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many kinds, he was at all times capable of committing, and incapable of avoiding, slips of grammar and syntax—slips which may indeed be called small, but which are not the less gross—and other oversights, such as rhymes left unsupplied, or nullified by writing the wrong word. In another sense, however, he was not a careless writer. Though no poetry bears a more visible stamp of inspiration, his MSS. show that this inspiration did not subside at once into its true and final verbal medium. The false starts, cancellings, blottings, and re-writings, which his first drafts exhibit, are a surprising and bewildering phenomenon. At length one comes upon the right reading—
"Pinnacled dim in the intense inane."
Casualty also played a considerable part in the mischances of Shelley's printed works. Thus Queen Mab was only privatelyprinted, and then piratically published; the Revolt of Islam is a slightly modified re-issue of a withdrawn book; Epipsychidion, Hellas, and the volumes containing Rosalind and Helen and Prometheus Unbound, were printed in England while the poet lived in Italy, and without his having any proofs to revise; CEdlpus Tyrannus was printed under similar circumstances, and immediately suppressed; The Cenci and Adonais had the minor misfortune of being first printed in alien Italy, though under the author's own eye; Julian and Maddalo, the Witch of Atlas, and a number of shorter poems, were posthumous publications; the Triumph of Life remains a stately fragment amid many minor debris.
Mrs. Shelley brought deep affection and unmeasured enthusiasm to the task of editing her husband's works. But ill health and the pain of reminiscence curtailed her editorial labours: besides which, to judge from the result, you would say that Mrs. Shelley was not one of the persons to whom the gift of consistent accuracy has been imparted; for even this too is a gift in its way, not wholly to be improvised for the occasion.
In preparing the present edition for the press, I have been enabled to collate the collected edition supervised by Mrs. Shelley (in its three current forms of publication) with the original printed texts of all the poems, save only the semiprivate first Epipsychidion. I have also, through the liberality of Mr. Garnett, received various snatches of verse, mostly fragmentary, hitherto not printed in any form; and have had the privilege of deciphering for myself a MS. book of Shelley, belonging to his son, and containing very considerable additions to the unfinished tragedy of Charles the First. Of the principal poems (or the great majority of them) the MSS., I understand, are not now known to exist.
I have innovated to some extent upon Mrs. Shelley's distribution of the poems; thinking it more reasonable that works of substantial length, such as Rosalind and Helen, Julian and Maddalo, and Epipsychidion, should appear among the longer poems, instead of among the miscellaneous poems of their respective years. On the other hand, I have placed among fragments a good number of pieces which really are fragmentary, but which had hitherto been intermixed with the complete compositions. 1 have also, in all subdivisions, carried out more minutely the record of dates, and (save as concerns the translations) the sorting of the poems according to that criterion. A glance at the table of contents will show the reader what these subdivisions are, — Principal Poems, Miscellaneous Poems, Fragments, Translations, and Appendix, as well as the dates of the several works. These are the dates of composition, not necessarily of first publication.
The Appendix is a feature new to any edition of Shelley. It contains a number of his juvenile writings extracted from divers sources, some variations of the printed text of the poems, and other odds and ends. Anything that I have found of an earlier date than 1813, when Queen Mab was printed, I treat as a juvenile poem. I must here avow and premise, for the use of all gainsayers, that I regard the main body of these juvenile poems as being not only poorish sort of stuff, but absolute and heinous rubbish; the " clotted nonsense" of a boy in whom even an acute literary prophet would have failed to divine, as in any wise conceivable, the author of A las tor at twenty-three years of age, of Prometheus Unbound at twenty-seven, and of a most glorious and in some respects unexampled body of poetry