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Like strength from slumber, from the When once from our possession they

prison,

In which he vainly hoped the soul to

bind

must pass; But love, though

among

misdirected, is

Which on the chains must prey that The things which are immortal, and

fetter humankind.

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FRAGMENT: LOVE IMMORTAL

WEALTH and dominion fade into the

mass

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THE fight was o'er: the flashing through the gloom

Which robes the cannon as he wings a tomb Had ceased.

A HATE-SONG

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

I

HONEY from silkworms who can gather,
Or silk from the yellow bee?

Of the great sea of human right and The grass may grow in winter weather

wrong,

As soon as hate in me.

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II

Hate men who cant, and men who pray,

And men who rail like thee;

An equal passion to repay
They are not coy like me.

III

Or seek some slave of power and gold,
To be thy dear heart's mate,
Thy love will move that bigot cold
Sooner than me thy hate.

IV

A passion like the one I prove
Cannot divided be;

I hate thy want of truth and love-
How should I then hate thee?

OZYMANDIAS

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,

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 imper-
fect and abrupt expression, and then
again lost themselves in silence. As he
never wandered without a book and with-
out 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

Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose shorter ones remains, as well as that to

frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions

Mercury already published in the Posthumous Poems. His readings this year were chiefly Greek. Besides the Hymns Dramas of Eschylus and Sophocles, the of Homer and the Iliad, he read the Symposium of Plato, and Arrian's Historia Indica. In Latin, Apuleius alone is named. In English, the Bible was his The hand that mocked them and the constant study; he read a great portion of

read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

heart that fed:

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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 con-

versation.

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

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, àpropos 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

daring and ideal, that he sheltered himself MONTH after month the gathered rains from the storms and disappointments, the pain and sorrow, that beset his life.

descend

Drenching yon secret Æthiopian dells, And from the desert's ice-girt pinnacles Where Frost and Heat in strange embraces blend

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, On Atlas, fields of moist snow half in which there breathes, besides haughty

depend.

Tempest dwells

indignation, all the tenderness of a father's Girt there with blasts and meteors 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 after

This

By Nile's aërial 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

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

wards we lost at Rome, written under the Like the great flood to Egypt, ever be. idea that we might suddenly be forced to cross the sea, so to preserve him. 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

PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES

LISTEN, listen, Mary mine,
To the whisper of the Apennine,

It bursts on the roof like the thunder's As twilight to the western star,

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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,
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,
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;
And sinks down, down, like that sleep
When the dreamer seems to be

Weltering through eternity;

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And the dim low line before
Of a dark and distant shore
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
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,
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:
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

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
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,
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;
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
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.

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
I stood listening to the pean,
With which the legioned rooks did hail
The sun's uprise majestical;
Gathering round with wings all hoar,
Thro' the dewy mist they soar

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,
Starred with drops of golden rain,
Gleam above the sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning's fitful gale
Thro' the broken mist they sail,
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
The waveless plain of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air,
Islanded by cities fair;
Underneath day's azure eyes
Ocean's nursling, Venice lies,
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,
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,
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 ;
As the flames of sacrifice
From the marble shrines did rise,
As to pierce the dome of gold
Where Apollo spoke of old.

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