VANE:The vanes sit steadyUpon the Abbey towers. The silver lightningsOf the evening star, spite of the city’s smoke,Tell that the north wind reigns in the upper air. _10Mark too that flock of fleecy-winged cloudsSailing athwart St. Margaret’s.
NOTE: _11 flock 1824; fleet 1870.
HAMPDEN:Hail, fleet heraldOf tempest! that rude pilot who shall guideHearts free as his, to realms as pure as thee,Beyond the shot of tyranny, _15Beyond the webs of that swoln spider…Beyond the curses, calumnies, and [lies?]Of atheist priests! … And thouFair star, whose beam lies on the wide Atlantic,Athwart its zones of tempest and of calm, _20Bright as the path to a beloved homeOh, light us to the isles of the evening land!Like floating Edens cradled in the glimmerOf sunset, through the distant mist of yearsTouched by departing hope, they gleam! lone regions, _25Where Power’s poor dupes and victims yet have neverPropitiated the savage fear of kingsWith purest blood of noblest hearts; whose dewIs yet unstained with tears of those who wakeTo weep each day the wrongs on which it dawns; _30Whose sacred silent air owns yet no echoOf formal blasphemies; nor impious ritesWrest man’s free worship, from the God who loves,To the poor worm who envies us His love!Receive, thou young … of Paradise. _35These exiles from the old and sinful world!
…
This glorious clime, this firmament, whose lightsDart mitigated influence through their veilOf pale blue atmosphere; whose tears keep greenThe pavement of this moist all-feeding earth; _40This vaporous horizon, whose dim roundIs bastioned by the circumfluous sea,Repelling invasion from the sacred towers,Presses upon me like a dungeon’s grate,A low dark roof, a damp and narrow wall. _45The boundless universeBecomes a cell too narrow for the soulThat owns no master; while the loathliest wardOf this wide prison, England, is a nestOf cradling peace built on the mountain tops,— _50To which the eagle spirits of the free,Which range through heaven and earth, and scorn the stormOf time, and gaze upon the light of truth,Return to brood on thoughts that cannot dieAnd cannot be repelled. _55Like eaglets floating in the heaven of time,They soar above their quarry, and shall stoopThrough palaces and temples thunderproof.
NOTES: _13 rude 1870; wild 1824. _16-_18 Beyond…priests 1870; omitted 1824. _25 Touched 1870; Tinged 1824. _34 To the poor 1870; Towards the 1824. _38 their 1870; the 1824. _46 boundless 1870; mighty 1824. _48 owns no 1824; owns a 1870. ward 1870; spot 1824. _50 cradling 1870; cradled 1824. _54, _55 Return…repelled 1870; Return to brood over the [ ] thoughts That cannot die, and may not be repelled 1824. _56-_58 Like…thunderproof 1870; omitted 1824.
ARCHY: I’ll go live under the ivy that overgrows the terrace, and count the tears shed on its old [roots?] as the [wind?] plays the song of
‘A widow bird sate mourningUpon a wintry bough.’ _5[SINGS]Heigho! the lark and the owl!One flies the morning, and one lulls the night:—Only the nightingale, poor fond soul,Sings like the fool through darkness and light.
‘A widow bird sate mourning for her love _10Upon a wintry bough;The frozen wind crept on above,The freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare.No flower upon the ground, _15And little motion in the airExcept the mill-wheel’s sound.’
NOTE:Scene 5. _1-_9 I’ll…light 1870; omitted 1824.
***
[Composed at Lerici on the Gulf of Spezzia in the spring and early summer of 1822—the poem on which Shelley was engaged at the time of his death. Published by Mrs. Shelley in the “Posthumous Poems” of 1824, pages 73-95. Several emendations, the result of Dr. Garnett’s examination of the Boscombe manuscript, were given to the world by Miss Mathilde Blind, “Westminster Review”, July, 1870. The poem was, of course, included in the “Poetical Works”, 1839, both editions. See Editor’s Notes.]
Swift as a spirit hastening to his taskOf glory and of good, the Sun sprang forthRejoicing in his splendour, and the mask
Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth—The smokeless altars of the mountain snows _5Flamed above crimson clouds, and at the birth
Of light, the Ocean’s orison arose,To which the birds tempered their matin lay.All flowers in field or forest which unclose
Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day, _10Swinging their censers in the element,With orient incense lit by the new ray
Burned slow and inconsumably, and sentTheir odorous sighs up to the smiling air;And, in succession due, did continent, _15
Isle, ocean, and all things that in them wearThe form and character of mortal mould,Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear
Their portion of the toil, which he of oldTook as his own, and then imposed on them: _20But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold
Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gemThe cone of night, now they were laid asleepStretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem
Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep _25Of a green Apennine: before me fledThe night; behind me rose the day; the deep
Was at my feet, and Heaven above my head,—When a strange trance over my fancy grewWhich was not slumber, for the shade it spread _30
Was so transparent, that the scene came throughAs clear as when a veil of light is drawnO’er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew
That I had felt the freshness of that dawnBathe in the same cold dew my brow and hair, _35And sate as thus upon that slope of lawn
Under the self-same bough, and heard as thereThe birds, the fountains and the ocean holdSweet talk in music through the enamoured air,And then a vision on my train was rolled. _40
…
As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay,This was the tenour of my waking dream:—Methought I sate beside a public way
Thick strewn with summer dust, and a great streamOf people there was hurrying to and fro, _45Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam,
All hastening onward, yet none seemed to knowWhither he went, or whence he came, or whyHe made one of the multitude, and so
Was borne amid the crowd, as through the sky _50One of the million leaves of summer’s bier;Old age and youth, manhood and infancy,
Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear,Some flying from the thing they feared, and someSeeking the object of another’s fear; _55
And others, as with steps towards the tomb,Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath,And others mournfully within the gloom
Of their own shadow walked, and called it death;And some fled from it as it were a ghost, _60Half fainting in the affliction of vain breath:
But more, with motions which each other crossed,Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw,Or birds within the noonday aether lost,
Upon that path where flowers never grew,—And, weary with vain toil and faint for thirst,Heard not the fountains, whose melodious dew
Out of their mossy cells forever burst;Nor felt the breeze which from the forest toldOf grassy paths and wood-lawns interspersed _70
With overarching elms and caverns cold,And violet banks where sweet dreams brood, but theyPursued their serious folly as of old.
And as I gazed, methought that in the wayThe throng grew wilder, as the woods of June _75When the south wind shakes the extinguished day,
And a cold glare, intenser than the noon,But icy cold, obscured with blinding lightThe sun, as he the stars. Like the young moon—
When on the sunlit limits of the night _80Her white shell trembles amid crimson air,And whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might—
Doth, as the herald of its coming, bearThe ghost of its dead mother, whose dim formBends in dark aether from her infant’s chair,— _85
So came a chariot on the silent stormOf its own rushing splendour, and a ShapeSo sate within, as one whom years deform,
Beneath a dusky hood and double cape,Crouching within the shadow of a tomb; _90And o’er what seemed the head a cloud-like crape
Was bent, a dun and faint aethereal gloomTempering the light. Upon the chariot-beamA Janus-visaged Shadow did assume
The guidance of that wonder-winged team; _95The shapes which drew it in thick lighteningsWere lost:—I heard alone on the air’s soft stream
The music of their ever-moving wings.All the four faces of that CharioteerHad their eyes banded; little profit brings _100
Speed in the van and blindness in the rear,Nor then avail the beams that quench the sun,—Or that with banded eyes could pierce the sphere
Of all that is, has been or will be done;So ill was the car guided—but it passed _105With solemn speed majestically on.
The crowd gave way, and I arose aghast,Or seemed to rise, so mighty was the trance,And saw, like clouds upon the thunder-blast,
The million with fierce song and maniac dance _110Raging around—such seemed the jubileeAs when to greet some conqueror’s advance
Imperial Rome poured forth her living seaFrom senate-house, and forum, and theatre,When … upon the free _115
Had bound a yoke, which soon they stooped to bear.Nor wanted here the just similitudeOf a triumphal pageant, for where’er
The chariot rolled, a captive multitudeWas driven;—all those who had grown old in power _120Or misery,—all who had their age subdued
By action or by suffering, and whose hourWas drained to its last sand in weal or woe,So that the trunk survived both fruit and flower;—
All those whose fame or infamy must grow _125Till the great winter lay the form and nameOf this green earth with them for ever low;—
All but the sacred few who could not tameTheir spirits to the conquerors—but as soonAs they had touched the world with living flame, _130
Fled back like eagles to their native noon,Or those who put aside the diademOf earthly thrones or gems…
Were there, of Athens or Jerusalem.Were neither mid the mighty captives seen, _135Nor mid the ribald crowd that followed them,
Nor those who went before fierce and obscene.The wild dance maddens in the van, and thoseWho lead it—fleet as shadows on the green,
Outspeed the chariot, and without repose _140Mix with each other in tempestuous measureTo savage music, wilder as it grows,
They, tortured by their agonizing pleasure,Convulsed and on the rapid whirlwinds spunOf that fierce Spirit, whose unholy leisure _145
Was soothed by mischief since the world begun,Throw back their heads and loose their streaming hair;And in their dance round her who dims the sun,
Maidens and youths fling their wild arms in airAs their feet twinkle; they recede, and now _150Bending within each other’s atmosphere,
Kindle invisibly—and as they glow,Like moths by light attracted and repelled,Oft to their bright destruction come and go,
Till like two clouds into one vale impelled, _155That shake the mountains when their lightnings mingleAnd die in rain—the fiery band which held
Their natures, snaps—while the shock still may tingleOne falls and then another in the pathSenseless—nor is the desolation single, _160
Yet ere I can say WHERE—the chariot hathPassed over them—nor other trace I findBut as of foam after the ocean’s wrath
Is spent upon the desert shore;—behind,Old men and women foully disarrayed, _165Shake their gray hairs in the insulting wind,
And follow in the dance, with limbs decayed,Seeking to reach the light which leaves them stillFarther behind and deeper in the shade.
But not the less with impotence of will _170They wheel, though ghastly shadows interposeRound them and round each other, and fulfil
Their work, and in the dust from whence they roseSink, and corruption veils them as they lie,And past in these performs what … in those. _175
Struck to the heart by this sad pageantry,Half to myself I said—‘And what is this?Whose shape is that within the car? And why—’
I would have added—‘is all here amiss?—’But a voice answered—‘Life!’—I turned, and knew _180(O Heaven, have mercy on such wretchedness!)
That what I thought was an old root which grewTo strange distortion out of the hill side,Was indeed one of those deluded crew,
And that the grass, which methought hung so wide _185And white, was but his thin discoloured hair,And that the holes he vainly sought to hide,
Were or had been eyes:—‘If thou canst forbearTo join the dance, which I had well forborne,’Said the grim Feature, of my thought aware, _190
‘I will unfold that which to this deep scornLed me and my companions, and relateThe progress of the pageant since the morn;
‘If thirst of knowledge shall not then abate,Follow it thou even to the night, but I _195Am weary.’—Then like one who with the weight
Of his own words is staggered, wearilyHe paused; and ere he could resume, I cried:‘First, who art thou?’—‘Before thy memory,
‘I feared, loved, hated, suffered, did and died, _200And if the spark with which Heaven lit my spiritHad been with purer nutriment supplied,
‘Corruption would not now thus much inheritOf what was once Rousseau,—nor this disguiseStain that which ought to have disdained to wear it; _205
‘If I have been extinguished, yet there riseA thousand beacons from the spark I bore’—‘And who are those chained to the car?’—‘The wise,
‘The great, the unforgotten,—they who woreMitres and helms and crowns, or wreaths of light, _210Signs of thought’s empire over thought—their lore
‘Taught them not this, to know themselves; their mightCould not repress the mystery within,And for the morn of truth they feigned, deep night
‘Caught them ere evening.’—‘Who is he with chin _215Upon his breast, and hands crossed on his chain?’—‘The child of a fierce hour; he sought to win
‘The world, and lost all that it did containOf greatness, in its hope destroyed; and moreOf fame and peace than virtue’s self can gain _220
‘Without the opportunity which boreHim on its eagle pinions to the peakFrom which a thousand climbers have before
‘Fallen, as Napoleon fell.’—I felt my cheekAlter, to see the shadow pass away, _225Whose grasp had left the giant world so weak
That every pigmy kicked it as it lay;And much I grieved to think how power and willIn opposition rule our mortal day,
And why God made irreconcilable _230Good and the means of good; and for despairI half disdained mine eyes’ desire to fill
With the spent vision of the times that wereAnd scarce have ceased to be.—‘Dost thou behold,’Said my guide, ‘those spoilers spoiled, Voltaire, _235
‘Frederick, and Paul, Catherine, and Leopold, And hoary anarchs, demagogues, and sage— names which the world thinks always old,
‘For in the battle Life and they did wage,She remained conqueror. I was overcome _240By my own heart alone, which neither age,
‘Nor tears, nor infamy, nor now the tombCould temper to its object.’—‘Let them pass,’I cried, ‘the world and its mysterious doom
‘Is not so much more glorious than it was, _245That I desire to worship those who drewNew figures on its false and fragile glass
‘As the old faded.’—‘Figures ever newRise on the bubble, paint them as you may;We have but thrown, as those before us threw, _250
‘Our shadows on it as it passed away.But mark how chained to the triumphal chairThe mighty phantoms of an elder day;
‘All that is mortal of great Plato thereExpiates the joy and woe his master knew not; _255The star that ruled his doom was far too fair.
‘And life, where long that flower of Heaven grew not,Conquered that heart by love, which gold, or pain,Or age, or sloth, or slavery could subdue not.
‘And near him walk the … twain, _260The tutor and his pupil, whom DominionFollowed as tame as vulture in a chain.
‘The world was darkened beneath either pinionOf him whom from the flock of conquerorsFame singled out for her thunder-bearing minion; _265
‘The other long outlived both woes and wars,Throned in the thoughts of men, and still had keptThe jealous key of Truth’s eternal doors,
‘If Bacon’s eagle spirit had not leptLike lightning out of darkness—he compelled _270The Proteus shape of Nature, as it slept
‘To wake, and lead him to the caves that heldThe treasure of the secrets of its reign.See the great bards of elder time, who quelled
‘The passions which they sung, as by their strain _275May well be known: their living melodyTempers its own contagion to the vein
‘Of those who are infected with it—IHave suffered what I wrote, or viler pain!And so my words have seeds of misery— _180
‘Even as the deeds of others, not as theirs.’And then he pointed to a company,
‘Midst whom I quickly recognized the heirsOf Caesar’s crime, from him to Constantine;The anarch chiefs, whose force and murderous snares _285
Had founded many a sceptre-bearing line,And spread the plague of gold and blood abroad:And Gregory and John, and men divine,
Who rose like shadows between man and God;Till that eclipse, still hanging over heaven, _290Was worshipped by the world o’er which they strode,
For the true sun it quenched—‘Their power was givenBut to destroy,’ replied the leader:—‘IAm one of those who have created, even
‘If it be but a world of agony.’— _295‘Whence camest thou? and whither goest thou?How did thy course begin?’ I said, ‘and why?
‘Mine eyes are sick of this perpetual flowOf people, and my heart sick of one sad thought—Speak!’—‘Whence I am, I partly seem to know, _300
‘And how and by what paths I have been broughtTo this dread pass, methinks even thou mayst guess;—Why this should be, my mind can compass not;
‘Whither the conqueror hurries me, still less;—But follow thou, and from spectator turn _305Actor or victim in this wretchedness,
‘And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learnFrom thee. Now listen:—In the April prime,When all the forest-tips began to burn
‘With kindling green, touched by the azure clime _310Of the young season, I was laid asleepUnder a mountain, which from unknown time
‘Had yawned into a cavern, high and deep;And from it came a gentle rivulet,Whose water, like clear air, in its calm sweep _315
‘Bent the soft grass, and kept for ever wetThe stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the groveWith sounds, which whoso hears must needs forget
‘All pleasure and all pain, all hate and love,Which they had known before that hour of rest; _320A sleeping mother then would dream not of
‘Her only child who died upon the breastAt eventide—a king would mourn no moreThe crown of which his brows were dispossessed
‘When the sun lingered o’er his ocean floor _325To gild his rival’s new prosperity.‘Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore
‘Ills, which if ills can find no cure from thee,The thought of which no other sleep will quell,Nor other music blot from memory, _330
‘So sweet and deep is the oblivious spell;And whether life had been before that sleepThe Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell
‘Like this harsh world in which I woke to weep,I know not. I arose, and for a space _335The scene of woods and waters seemed to keep,
Though it was now broad day, a gentle traceOf light diviner than the common sunSheds on the common earth, and all the place
‘Was filled with magic sounds woven into one _340Oblivious melody, confusing senseAmid the gliding waves and shadows dun;
‘And, as I looked, the bright omnipresenceOf morning through the orient cavern flowed,And the sun’s image radiantly intense _345
‘Burned on the waters of the well that glowedLike gold, and threaded all the forest’s mazeWith winding paths of emerald fire; there stood
‘Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze _350Of his own glory, on the vibratingFloor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays,
‘A Shape all light, which with one hand did flingDew on the earth, as if she were the dawn,And the invisible rain did ever sing
‘A silver music on the mossy lawn; _355And still before me on the dusky grass,Iris her many-coloured scarf had drawn:
‘In her right hand she bore a crystal glass,Mantling with bright Nepenthe; the fierce splendourFell from her as she moved under the mass _360
‘Of the deep cavern, and with palms so tender,Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow,Glided along the river, and did bend her
‘Head under the dark boughs, till like a willowHer fair hair swept the bosom of the stream _365That whispered with delight to be its pillow.
‘As one enamoured is upborne in dreamO’er lily-paven lakes, mid silver mistTo wondrous music, so this shape might seem
‘Partly to tread the waves with feet which kissed _370The dancing foam; partly to glide alongThe air which roughened the moist amethyst,
‘Or the faint morning beams that fell amongThe trees, or the soft shadows of the trees;And her feet, ever to the ceaseless song _375
‘Of leaves, and winds, and waves, and birds, and bees,And falling drops, moved in a measure newYet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze,
‘Up from the lake a shape of golden dewBetween two rocks, athwart the rising moon, _380Dances i’ the wind, where never eagle flew;
‘And still her feet, no less than the sweet tuneTo which they moved, seemed as they moved to blotThe thoughts of him who gazed on them; and soon
‘All that was, seemed as if it had been not; _385And all the gazer’s mind was strewn beneathHer feet like embers; and she, thought by thought,
‘Trampled its sparks into the dust of deathAs day upon the threshold of the eastTreads out the lamps of night, until the breath _390
‘Of darkness re-illumine even the leastOf heaven’s living eyes—like day she came,Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased
‘To move, as one between desire and shameSuspended, I said—If, as it doth seem, _395Thou comest from the realm without a name
‘Into this valley of perpetual dream,Show whence I came, and where I am, and why—Pass not away upon the passing stream.
‘Arise and quench thy thirst, was her reply. _400And as a shut lily stricken by the wandOf dewy morning’s vital alchemy,
‘I rose; and, bending at her sweet command,Touched with faint lips the cup she raised,And suddenly my brain became as sand _405
‘Where the first wave had more than half erasedThe track of deer on desert Labrador;Whilst the wolf, from which they fled amazed,
‘Leaves his stamp visibly upon the shore,Until the second bursts;—so on my sight _410Burst a new vision, never seen before,
‘And the fair shape waned in the coming light,As veil by veil the silent splendour dropsFrom Lucifer, amid the chrysolite
‘Of sunrise, ere it tinge the mountain-tops; _415And as the presence of that fairest planet,Although unseen, is felt by one who hopes
‘That his day’s path may end as he began it,In that star’s smile, whose light is like the scentOf a jonquil when evening breezes fan it, _420
‘Or the soft note in which his dear lamentThe Brescian shepherd breathes, or the caressThat turned his weary slumber to content;
‘So knew I in that light’s severe excessThe presence of that Shape which on the stream _425Moved, as I moved along the wilderness,
‘More dimly than a day-appearing dream,The host of a forgotten form of sleep;A light of heaven, whose half-extinguished beam
‘Through the sick day in which we wake to weep _430Glimmers, for ever sought, for ever lost;So did that shape its obscure tenour keep
‘Beside my path, as silent as a ghost;But the new Vision, and the cold bright car,With solemn speed and stunning music, crossed _435
‘The forest, and as if from some dread warTriumphantly returning, the loud millionFiercely extolled the fortune of her star.
‘A moving arch of victory, the vermilionAnd green and azure plumes of Iris had _440Built high over her wind-winged pavilion,
‘And underneath aethereal glory cladThe wilderness, and far before her flewThe tempest of the splendour, which forbade
‘Shadow to fall from leaf and stone; the crew _445Seemed in that light, like atomies to danceWithin a sunbeam;—some upon the new
‘Embroidery of flowers, that did enhanceThe grassy vesture of the desert, played,Forgetful of the chariot’s swift advance; _450
‘Others stood gazing, till within the shadeOf the great mountain its light left them dim;Others outspeeded it; and others made
‘Circles around it, like the clouds that swimRound the high moon in a bright sea of air; _455And more did follow, with exulting hymn,
‘The chariot and the captives fettered there:—But all like bubbles on an eddying floodFell into the same track at last, and were
‘Borne onward.—I among the multitude _460Was swept—me, sweetest flowers delayed not long;Me, not the shadow nor the solitude;
‘Me, not that falling stream’s Lethean song;Me, not the phantom of that early FormWhich moved upon its motion—but among _465
‘The thickest billows of that living stormI plunged, and bared my bosom to the climeOf that cold light, whose airs too soon deform.
‘Before the chariot had begun to climbThe opposing steep of that mysterious dell, _470Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme
‘Of him who from the lowest depths of hell,Through every paradise and through all glory,Love led serene, and who returned to tell
‘The words of hate and awe; the wondrous story _475How all things are transfigured except Love;For deaf as is a sea, which wrath makes hoary,
‘The world can hear not the sweet notes that moveThe sphere whose light is melody to lovers—A wonder worthy of his rhyme.—The grove _480
‘Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers,The earth was gray with phantoms, and the airWas peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers
‘A flock of vampire-bats before the glareOf the tropic sun, bringing, ere evening, _485Strange night upon some Indian isle;—thus were
‘Phantoms diffused around; and some did flingShadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves,Behind them; some like eaglets on the wing
‘Were lost in the white day; others like elves _490Danced in a thousand unimagined shapesUpon the sunny streams and grassy shelves;
‘And others sate chattering like restless apesOn vulgar hands,…Some made a cradle of the ermined capes _495
‘Of kingly mantles; some across the tiarOf pontiffs sate like vultures; others playedUnder the crown which girt with empire
‘A baby’s or an idiot’s brow, and madeTheir nests in it. The old anatomies _500Sate hatching their bare broods under the shade
‘Of daemon wings, and laughed from their dead eyesTo reassume the delegated power,Arrayed in which those worms did monarchize,
‘Who made this earth their charnel. Others more _505Humble, like falcons, sate upon the fistOf common men, and round their heads did soar;
Or like small gnats and flies, as thick as mistOn evening marshes, thronged about the browOf lawyers, statesmen, priest and theorist;— _510
‘And others, like discoloured flakes of snowOn fairest bosoms and the sunniest hair,Fell, and were melted by the youthful glow
‘Which they extinguished; and, like tears, they wereA veil to those from whose faint lids they rained _515In drops of sorrow. I became aware
‘Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stainedThe track in which we moved. After brief space,From every form the beauty slowly waned;
‘From every firmest limb and fairest face _520The strength and freshness fell like dust, and leftThe action and the shape without the grace
‘Of life. The marble brow of youth was cleftWith care; and in those eyes where once hope shone,Desire, like a lioness bereft _525
‘Of her last cub, glared ere it died; each oneOf that great crowd sent forth incessantlyThese shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown
‘In autumn evening from a poplar tree. _530Each like himself and like each other wereAt first; but some distorted seemed to be
‘Obscure clouds, moulded by the casual air;And of this stuff the car’s creative rayWrought all the busy phantoms that were there,
‘As the sun shapes the clouds; thus on the way _535Mask after mask fell from the countenanceAnd form of all; and long before the day
‘Was old, the joy which waked like heaven’s glanceThe sleepers in the oblivious valley, died;And some grew weary of the ghastly dance, _540
‘And fell, as I have fallen, by the wayside;—Those soonest from whose forms most shadows passed,And least of strength and beauty did abide.
‘Then, what is life? I cried.’—
[Published by Miss M. Blind, “Westminster Review”, July, 1870.]
Out of the eastern shadow of the Earth,Amid the clouds upon its margin grayScattered by Night to swathe in its bright birth
In gold and fleecy snow the infant Day,The glorious Sun arose: beneath his light, _5The earth and all…
_10-_17 A widow…sound 1870; omitted here 1824; printed as ‘A Song,’ 1824, page 217. _34, _35 dawn Bathe Mrs. Shelley (later editions); dawn, Bathed 1824, 1839. _63 shunned Boscombe manuscript; spurned 1824, 1839. _70 Of…interspersed Boscombe manuscript; Of grassy paths and wood, lawn-interspersed 1824; wood-lawn-interspersed 1839. _84 form]frown 1824. _93 light…beam]light upon the chariot beam; 1824. _96 it omitted 1824. _109 thunder Boscombe manuscript; thunders 1824; thunder’s 1839. _112 greet Boscombe manuscript; meet 1824, 1839. _129 conqueror or conqueror’s cj. A.C. Bradley. _131-_134 See Editor’s Note. _158 while Boscombe manuscript; omitted 1824, 1839. _167 And…dance 1839 To seek, to [ ], to strain 1824. _168 Seeking 1839; Limping 1824. _188 canst, Mrs. Shelley 1824, 1839, 1847. _189 forborne!’ 1824, 1839, 1847. _190 Feature, (of my thought aware); Mrs. Shelley 1847. _188-_190 The punctuation is A.C. Bradley’s. _202 nutriment Boscombe manuscript; sentiment 1824, 1839. _205 Stain]Stained 1824, 1839. _235 Said my 1824, 1839; Said then my cj. Forman. _238 names which the 1839: name the 1824. _252 how]now cj. Forman. _260 him 1839; omitted 1824. _265 singled for cj. Forman. _280 See Editor’s Note. _281, _282 Even…then Boscombe manuscript; omitted 1824, 1839. _296 camest Boscombe manuscript; comest 1824, 1839. _311 season Boscombe manuscript; year’s dawn 1824, 1839. _322 the Boscombe manuscript; her 1824, 1839. _334 woke cj. A.C. Bradley; wake 1824, 1839. Cf. _296, footnote. _361 Of…and Boscombe manuscript; Out of the deep cavern with 1824, 1839. _363 Glided Boscombe manuscript; She glided 1824, 1839. _377 in Boscombe manuscript; to 1824. _422 The favourite song, Stanco di pascolar le pecorelle, is a Brescian national air.—[MRS. SHELLEY’S NOTE.] _464 early]aery cj. Forman. _475 awe Boscombe manuscript; care 1824. _486 isle Boscombe manuscript; vale 1824. _497 sate like vultures Boscombe manuscript; rode like demons 1824. _515 those]eyes cj. Rossetti. _534 Wrought Boscombe manuscript; Wrapt 1824.
1914.
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[The poems which follow appeared, with a few exceptions, either in the volumes published from time to time by Shelley himself, or in the “Posthumous Poems” of 1824, or in the “Poetical Works” of 1839, of which a second and enlarged edition was published by Mrs. Shelley in the same year. A few made their first appearance in some fugitive publication—such as Leigh Hunt’s “Literary Pocket-Book”—and were subsequently incorporated in the collective editions. In every case the editio princeps and (where this is possible) the exact date of composition are indicated below the title.]
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[Composed March, 1814. Published in Hogg’s “Life of Shelley”, 1858.]
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast;Thy gentle words stir poison there;Thou hast disturbed the only restThat was the portion of despair!Subdued to Duty’s hard control, _5I could have borne my wayward lot:The chains that bind this ruined soulHad cankered then—but crushed it not.
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[Composed at Bracknell, April, 1814. Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon,Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even:Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon,And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven.
Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away! _5Tempt not with one last tear thy friend’s ungentle mood:Thy lover’s eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay:Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; _10Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come,And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth.
The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head:The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet:But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, _15Ere midnight’s frown and morning’s smile, ere thou and peace may meet.
The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose,For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep:Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows;Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. _20
Thou in the grave shalt rest—yet till the phantoms fleeWhich that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile,Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not freeFrom the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile.
NOTE: _6 tear 1816; glance 1839.
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[Composed May, 1814. Published (from the Esdaile manuscript) by Dowden,“Life of Shelley”, 1887.]
Thy look of love has power to calmThe stormiest passion of my soul;Thy gentle words are drops of balmIn life’s too bitter bowl;No grief is mine, but that alone _5These choicest blessings I have known.
Harriet! if all who long to liveIn the warm sunshine of thine eye,That price beyond all pain must give,—Beneath thy scorn to die; _10Then hear thy chosen own too lateHis heart most worthy of thy hate.
Be thou, then, one among mankindWhose heart is harder not for state,Thou only virtuous, gentle, kind, _15Amid a world of hate;And by a slight endurance sealA fellow-being’s lasting weal.
For pale with anguish is his cheek,His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim, _20Thy name is struggling ere he speak,Weak is each trembling limb;In mercy let him not endureThe misery of a fatal cure.
Oh, trust for once no erring guide! _25Bid the remorseless feeling flee;’Tis malice, ’tis revenge, ’tis pride,’Tis anything but thee;Oh, deign a nobler pride to prove,And pity if thou canst not love. _30
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[Composed June, 1814. Published in “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]
1.Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed;Yes, I was firm—thus wert not thou;—My baffled looks did fear yet dreadTo meet thy looks—I could not knowHow anxiously they sought to shine _5With soothing pity upon mine.
2.To sit and curb the soul’s mute rageWhich preys upon itself alone;To curse the life which is the cageOf fettered grief that dares not groan, _10Hiding from many a careless eyeThe scorned load of agony.
3.Whilst thou alone, then not regarded,The … thou alone should be,To spend years thus, and be rewarded, _15As thou, sweet love, requited meWhen none were near—Oh! I did wakeFrom torture for that moment’s sake.
4.Upon my heart thy accents sweetOf peace and pity fell like dew _20On flowers half dead;—thy lips did meetMine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threwTheir soft persuasion on my brain,Charming away its dream of pain.
5.We are not happy, sweet! our state _25Is strange and full of doubt and fear;More need of words that ills abate;—Reserve or censure come not nearOur sacred friendship, lest there beNo solace left for thee and me. _30
6.Gentle and good and mild thou art,Nor can I live if thou appearAught but thyself, or turn thine heartAway from me, or stoop to wearThe mask of scorn, although it be _35To hide the love thou feel’st for me.
NOTES: _2 wert 1839; did 1824. _3 fear 1824, 1839; yearn cj. Rossetti. _23 Their 1839; thy 1824. _30 thee]thou 1824, 1839. _32 can I 1839; I can 1824. _36 feel’st 1839; feel 1824.
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[Published in “Poetical Works”, 1839, 2nd edition. See Editor’s Note.]
Yet look on me—take not thine eyes away,Which feed upon the love within mine own,Which is indeed but the reflected rayOf thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.Yet speak to me—thy voice is as the tone _5Of my heart’s echo, and I think I hearThat thou yet lovest me; yet thou aloneLike one before a mirror, without careOf aught but thine own features, imaged there;
And yet I wear out life in watching thee; _10A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeedArt kind when I am sick, and pity me…
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[Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,Streaking the darkness radiantly!—yet soonNight closes round, and they are lost for ever:
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings _5Give various response to each varying blast,To whose frail frame no second motion bringsOne mood or modulation like the last.
We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep;We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day; _10We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:
It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow,The path of its departure still is free:Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow; _15Nought may endure but Mutability.
NOTES: _15 may 1816; can Lodore, chapter 49, 1835 (Mrs. Shelley). _16 Nought may endure but 1816; Nor aught endure save Lodore, chapter 49, 1835 (Mrs. Shelley).
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[For the date of composition see Editor’s Note.Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
THERE IS NO WORK, NOR DEVICE, NOR KNOWLEDGE, NOR WISDOM,IN THE GRAVE, WHITHER THOU GOEST.—Ecclesiastes.
The pale, the cold, and the moony smileWhich the meteor beam of a starless nightSheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,Ere the dawning of morn’s undoubted light,Is the flame of life so fickle and wanThat flits round our steps till their strength is gone. _5
O man! hold thee on in courage of soulThrough the stormy shades of thy worldly way,And the billows of cloud that around thee rollShall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, _10Where Hell and Heaven shall leave thee freeTo the universe of destiny.
This world is the nurse of all we know,This world is the mother of all we feel,And the coming of death is a fearful blow _15To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel;When all that we know, or feel, or see,Shall pass like an unreal mystery.
The secret things of the grave are there,Where all but this frame must surely be, _20Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous earNo longer will live to hear or to seeAll that is great and all that is strangeIn the boundless realm of unending change.
Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death? _25Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?Who painteth the shadows that are beneathThe wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb?Or uniteth the hopes of what shall beWith the fears and the love for that which we see? _30
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[Composed September, 1815. Published with “Alastor”, 1816.]
The wind has swept from the wide atmosphereEach vapour that obscured the sunset’s ray;And pallid Evening twines its beaming hairIn duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day:Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men, _5Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.
They breathe their spells towards the departing day,Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea;Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway,Responding to the charm with its own mystery. _10The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grassKnows not their gentle motions as they pass.