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But thou, Clitumnus ! in thy sweetest wave Of the most living crystal that was eler The haunt of river-nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer Grazes; the purest god of gentle waters : And most serene of aspect and most clear ! Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters, mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters! And on thy happy shore a temple still, Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, Upon a mild declivity of hill, Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps The finny darter with the glittering scales, Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; While, chance, some scattered water-lily sails Down * the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales.

The Greek statues at Florence are then inimitably described, after which the poet visits Rome, and revels in the ruins of the Palatine and Coliseum, and the glorious remains of ancient art. His dreams of love and beauty, of intellectual power and majesty, are here realised. The lustre of the classic age


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The seal is set.—Now welcome, thou dread power! Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear; Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear, That we become a part of what has been, And grow unto the spot, all-seeing, but unseen. And here the buzz of eager nations ran, In murmured pity, or loud-roared applause, As man was slaughtered by his fellow-man. And wherefore slaughtered wherefore, but because Such were the bloody circus' genial laws, And the imperial pleasure. Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to fill the maws Of worms—on battle-plains or listed spot? Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot.

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The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains. Beautiful
I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness,
I learned the language of another world.
I do remember me, that in my youth,
When I was wandering, upon such a night
I stood within the Coliseum's wall,
"Midst the chief relics of all-mighty Rome:
The trees which grew along the broken arches
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars
Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar
The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and
More near, from out the Caesars’ palace came
The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly,
Of distant sentinels the fitful song
Begun and died upon the gentle wind.
Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach
Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood
Within a bowshot. Where the Caesars dwelt,
And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst
A grove which springs through levelled battlements,

And twines its roots with the imperial hearths,
Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth;
But the gladiators' bloody circus stands -
A noble wreck in ruinous perfection!
While Caesar's chambers and the Augustan halls
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay.
And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which softened down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and filled up,
As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries;
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not, till the place
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old— -
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns ! -

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The other father had a weaklier child,
Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate;
But the boy bore up long, and with a mild
And patient spirit held aloof his fate; o
Little he said, and now and then he smiled,
As if to win a part from off the weight
He saw increasing on his father's heart, -
With the deep deadly thought that they must part.

And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised
His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam
From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed:
And when the wished-for shower at length was come,
And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed,
Brightened, and for a moment seemed to roam,
He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain
Into his dying child's mouth; but in vain :

| The boy expired—the father held the clay, | And looked upon it long; and when at last | Death left no doubt, and the dead burthen lay Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past, | He watched it wistfully, until away | "Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast; Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering, | And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering. | i [Description of Haidee.] [From the same.]

Her brow was overhung with coins of gold That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair; | Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were rolled | In braids behind; and though her stature were Even of the highest for a female mould, They nearly reached her heels; and in her air There was a something which bespoke command, As one who was a lady in the land.

| Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes Were black as death, their lashes the same hue, Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies Deepest attraction; for when to the view Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies, Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew : . | "Tis as the snake late coiled, who pours his length, | And hurls at once his venom and his strength.

Her brow was white and low; her cheek's pure dye,
Like twilight, rosy still with the set sun;
Short upper lip—sweet lips! that make us sigh
Ever to have seen such ; for she was one
Fit for the model of a statuary
(A race of mere impostors when all's done—
I've seen much finer women, ripe and real,
Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal).

[Haidee Visits the Shipwrecked Don Juan.]

| And down the cliff the island virgin came,
And near the cave her quick light footsteps drew,
While the sun smiled on her with his first flame,
And young Aurora kissed her lips with dew,
Taking her for her sister; just the same
Mistake you would have made on seeing the two,
Although the mortal, quite as fresh and fair,
Had all the advantage too of not being air.

| And when into the cavern Haidee stepped
All timidly, yet rapidly, she saw
That, like an infant, Juan sweetly slept:

And then she stopped and stood as if in awe,

| (For sleep is awful) and on tiptoe crept

| And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw, | Should reach his blood; then o'er him, still as death, | Bent, with hushed lips, that drank his scarce-drawn | breath.

| And thus, like to an angel o'er the dying | Who die in righteousness, she leaned; and there | All tranquilly the shipwrecked boy was lying, | As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air: | But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying, | Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair | Must breakfast, and betimes—lest they should ask it, | She drew out her provision from the basket.

- * * | And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes, | And words repeated after her, he took

|| Alesson in her tongue; but by surmise,

| No doubt, less of her language than her look:

| As he who studies fervently the skies,
| Turns oftener to the stars than to his book:

|| Thus Juan learned his alpha beta better | From Haidee's glance than any graven letter.

'Tis pleasing to be schooled in a strange tongue
By female lips and eyes—that is, I mean

When both the teacher and the taught are young;
As was the case, at least, where I have been ;

Th; smile so when one's right, and when one's wrong, They smile still more, and then there intervene

Pressure of hands, perhaps even a chaste kiss;–

I learned the little that I know by this.

[Haidee and Juan at the Feast.]

Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet
On crimson satin, bordered with pale blue;
Their sofa occupied three parts complete
Of the apartment—and appeared quite new;
The velvet cushions—for a throne more meet—
Were scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew
A sun embossed in gold, whose rays of tissue,
Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue.

Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain,
Had done their work of splendour; Indian mats
And Persian carpets, which the heart bled to stain,
Over the floors were spread; gazelles and cats,
And dwarfs and blacks, and such-like things, that gain
Their bread as ministers and favourites—that's
To say, by degradation—mingled there
As plentiful as in a court or fair.

There was no want of lofty mirrors, and
The tables, most of ebony inlaid
With mother-of-pearl or ivory, stood at hand,
Or were of tortoise-shell or rare woods made,
Fretted with gold or silver—by command,
The greater part of these were ready spread
With viands and sherbets in ice—and wine—
Kept for all comers, at all hours to dine.

Of all the dresses, I select Haidee's :
She wore two jelicks—one was of pale yellow;
Of azure, pink, and white, was her chemise—
'Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow;
With buttons formed of pearls as large as peas,
All gold and crimson shone her jelick's fellow,
And the striped white gauze baracan that bound her,
Like fleecy clouds about the moon flowed round her.

One large gold bracelet clasped each lovely arm,
Lockless—so pliable from the pure gold
That the hand stretched and shut it without harm,
The limb which it adorned its only mould;
So beautiful—its very shape would charm,
And clinging as if loath to lose its hold:
The purest ore enclosed the whitest skin
That e'er by precious metal was held in.

Around, as princess of her father's land,
A light gold bar above her instep rolled
Announced her rank; twelve rings were on her hand;
Her hair was starred with gems; her veil's fine fold
Below her breast was fastened with a band -
Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told ;
Her orange-silk full Turkish trousers furled
About the prettiest ankle in the world.

Her hair's long auburn waves, down to her heel
Flowed like an alpine torrent, which the sun
Dyes with his morning light—and would conceal
Her person if allowed at large to run,
And still they seemed resentfully to feel
The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun
Their bonds whene'er some Zephyr caught began
To offer his young pinion as her fan.

Round her she made an atmosphere of life;
The very air seemed lighter from her eyes,
They were so soft, and beautiful, and rife,
With all we can imagine of the skies,
And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife—
Too pure even for the purest human ties;

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PERcy Bysshe SHELLEY was the son and heir of a wealthy English baronet, Sir Timothy Shelley of Castle Goring, in Sussex, and was born at Field Place, in that county, on the 4th of August 1792. | In worldly prospects and distinction the poet therefore surpassed most of his tuneful brethren; yet this only served to render his unhappy and strange destiny the more conspicuously wretched. He was first educated at Eton, and afterwards at Oxford. His resistance to all established authority and opinion displayed itself while at school, and in the introduction to his Revolt of Islam, he has portrayed his early impressions in some sweet and touching stanzas—

Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, when first The clouds which wrap this world from youth did


I do onemier well the hour which burst My spirit's sleep: a fresh May-dawn it was, When I walked forth upon the glittering grass, And wept, I knew not why : until there rose From the near schoolroom voices that, alas ! Were but one echo from a world of woes— | The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes.

| And then I clasped my hands and looked around, | But none was near to mock my streaming eyes, | Which poured their warm drops on the sunny ground; | So, without shame, I spake—“I will be wise, | And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannise Without reproach or check.’ I then controlled | My tears, my heart grew calm, and I was meek and bold.

And from that hour did I with earnest thought

Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore;

| Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught

I cared to learn, but from that secret store
Wrought linked armour for my soul, before

| It might walk forth to war among mankind;

Thus power and hope were strengthened more and more

Within me, till there came upon my mind

| A sense of loneliness, a thirst with which I pined.

With these feelings and predilections Shelley went to Oxford. He studied hard, but irregularly, and spent much of his leisure in chemical experiments. He incessantly speculated, thought, and read, as he himself has stated. At the age of fifteen he wrote two short prose romances. He had also great facility in versification, and threw off various effusions. The “forbidden mines of lore’ which had captivated his boyish mind at Eton were also diligently explored, and he was soon an avowed republican and sceptic. He published a volume of political rhymes, entitled Margaret Nicholson's Remains, the said Margaret being the unhappy maniac who attempted to stab George III.; and he issued a syllabus from Hume's Essays, at the same time challenging the authorities of Oxford to a public controversy on the subject. Shelley was at this time just seventeen years of age The consequence of his conduct was, that he was expelled the university, and his friends being disgusted with him, he was cast on the world, a prey to the undisciplined ardour of youth and passion. His subsequent life was truly a warfare upon earth. Mrs Shelley, widow of the poet, has thus traced the early bias of his mind, and its predisposing causes:– Refusing to fag at Eton, he was treated with revolting cruelty by masters and boys; this roused instead of taming his spirit, and he rejected the duty of obedience when it was enforced by menaces and punishment. To aversion to the society of his fellow-creatures—such as he found them when collected together into societies, where one egged on the other to acts of tyranny—was joined the deepest sympathy and compassion; while the attachment he felt for individuals, and the admiration with which he regarded their powers and their virtues, led him to entertain a high opinion of the perfectibility of human nature; and he believed that all could reach the highest grade of moral improvement, did not the customs and prejudices of society foster evil passions and excuse evil actions. The oppression which, trembling at every nerve, yet resolute to heroism, it was his ill fortune to encounter at school and at college, led him to dissent in many things from those whose arguments were blows, whose faith appeared to engender blame and execration. “During my existence,” he wrote to a friend in 1812, “I have incessantly speculated, thought, and read.” His readings were not always well chosen ; among them were the works of the French philosophers: as far as metaphysical argument went, he temporarily became a convert. At the same time it was the cardinal article of his faith, that, if men were but taught and induced to treat their fellows with love, charity, and equal rights, this earth would realise Paradise. He looked upon religion as it was professed, and, above all, practised, as hostile, instead of friendly, to the cultivation of those virtues which would make men brothers.” Mrs Shelley conceives that, in the peculiar circumstances, this was not to be wondered at. “At the age of seventeen, fragile in health and frame, of the purest habits in morals, full of devoted generosity and universal kindness, glowing with ardour to attain wisdom, resolved, at every personal sacrifice, to do right, burning with a desire for affection and sympathy, he was treated as a reprobate, cast forth as a criminal. The cause was, that he was sincere, that he believed the opinions which he entertained to be true, and he loved truth with a martyr's love: he was ready to sacrifice station, and fortune, and his dearest affections, at its shrine. The sacrifice was demanded from, and made by, a youth of seventeen.’ It appears that in his youth Shelley was equally inclined to poetry and metaphysics, and hesitated to which he should devote himself. He ended in unit395

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