped in sweet wild melodies— Like an exhalation wreathing _5 To the sound of air low-breathing Through Aeolian pines, which make A shade and shelter to the lake Whence it rises soft and slow; Her life-breathing [limbs] did flow _10 In the harmony divine Of an ever-lengthening line Which enwrapped her perfect form With a beauty clear and warm.
***
FRAGMENT: LOVE THE UNIVERSE TO-DAY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
And who feels discord now or sorrow? Love is the universe to-day— These are the slaves of dim to-morrow, Darkening Life’s labyrinthine way.
***
FRAGMENT: ‘A GENTLE STORY OF TWO LOVERS YOUNG’.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
A gentle story of two lovers young, Who met in innocence and died in sorrow, And of one selfish heart, whose rancour clung Like curses on them; are ye slow to borrow The lore of truth from such a tale? _5 Or in this world’s deserted vale, Do ye not see a star of gladness Pierce the shadows of its sadness,— When ye are cold, that love is a light sent From Heaven, which none shall quench, to cheer the innocent? _10
NOTE: _9 cold]told cj. A.C. Bradley. For the metre cp. Fragment: To a Friend Released from Prison.
***
FRAGMENT: LOVE’S TENDER ATMOSPHERE.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
There is a warm and gentle atmosphere About the form of one we love, and thus As in a tender mist our spirits are Wrapped in the ... of that which is to us The health of life’s own life— _5
***
FRAGMENT: WEDDED SOULS.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
I am as a spirit who has dwelt Within his heart of hearts, and I have felt His feelings, and have thought his thoughts, and known The inmost converse of his soul, the tone Unheard but in the silence of his blood, _5 When all the pulses in their multitude Image the trembling calm of summer seas. I have unlocked the golden melodies Of his deep soul, as with a master-key, And loosened them and bathed myself therein— _10 Even as an eagle in a thunder-mist Clothing his wings with lightning.
***
FRAGMENT: ‘IS IT THAT IN SOME BRIGHTER SPHERE’.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
Is it that in some brighter sphere We part from friends we meet with here? Or do we see the Future pass Over the Present’s dusky glass? Or what is that that makes us seem _5 To patch up fragments of a dream, Part of which comes true, and part Beats and trembles in the heart?
***
FRAGMENT: SUFFICIENT UNTO THE DAY.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
Is not to-day enough? Why do I peer Into the darkness of the day to come? Is not to-morrow even as yesterday? And will the day that follows change thy doom? Few flowers grow upon thy wintry way; _5 And who waits for thee in that cheerless home Whence thou hast fled, whither thou must return Charged with the load that makes thee faint and mourn?
***
FRAGMENT: ‘YE GENTLE VISITATIONS OF CALM THOUGHT’.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
Ye gentle visitations of calm thought— Moods like the memories of happier earth, Which come arrayed in thoughts of little worth, Like stars in clouds by the weak winds enwrought,— But that the clouds depart and stars remain, _5 While they remain, and ye, alas, depart!
***
FRAGMENT: MUSIC AND SWEET POETRY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
How sweet it is to sit and read the tales Of mighty poets and to hear the while Sweet music, which when the attention fails Fills the dim pause—
***
FRAGMENT: THE SEPULCHRE OF MEMORY.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
And where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee Has been my heart—and thy dead memory Has lain from childhood, many a changeful year, Unchangingly preserved and buried there.
***
FRAGMENT: ‘WHEN A LOVER CLASPS HIS FAIREST’.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
1. When a lover clasps his fairest, Then be our dread sport the rarest. Their caresses were like the chaff In the tempest, and be our laugh His despair—her epitaph! _5
2. When a mother clasps her child, Watch till dusty Death has piled His cold ashes on the clay; She has loved it many a day— She remains,—it fades away. _10
***
FRAGMENT: ‘WAKE THE SERPENT NOT’.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
Wake the serpent not—lest he Should not know the way to go,— Let him crawl which yet lies sleeping Through the deep grass of the meadow! Not a bee shall hear him creeping, _5 Not a may-fly shall awaken From its cradling blue-bell shaken, Not the starlight as he’s sliding Through the grass with silent gliding.
***
FRAGMENT: RAIN.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
The fitful alternations of the rain, When the chill wind, languid as with pain Of its own heavy moisture, here and there Drives through the gray and beamless atmosphere.
***
FRAGMENT: A TALE UNTOLD.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
One sung of thee who left the tale untold, Like the false dawns which perish in the bursting; Like empty cups of wrought and daedal gold, Which mock the lips with air, when they are thirsting.
***
FRAGMENT: TO ITALY.
[Published by Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862.]
As the sunrise to the night, As the north wind to the clouds, As the earthquake’s fiery flight, Ruining mountain solitudes, Everlasting Italy, _5 Be those hopes and fears on thee.
***
FRAGMENT: WINE OF THE FAIRIES.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
I am drunk with the honey wine Of the moon-unfolded eglantine, Which fairies catch in hyacinth bowls. The bats, the dormice, and the moles Sleep in the walls or under the sward _5 Of the desolate castle yard; And when ’tis spilt on the summer earth Or its fumes arise among the dew, Their jocund dreams are full of mirth, They gibber their joy in sleep; for few _10 Of the fairies bear those bowls so new!
***
FRAGMENT: A ROMAN’S CHAMBER.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
1. In the cave which wild weeds cover Wait for thine aethereal lover; For the pallid moon is waning, O’er the spiral cypress hanging And the moon no cloud is staining. _5
2. It was once a Roman’s chamber, Where he kept his darkest revels, And the wild weeds twine and clamber; It was then a chasm for devils.
***
FRAGMENT: ROME AND NATURE.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition.]
Rome has fallen, ye see it lying Heaped in undistinguished ruin: Nature is alone undying.
***
VARIATION OF THE SONG OF THE MOON.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Poetical Works”, 1839, 1st edition.]
(“PROMETHEUS UNBOUND”, ACT 4.)
As a violet’s gentle eye Gazes on the azure sky Until its hue grows like what it beholds; As a gray and empty mist Lies like solid amethyst _5 Over the western mountain it enfolds, When the sunset sleeps Upon its snow; As a strain of sweetest sound Wraps itself the wind around _10 Until the voiceless wind be music too; As aught dark, vain, and dull, Basking in what is beautiful, Is full of light and love—
***
CANCELLED STANZA OF THE MASK OF ANARCHY.
[Published by H. Buxton Forman, “The Mask of Anarchy” (“Facsimile of Shelley’s manuscript”), 1887.]
(FOR WHICH STANZAS 68, 69 HAVE BEEN SUBSTITUTED.)
From the cities where from caves, Like the dead from putrid graves, Troops of starvelings gliding come, Living Tenants of a tomb.
***
NOTE ON POEMS OF 1819, BY MRS. SHELLEY.
Shelley loved the People; and respected them as often more virtuous, as always more suffering, and therefore more deserving of sympathy, than the great. He believed that a clash between the two classes of society was inevitable, and he eagerly ranged himself on the people’s side. He had an idea of publishing a series of poems adapted expressly to commemorate their circumstances and wrongs. He wrote a few; but, in those days of prosecution for libel, they could not be printed. They are not among the best of his productions, a writer being always shackled when he endeavours to write down to the comprehension of those who could not understand or feel a highly imaginative style; but they show his earnestness, and with what heart-felt compassion he went home to the direct point of injury—that oppression is detestable as being the parent of starvation, nakedness, and ignorance. Besides these outpourings of compassion and indignation, he had meant to adorn the cause he loved with loftier poetry of glory and triumph: such is the scope of the “Ode to the Assertors of Liberty”. He sketched also a new version of our national anthem, as addressed to Liberty.
***
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820.
THE SENSITIVE PLANT.
[Composed at Pisa, early in 1820 (dated ‘March, 1820,’ in Harvard manuscript), and published, with “Prometheus Unbound”, the same year: included in the Harvard College manuscript book. Reprinted in the “Poetical Works”, 1839, both editions.]