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They know that never joy illumed my In the wild woods, among the mountains brow

lone, Unlinked with hope that thou Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, wouldst free

Where woods and winds contend, and a This world from its dark slavery,

vast river That thou-O awful LOVELINESS, Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and Wouldst give whate'er these words can

raves. not express.



Thus thou, Ravine of Arve--dark, deep The day becomes more solemn and


Thou many-coloured, many-voicèd vale, When noon is past-there is a har

| Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns mony

sail In autumn, and a lustre in its sky, | Fast cloud shadows and sunbeams : Which thro' the summer is not heard or

awful scene, seen,

Where Power in likeness of the Arve As if it could not be, as if it had not comes down been !

From the ice gulphs that gird his secret Thus let thy power, which like the throne, truth

Bursting through these dark mountains Of nature on my passive youth

like the flame Descended, to my onward lise supply of lightning thro' the tempest ;-thou Its calm — to one who worships

dost lie, thee,

| Thy giant brood of pines around thee And every form containing thee,

clinging, Whom, Spirit fair, thy spells did

| Children of elder time, in whose devotion bind

The chainless winds still come and ever To fear himself, and love all human kind

came To drink their odours, and their mighty

swinging MONT BLANC

To hear-an old and solemn harmony;

Thine earthly rainbows stretched across LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF

the sweep CHAMOUNI

of the ethereal waterfall, whose veil Robes some unsculptured image ; the

strange sleep The everlasting universe of things Which when the voices of the desert fail Flows through the mind, and rolls its Wraps all in its own deep eternity ;rapid waves,

Thy caverns echoing to the Arve's comNow dark-now glittering—now reflect motion, ing gloom

| A loud, lone sound no other sound can Now lending splendour, where from

tame; secret springs

Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless The source of human thought its tribute motion, brings

| Thou art the path of that unresting of waters, --with a sound but half its


Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee Such as a feeble brook will oft assume I seem as in a trance sublime and strange ings,

To muse on my own separate phantasy, And wind among the accumulated steeps; My own, my human mind, which pas. A desert peopled by the storms alone, sively

Save when the eagle brings some hunter's Now renders and receives fast influenc


And the wolf tracks her there—how Holding an unremitting interchange

hideously With the clear universe of things around; Its shapes are heaped around ! rude, One" legion of wild thoughts, whose bare, and high, wandering wings

Ghastly, and scarred, and riven.-Is this Now float above thy darkness, and now

the scene rest

Where the old Earthquake - dæmon Where that or thou art no unbidden taught her young guest,

Ruin ? Were these their toys? or did In the still cave of the witch Poesy,

a sea Seeking among the shadows that pass by Or fire, envelope once this silent snow? Ghosts of all things that are, some shade None can reply-all seems eternal now. of thee,

| The wilderness has a mysterious tongue Some phantom, some faint image; till Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so the breast

mild, From which they fled recalls them, thou So solemn, so serene, that man may be art there!

| But for such faith with nature reconciled; III

Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to Some say that gleams of a remoter world

repeal Visit the soul in sleep,--that death is Large codes of fraud and woe; not slumber,

understood And that its shapes the busy thoughts By all, but which the wise, and great, outnumber

and good or those who wake and live.- I look Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.

on high; Hlas some unknown omnipotence un

IV The veil of life and death? or do I lie The fields, the lakes, the forests, and In dream, and does the mightier world

the streams, of sleep

Ocean, and all the living things that Spread far around and inaccessibly

dwell Its circles ? For the very spirit fails, Within the dædal earth; lightning, and Driven like a homeless cloud from steep rain, to steep

Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurriThat vanishes among the viewless gales! Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky, The torpor of the year when seeble Mont Blanc appears,-still, snowy, and

dreams serene

Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep Its subject mountains their unearthly Holds every future leaf and flower ;forms

the bound Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales With which from that detested trance between

they leap; Of frozen foods, unfathomable deeps, The works and ways of man, their death Blue as the overhanging heaven, that and birth, spread

| And that of him and all that his may be;



All things that move and breathe with Which from those secret chasms in toil and sound

tumult welling Are born and die; revolve, subside, and Meet in the vale, and one majestic River, swell.

The breath and blood of distant lands, Power dwells apart in its tranquillity

for ever Remote, serene, and inaccessible: Rolls its loud waters to the ocean waves, And this, the naked countenance of Breathes its swift vapours to the circling earth,

air. On which I gaze, even these primeval mountains

Mont Blanc yet gleams on high :—the Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers

power is there, creep

The still and solemn power of many Like snakes that watch their prey, from

sights, their far fountains,

And many sounds, and much of life and Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice,

death. Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal

| In the calm darkness of the moonless

nights, Have piled: dome, pyramid, and pin. In the lone glare of day, the snows

nacle, A city of death, distinct with many a Upon that Mountain ; none beholds

descend tower

them there, And wall impregnable of beaming ice.



Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin

sun, Is there, that from the boundaries of the Or the star-beams dart through them :sky

Winds contend Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines

| Silently there, and heap the snow with are strewing

breath Its destined path, or in the mangled soil

Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home Branchless and shattered stand ; the

The voiceless lightning in these solitudes rocks, drawn down

Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods From yon remotest waste, have over

Over the snow. The secret strength of thrown

things The limits of the dead and living world,

Which governs thought, and to the inNever to be reclaimed. The dwelling

finite dome place

Of heaven is as a law, inhabits thee! or insects, beasts, and birds, becomes

| And what were thou, and earth, and its spoil;

stars, and sea, Their food and their retreat for ever

If to the human mind's imaginings

Silence and solitude were vacancy? So much of life and joy is lost. The

July 23, 1816. race Or man, flies far in dread; his work and

dwelling Vanish, like smoke before the tempest's CANC


BLANC And their place is not known. Below, vast caves

| THERE is a voice, not understood by all, Shine in the rushing torrents' restless Sent from these desert-caves. It is the gleam,



Of the rent ice-cliff which the sunbeams by others, yet the effect of the whole was call,

fascinating and delightful Plunging into the vale—it is the blast

Mont Blanc was inspired by a view of

that mountain and its surrounding peaks Descending on the pines—the torrents

and valleys, as he lingered on the Bridge pour. ...

of Arve on his way through the Valley of

Chamouni. Shelley makes the following FRAGMENT : HOME mention of this poem in his publication of

the History of Sir Weeks' Tour, and DEAR home, thou scene of earliest hopes | Letters from Switzerland: " The poem and joys,

entitled Mont Blanc is written by the The least of which wronged Memory author of the two letters from Chamouni ever makes

and Vevai. It was composed under the Bitterer than all thine unremembered immediate impression of the deep and tears.

powerful feelings excited by the objects which it attempts to describe ; and, as an

undisciplined overflowing of the soul, rests FRAGMENT : HELEN AND

its claim to approbation on an attempt to HENRY

imitate the untamable wildness and inac.

cessible solemnity from which those feelA Shovel of his ashes took

ings sprang." From the hearth's obscurest nook,

This was an eventful year, and less Muttering mysteries as she went.

time was given to study than usual. In Helen and Henry knew that Granny the list of his reading I find, in Greek, Was as much afraid of ghosts as any, Theocritus, the Prometheus of Æschylus, And so they followed hard

several of Plutarch's Lives, and the works But Helen clung to her brother's arm,

of Lucian. In Latin, Lucretius, Pliny's And her own spasm made her shake.

Letters, the Annals and Germany of
Tacitus. In French, the History of the

French Revolution by Lacretelle. He NOTE ON POEMS OF 1816, BY read for the first time, this year, MonMRS, SHELLEY

taigne's Essays, and regarded them ever

after as one of the most delightful and SHELLEY wrote little during this year. instructive books in the world. The list is The pocm entitled The Sunset was written scanty in English works : Locke's Essay, in the Spring of the year, while still resid- | Political Justice, and Coleridge's Lay ing at Bishopgate. He spent the summer Sermon, form nearly the whole. It was on the shores of the Lake of Geneva. | his frequent habit to read aloud to me in The Hymn to Intellectual Beauty was con- the evening ; in this way we read, this ceived during his voyage round the lake year, the New Testament, Paradise Lost, with Lord Byron. He occupied himself Spenser's Faery Queen, and Don Quixote. during this voyage by reading the Nouvelle Heloise for the first time. The reading it on the very spot where the scenes are laid POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817 added to the interest ; and he was at once surprised and charmed by the passionate MARIANNE'S DREAM 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 | A PALE dream came to a Lady fair, he paid to Love, that coincided with And said, A boon, a boon, I pray! Shelley's own disposition; and, though I know the secrets of the air, differing in many of the views and shocked And things are lost in the glare of day,


Which I can make the sleeping see, But the very weeds that blossomed If they will put their trust in me.


Were moveless, and each mighty II

rock And thou shalt know of things unknown, Stood on its basis steadfastly ;

If thou wilt let me rest between The Anchor was seen no more on The veiny lids, whose fringe is thrown

high. Over thine eyes so dark and sheen: And half in hope, and half in fright,

VITI The Lady closed her eyes so bright.

But piled around, with summits hid III

In lines of cloud at intervals, At first all deadly shapes were driven Stood many a mountain pyramid Tumultuously across her sleep,

Among whose everlasting walls And o'er the vast cope of bending heaven Two mighty cities shone, and ever

All ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep; | Through the red mist their domes did And the Lady ever looked to spy

quiver. If the golden sun shone forth on high.


| On two dread mountains, from whose And as towards the east she turned,

crest, She saw aloft in the morning air,

| Might seem, the eagle, for her brood, Which now with hues of sunrise burned, Would ne'er have hung her dizzy nest, A great black Anchor rising there ;

Those tower-encircled cities stood. And wherever the Lady turned her eyes, | A vision strange such towers to see, It hung before her in the skies.

Sculptured and wrought so gorgeously,

Where human art could never be. The sky was blue as the summer sea,

The depths were cloudless overhead, The air was calm as it could be,

And columns framed of marble white, There was no sight or sound of dread, | And giant fanes, dome over dome But that black Anchor floating still | Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright Over the piny eastern hill.

With workmanship, which could not


From touch of mortal instrument, The Lady grew sick with a weight of Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lent fear,

From its own shapes magnificent.
To see that Anchor cver hanging
And veiled her eyes ; she then did hear

The sound as of a dim low clanging,
And looked abroad if she might know But still the Lady heard that clang
Was it aught else, or but the flow

Filling the wide air far away ;
Of the blood in her own veins, to and fro. And still the mist whose light did

hang VII

Among the mountains shook alway,' There was a mist in the sunless air, So that the Lady's heart beat fast, Which shook as it were with an earth | As hall in joy, and half aghast, quake's shock,

On those high domes her look she cast


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