Chapter LI: Prologue: To Hellas (5)

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.