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FRAGMENT III. 'Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber, as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden

wings, Stands up before its mother bright and mild, Of whose soft voice the air expectant seemsSo stood before the sun, which shone and smiled

To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams,
The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove
Waxed green-and flowers burst forth like
starry beams ;-


The grass in the warm sun did start and move, And sea-buds burst beneath the waves serene :How many a one, though none be near to love,

Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen In any mirror-or the spring's young minions, The winged leaves amid the copses green ;

How many a spirit then puts on the pinions Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast, And his own steps—and over wide dominions

Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, More fleet than storms—the wide world shrinks

below, When winter and despondency are past.


'Twas at this season that Prince Athanase Passed the white Alps—those eagle-baffling

mountains Slept in their shrouds of snow ;-beside the The waterfalls were voiceless—for their foun


tains Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now, Or by the curdling winds—like brazen wings Which clanged along the mountain's marble

brow, Warped into adamantine fret-work, hung 29 And filled with frozen light the chasm below.

FRAGMENT IV. Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all We can desire, O Love! and happy souls, Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall, Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing

bowls Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew ;Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls Investest it; and when the heavens are blue Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair The shadow of thy moving wings imbue Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear 10 Beauty like some bright robe ;-thou ever

soarest Among the towers of men, and as soft air In spring, which moves the unawakened forest, Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak, Thou floatest among men; and aye implorest That which from thee they should implore :

the weak Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts The strong have broken-yet where shall any

seek A garment whom thou clothest not ?


Her hair was brown, her sphered eyes were

brown, And in their dark and liquid moisture swam, Like the dim orb of the eclipsèd moon;

Yet, when the spirit flashed beneath, there

came The light from them, as when tears of delight Double the western planet's serene flame.'

1 Mrs. Shelley, who traced in Prince Athanase a resemblance to Alastor, says that the poet at first named it Pandemos and Urania. Athanase seeks through the world the One whom he may love. He meets, in the ship in which he is embarked, a lady who appears to him to embody his ideal of love and beauty. But she proves to be Pandemos, or the earthly and unworthy Venus, who, after disappointing his cherished dreams and hopes, deserts him.” The final fragment of six lines describes the “lady who can really reply to his soul,” and who, on his death-bed, “comes and kisses his lips.”—ED.



The meadows with fresh streams, the bees with

The goats with the green leaves of budding Spring,

Are saturated not-nor Love with tears. alpell yilli Rosd, secluded VIRGIL'S GALLUS.

0 Count MADDALO is a Venetian nobleman of

ancient family and of great fortune, who, without mixing much in the society of his countrymen, resides chiefly at his magnificent palace in that city. He is a person of the most consummate genius, and capable, if he would direct his energies to such an end, of becoming the redeemer of his degraded country. But it is his weakness to be proud: he derives,

1 According to Mr. Woodberry's notes on the manuscript volume at Harvard College, this poem is entered in the index as having formed a portion of the book now missing, and as having been called Maddalo and Julian. Maddalo represents Byron, Julian Shelley. The soliloquy of the Maniac is held to depict in an idealized form some passages of Shelley's life with Harriett. The poem was written at Este late in 1818.--ED.

from a comparison of his own extraordinary mind with the dwarfish intellects that surround him, an intense apprehension of the nothingness of human life. His passions and his powers are incomparably greater than those of other men; and, instead of the latter having been employed in curbing the former, they have mutually lent each other strength. His ambition preys upon itself, for want of objects which it can consider worthy of exertion. I say that Maddalo is proud, because I can find no other word to express the concentered and impatient feelings which consume him ; but it is on his/ own hopes and affections only that he seems to trample, for in social life no human being can be more gentle, patient, and unassuming than Maddalo. He is cheerful, frank, and witty. His more serious conversation is a sort of intoxication; men are held by it as by a spell. He has travelled much; and there is an inexpressible charm in his relation of his adventures in different countries.

Julian is an Englishman of good family, passionately attached to those philosophical notions which assert the power of man over his own mind, and the immense improvements of which, by the extinction of certain moral superstitions, human society may be yet susceptible. Without concealing the evil in the world, he is for ever speculating how good may be made superior. He is a complete infidel, and a scoffer at all things reputed holy; and Maddalo takes a wicked pleasure in drawing out his taunts against religion. What Maddalo thinks on these matters is not exactly known. Julian, in spite of his heterodox opinions, is conjectured by his friends to possess some

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