XVII And at the utmost point. . . stood there XVIII There must have burned within Marenghi's breast That fire, more warm and bright than life and hope, (Which to the martyr makes his dungeon More joyous than free heaven's majestic cope To his oppressor), warring with decay, Or he could ne'er have lived years, day by day. XIX Nor was his state so lone as you might think. He had tamed every newt and snake and toad, XX And the marsh-meteors, like tame beasts, at night XXI He mocked the stars by grouping on each weed XXII And many a fresh Spring morn would he awaken- Of mountains and blue isles which did environ 94 at the utmost point 1870; cancelled for when (where ?) B. B.; or 1870. IOI and 109 freshes B.; omitted, 1870. 118 by 1870; with B. 119 dew-globes B.; dewdrops 1870. 120 languished B.; vanished 1870. 121 path, as on [bare] B.; footprints, as on 1870. 122 silver B.; silence 1870. 95 100 105 110 115 I 20 185 XXIII And in the moonless nights, when the dun ocean Communed with the immeasurable world; XXIV His food was the wild fig and strawberry; XXV 130 135 140 And so were kindled powers and thoughts which made 145 As, when the black storm hurries round at night, XXVI Yet human hopes and cares and faiths and errors, XXVII And, when he saw beneath the sunset's planet Its sails and ropes all tense and without motion, XXVIII The thought of his own kind who made the soul ... 130 And in the moonless nights 1870; cancelled, B. dun B.; dim 1870. wide B.; the 1870. star132 Starting from dreams 1870; cancelled autumnal 1870. 138 or B.; and 1870. 158 athwart B.; across 1870. 131 Heaved 1870; cancelled, B. impearled B.; omitted, 1870. for He B. 137 autumn B.; 155 pennon B.; pennons 1870. 150 155 160 SONNET [Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. Our text is that of the Poetical Works, 1839.] LIFT not the painted veil which those who live FRAGMENT: TO BYRON [Published by Dr. Garnett, Relics of Shelley, 1862.] O MIGHTY mind, in whose deep stream this age Shakes like a reed in the unheeding storm, Why dost thou curb not thine own sacred rage? FRAGMENT: APOSTROPHE TO SILENCE 5 10 [Published by Dr. Garnett, Relics of Shelley, 1862. A transcript by Mrs. Shelley, given to Charles Cowden Clarke, presents one or two variants.] SILENCE! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou Are swallowed up-yet spare me, Spirit, pity me, And it has left these faint and weary limbs, FRAGMENT: THE LAKE'S MARGIN THE fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses Around its margin, heap the sand thereon. 5 Sonnet-6 Their . . . drear 1839; The shadows, which the world calls substance, there 1824. 7 who had lifted 1839; who lifted 1824. Apostrophe-4 Spirit 1862; O Spirit C.C.C. MS. 8 This wandering melody 1862 ; These wandering melodies... C.C.C. MS. FRAGMENT: MY HEAD IS WILD WITH WEEPING' My head is wild with weeping for a grief To seek,-or haply, if I sought, to find; FRAGMENT: THE VINE-SHROUD [Published by W. M. Rossetti, 1870.] FLOURISHING Vine, whose kindling clusters glow The rotting bones of dead antiquity. NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. SHELLEY WE often hear of person's disappointed | wanderings in the environs of Naples, by a first visit to Italy. This was not Shelley's case. The aspect of its nature, its sunny sky, its majestic storms, of the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and the noble marble-built cities, enchanted him. The sight of the works of art was full enjoyment and wonder. He had not studied pictures or statues before; he now did so with the eye of taste, that referred not to the rules of schools, but to those of Nature and truth. The first entrance to Rome opened to him a scene of remains of antique grandeur that far surpassed his expectations; and the unspeakable beauty of Naples and its environs added to the impression he received of the transcendent and glorious beauty of Italy. 5 and our excursions on its sunny sea, yet many hours were passed when his thoughts, shadowed by illness, became gloomy,-and then he escaped to solitude, and in verses, which he hid from fear of wounding me, poured forth morbid but too natural bursts of discontent and sadness. One looks back with unspeakable regret and gnawing remorse to such periods; fancying that, had one been more alive to the nature of his feelings, and more attentive to soothe them, such would not have existed. And yet, enjoying as he appeared to do every sight or influence of earth or sky, it was difficult to imagine that any melancholy he showed was aught but the effect of the constant pain to which he was a martyr. Our winter was spent at Naples. Here he wrote the fragments of Marenghi We lived in utter solitude. And such and The Woodman and the Nightingale, is often not the nurse of cheerfulness; which he afterwards threw aside. At for then, at least with those who have this time, Shelley suffered greatly in been exposed to adversity, the mind health. He put himself under the care broods over its sorrows too intently; of a medical man, who promised great while the society of the enlightened, things, and made him endure severe the witty, and the wise, enables us to bodily pain, without any good results. forget ourselves by making us the Constant and poignant physical suffer- sharers of the thoughts of others, which ing exhausted him; and though he is a portion of the philosophy of happipreserved the appearance of cheerful-ness. Shelley never liked society in ness, and often greatly enjoyed our numbers, -it harassed and wearied him; lectual endowments and moral worth, by the few who knew him well, and had sufficient nobleness of soul to appreciate his superiority. His excellence is now acknowledged; but, even while admitted, not duly appreciated. For who, except those who were acquainted with him, can imagine his unwearied benevolence, his generosity, his systematic forbearance? And still less is his vast superiority in intellectual attainments sufficiently understood-his sagacity, his clear understanding, his learning, his prodigious memory. All these, as displayed in conversation, were known to few while he lived, and are now silent in the tomb: but neither did he like loneliness, and | But no man was ever more enthusiasusually, when alone, sheltered himself tically loved-more looked up to, as against memory and reflection in a book. one superior to his fellows in intelBut, with one or two whom he loved, he gave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversation expounded his opinions with vivacity and eloquence. If an argument arose, no man ever argued better. He was clear, logical, and earnest, in supporting his own views; attentive, patient, and impartial, while listening to those on the adverse side. Had not a wall of prejudice been raised at this time between him and his countrymen, how many would have sought the acquaintance of one whom to know was to love and to revere ! How many of the more enlightened of his contemporaries have since regretted that they did not seek him how very few knew his worth while he lived! and, of those few, several were withheld by timidity or envy from declaring their sense of it. 'Ahi orbo mondo ingrato! Gran cagion hai di dever pianger meco; Chè quel ben ch' era in te, perdut' hai seco.' POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819 LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH [Published by Medwin, The Athenæum, Dec. 8, 1832; reprinted, P. W., 1839. There is a transcript amongst the Harvard MSS., and another in the possession of Mr. C. W. Frederickson of Brooklyn. Variants from these two sources are given by Professor Woodberry, Complete P. W. of P. B. S., Centenary Edition, 1893, vol. iii, pp. 225, 226. The transcripts are referred to in our footnotes as Harvard and Fred. respectively.] I CORPSES are cold in the tomb; Stones on the pavement are dumb; Abortions are dead in the womb, And their mothers look pale-like the death-white shore Of Albion, free no more. II Her sons are as stones in the way- They are trodden, and move not away, The abortion with which she travaileth Is Liberty, smitten to death. 4 death-white Harvard, Fred. ; white 1832, 1839. |