Percy Bysshe Shelley

1. The golden gates of Sleep unbar Where Strength and Beauty, met together,

DEATH: For my dagger is bathed in the blood of the brave, I come, care-worn tenant of life, from the grave,

Rough wind, that moanest loud Grief too sad for song; Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Silver key of the fountain of tears, Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild; Softest grave of a thousand fears,

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

1. O world! O life! O time! On whose last steps I climb,

1. God prosper, speed,and save, God raise from England's grave

The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray; And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair

1. She was an aged woman; and the years Which she had numbered on her toilsome way

'Tis the terror of tempest. The rags of the sail Are flickering in ribbons within the fierce gale: From the stark night of vapours the dim rain is driven,

1. I weep for Adonais--he is dead! Oh weep for Adonais, though our tears

I weep for Adonais - he is dead! O, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

Earth, Ocean, Air, beloved brotherhood! If our great Mother has imbued my soul With aught of natural piety to feel

1. A portal as of shadowy adamant Stands yawning on the highway of the life

Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets' food is love and fame: If in this wide world of care

Arise, arise, arise! There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread; Be your wounds like eyes

No, Music, thou art not the 'food of Love.' Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self, Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.

BOYS SING: Night! with all thine eyes look down! Darkness! weep thy holiest dew!

1. Arethusa arose From her couch of snows

1. The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,

1. How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner, As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,

1. Dares the lama, most fleet of the sons of the wind, The lion to rouse from his skull-covered lair?

1. 'Buona notte, buona notte!' - Come mai La notte sara buona senza te?

There is a voice, not understood by all, Sent from these desert-caves. It is the roar Of the rent ice-cliff which the sunbeams call,

Within a cavern of man's trackless spirit Is throned an Image, so intensely fair That the adventurous thoughts that wander near it

From the cities where from caves, Like the dead from putrid graves, Troops of starvelings gliding come,

Gather, O gather, Foeman and friend in love and peace! Waves sleep together

DRAMATIS PERSONAE: KING CHARLES I. QUEEN HENRIETTA.

1. Death is here and death is there, Death is busy everywhere,

1. They die - the dead return not - Misery Sits near an open grave and calls them over,

Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson. Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. [The "Posthumous Fragments", published at Oxford by Shelley, appeared in November, 1810.]

Ask not the pallid stranger's woe, With beating heart and throbbing breast, Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow,

1. Orphan Hours, the Year is dead, Come and sigh, come and weep!

FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO. Thou wert the morning star among the living, Ere thy fair light had fled; -

FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO. Kissing Helena, together With my kiss, my soul beside it

FROM THE GREEK. Eagle! why soarest thou above that tomb? To what sublime and star-ypaven home

FROM THE GREEK. A man who was about to hang himself, Finding a purse, then threw away his rope;

Sweet Spirit! Sister of that orphan one, Whose empire is the name thou weepest on, In my heart's temple I suspend to thee

These are two friends whose lives were undivided; So let their memory be, now they have glided Under the grave; let not their bones be parted,

1. Hic sinu fessum caput hospitali Cespitis dormit juvenis, nec illi

Night, with all thine eyes look down! Darkness shed its holiest dew! When ever smiled the inconstant moon

O thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line Of western distance that sublime descendest, And, gleaming lovelier as thy beams decline,

1. The sun is set; the swallows are asleep; The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;

How eloquent are eyes! Not the rapt poet's frenzied lay When the soul's wildest feelings stray

I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan To think that a most unambitious slave, Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave

The season was the childhood of sweet June, Whose sunny hours from morning until noon Went creeping through the day with silent feet,

The Elements respect their Maker's seal! Still Like the scathed pine tree's height, Braving the tempests of the night

A shovel of his ashes took From the hearth's obscurest nook, Muttering mysteries as she went.

If gibbets, axes, confiscations, chains, And racks of subtle torture, if the pains Of shame, of fiery Hell's tempestuous wave,

Where man's profane and tainting hand Nature's primaeval loveliness has marred, And some few souls of the high bliss debarred

Ever as now with Love and Virtue's glow May thy unwithering soul not cease to burn, Still may thine heart with those pure thoughts o'erflow

FROM THE GREEK OF BION. I mourn Adonis dead - loveliest Adonis - Dead, dead Adonis - and the Loves lament.

From The Greek Of Moschus. [Published from the Hunt manuscripts by Forman, "Poetical Works of P. B. S.", 1876.] Ye Dorian woods and waves, lament aloud,

ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED - 'Here lieth One whose name was writ on water. But, ere the breath that could erase it blew,

'Twas dead of the night when I sate in my dwelling, One glimmering lamp was expiring and low, - Around the dark tide of the tempest was swelling,

Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson. Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. [The "Posthumous Fragments", published at Oxford by Shelley, appeared in November, 1810.]

What Mary is when she a little smiles I cannot even tell or call to mind, It is a miracle so new, so rare.

Wealth and dominion fade into the mass Of the great sea of human right and wrong, When once from our possession they must pass;

To thirst and find no fill - to wail and wander With short unsteady steps - to pause and ponder - To feel the blood run through the veins and tingle

A gentle story of two lovers young, Who met in innocence and died in sorrow, And of one selfish heart, whose rancour clung

Alas! this is not what I thought life was. I knew that there were crimes and evil men, Misery and hate; nor did I hope to pass

And that I walk thus proudly crowned withal Is that 'tis my distinction; if I fall, I shall not weep out of the vital day,

Follow to the deep wood's weeds, Follow to the wild-briar dingle, Where we seek to intermingle,

Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought Nurtures within its unimagined caves, In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind,

I faint, I perish with my love! I grow Frail as a cloud whose [splendours] pale Under the evening's ever-changing glow:

I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret Which overlooked a wide Metropolis - And in the temple of my heart my Spirit

I would not be a king - enough Of woe it is to love; The path to power is steep and rough,

Is it that in some brighter sphere We part from friends we meet with here? Or do we see the Future pass

Methought I was a billow in the crowd Of common men, that stream without a shore, That ocean which at once is deaf and loud;

My head is wild with weeping for a grief Which is the shadow of a gentle mind. I walk into the air (but no relief

O thou immortal deity Whose throne is in the depth of human thought, I do adjure thy power and thee

Such hope, as is the sick despair of good, Such fear, as is the certainty of ill, Such doubt, as is pale Expectation's food

The death knell is ringing The raven is singing The earth worm is creeping

The rude wind is singing The dirge of the music dead; The cold worms are clinging

The viewless and invisible Consequence Watches thy goings-out, and comings-in, And...hovers o'er thy guilty sleep,

Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun, To rise upon our darkness, if the star Now beckoning thee out of thy misty throne

Wake the serpent not - lest he Should not know the way to go, - Let him crawl which yet lies sleeping

What men gain fairly - that they should possess, And children may inherit idleness, From him who earns it - This is understood;

1. When a lover clasps his fairest, Then be our dread sport the rarest.

When soft winds and sunny skies With the green earth harmonize, And the young and dewy dawn,

Ye gentle visitations of calm thought - Moods like the memories of happier earth, Which come arrayed in thoughts of little worth,

1. In the cave which wild weeds cover Wait for thine aethereal lover;

His face was like a snake's - wrinkled and loose And withered -

One sung of thee who left the tale untold, Like the false dawns which perish in the bursting; Like empty cups of wrought and daedal gold,

He wanders, like a day-appearing dream, Through the dim wildernesses of the mind; Through desert woods and tracts, which seem

Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou Three brethren named, the guardians gloomy-winged Of one abyss, where life, and truth, and joy

Thy beauty hangs around thee like Splendour around the moon - Thy voice, as silver bells that strike

My head is heavy, my limbs are weary, And it is not life that makes me move.

Dear home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys, The least of which wronged Memory ever makes Bitterer than all thine unremembered tears.

The babe is at peace within the womb; The corpse is at rest within the tomb: We begin in what we end.

And who feels discord now or sorrow? Love is the universe to-day - These are the slaves of dim to-morrow,

There is a warm and gentle atmosphere About the form of one we love, and thus As in a tender mist our spirits are

When May is painting with her colours gay The landscape sketched by April her sweet twin...

I dreamed that Milton's spirit rose, and took From life's green tree his Uranian lute; And from his touch sweet thunder flowed, and shook

How sweet it is to sit and read the tales Of mighty poets and to hear the while Sweet music, which when the attention fails

Hark! the owlet flaps his wings In the pathless dell beneath; Hark! 'tis the night-raven sings

Serene in his unconquerable might Endued[,] the Almighty King, his steadfast throne Encompassed unapproachably with power

The fitful alternations of the rain, When the chill wind, languid as with pain Of its own heavy moisture, here and there

The gentleness of rain was in the wind.

Rome has fallen, ye see it lying Heaped in undistinguished ruin: Nature is alone undying.

A golden-winged Angel stood Before the Eternal Judgement-seat: His looks were wild, and Devils' blood

Is not to-day enough? Why do I peer Into the darkness of the day to come? Is not to-morrow even as yesterday?

Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson. Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. [The "Posthumous Fragments", published at Oxford by Shelley, appeared in November, 1810.]

I went into the deserts of dim sleep - That world which, like an unknown wilderness, Bounds this with its recesses wide and deep -

'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest The wreath to mighty poets only due, Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?

Faint with love, the Lady of the South Lay in the paradise of Lebanon Under a heaven of cedar boughs: the drouth

The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses Track not the steps of him who drinks of it; For the light breezes, which for ever fleet

And where is truth? On tombs? for such to thee Has been my heart - and thy dead memory Has lain from childhood, many a changeful year,

Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee; For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below

My thoughts arise and fade in solitude, The verse that would invest them melts away Like moonlight in the heaven of spreading day:

For me, my friend, if not that tears did tremble In my faint eyes, and that my heart beat fast With feelings which make rapture pain resemble,

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?

As the sunrise to the night, As the north wind to the clouds, As the earthquake's fiery flight,

My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing, Far far away into the regions dim

Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues Clothest this naked world; and over Sea And Earth and air, and all the shapes that be

Bright wanderer, fair coquette of Heaven, To whom alone it has been given To change and be adored for ever,

People of England, ye who toil and groan, Who reap the harvests which are not your own, Who weave the clothes which your oppressors wear,

I am as a spirit who has dwelt Within his heart of hearts, and I have felt His feelings, and have thought his thoughts, and known

I am drunk with the honey wine Of the moon-unfolded eglantine, Which fairies catch in hyacinth bowls.

Come, thou awakener of the spirit's ocean, Zephyr, whom to thy cloud or cave No thought can trace! speed with thy gentle motion!

1. Those whom nor power, nor lying faith, nor toil, Nor custom, queen of many slaves, makes blind,

1. Fairest of the Destinies, Disarray thy dazzling eyes:

1. My faint spirit was sitting in the light Of thy looks, my love;

Tan ala tan glaukan otan onemos atrema Balle - k.t.l. When winds that move not its calm surface sweep The azure sea, I love the land no more;

1. The world is now our dwelling-place; Where'er the earth one fading trace

[VERSES 360 ET SEQ.] And the cloven waters like a chasm of mountains Stood, and received him in its mighty portal

Melodious Arethusa, o'er my verse Shed thou once more the spirit of thy stream: Who denies verse to Gallus? So, when thou

The idea of the following tale was taken from a few unconnected German Stanzas. - The principal Character is evidently the Wandering Jew, and although not mentioned by name, the burning Cross on his forehead undoubtedly alludes to that superstition, so prevalent in the part of Germany called the Black Forest, where this scene is supposed to lie. Hark! the owlet flaps her wing, In the pathless dell beneath,

Wild, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one Who staggers forth into the air and sun From the dark chamber of a mortal fever,

1. Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill Which severs those it should unite;

HERALD OF ETERNITY: It is the day when all the sons of God Wait in the roofless senate-house, whose floor

Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twins of Jove, Whom the fair-ankled Leda, mixed in love With mighty Saturn's Heaven-obscuring Child,

I sing the glorious Power with azure eyes, Athenian Pallas! tameless, chaste, and wise, Tritogenia, town-preserving Maid,

O universal Mother, who dost keep From everlasting thy foundations deep, Eldest of things, Great Earth, I sing of thee!

Daughters of Jove, whose voice is melody, Muses, who know and rule all minstrelsy Sing the wide-winged Moon! Around the earth,

Offspring of Jove, Calliope, once more To the bright Sun, thy hymn of music pour; Whom to the child of star-clad Heaven and Earth

Muse, sing the deeds of golden Aphrodite, Who wakens with her smile the lulled delight Of sweet desire, taming the eternal kings

1. The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie, Curtained with star-inwoven tapestries

1. From the forests and highlands We come, we come;

1. The awful shadow of some unseen Power Floats though unseen among us, - visiting

1. Sing, Muse, the son of Maia and of Jove, The Herald-child, king of Arcadia

Inter marmoreas Leonorae pendula colles Fortunata nimis Machina dicit horas. Quas MANIBUS premit illa duas insensa papillas

1. Come, be happy! - sit near me, Shadow-vested Misery:

I rode one evening with Count Maddalo Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand

LEGHORN, July 1, 1820.] The spider spreads her webs, whether she be In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;

1. The fiery mountains answer each other; Their thunderings are echoed from zone to zone;

1. Honey from silkworms who can gather, Or silk from the yellow bee?

Alas, good friend, what profit can you see In hating such a hateless thing as me? There is no sport in hate where all the rage

Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan,

1. Corpses are cold in the tomb; Stones on the pavement are dumb;

She left me at the silent time When the moon had ceased to climb The azure path of Heaven's steep,

What! alive and so bold, O Earth? Art thou not overbold? What! leapest thou forth as of old

1. Far, far away, O ye Halcyons of Memory,

1. That time is dead for ever, child! Drowned, frozen, dead for ever!

1. We meet not as we parted, We feel more than all may see;

1. When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead -

1. The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean,

1. Hopes, that swell in youthful breasts, Live not through the waste of time!

And many there were hurt by that strong boy, His name, they said, was Pleasure, And near him stood, glorious beyond measure

Why is it said thou canst not live In a youthful breast and fair, Since thou eternal life canst give,

1. Let those who pine in pride or in revenge, Or think that ill for ill should be repaid,

1. A pale Dream came to a Lady fair, And said, A boon, a boon, I pray!

From The Purgatorio Of Dante, Canto 28, Lines 1-51. And earnest to explore within - around - The divine wood, whose thick green living woof

Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson. Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. [The "Posthumous Fragments", published at Oxford by Shelley, appeared in November, 1810.]

Mighty eagle! thou that soarest O'er the misty mountain forest, And amid the light of morning

1. The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,

1. I pant for the music which is divine, My heart in its thirst is a dying flower;

1. The flower that smiles to-day To-morrow dies;

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly! - yet soon

This morn thy gallant bark Sailed on a sunny sea: 'Tis noon, and tempests dark

O that a chariot of cloud were mine! Of cloud which the wild tempest weaves in air, When the moon over the ocean's line

CHORUS OF SPIRITS: FIRST SPIRIT: Palace-roof of cloudless nights!

Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying, Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind. - BYRON. 1.

EPODE 1a. I stood within the City disinterred; And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls

1. O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

DRAMATIS PERSONAE. TYRANT SWELLFOOT, KING OF THEBES. IONA TAURINA, HIS QUEEN.

1. The odour from the flower is gone Which like thy kisses breathed on me;

By the mossy brink, With me the Prince shall sit and think; Shall muse in visioned Regency,

1. Oh! take the pure gem to where southerly breezes, Waft repose to some bosom as faithful as fair,

THERE IS NO WORK, NOR DEVICE, NOR KNOWLEDGE, NOR WISDOM, IN THE GRAVE, WHITHER THOU GOEST. - Ecclesiastes. The pale, the cold, and the moony smile Which the meteor beam of a starless night

Her voice did quiver as we parted, Yet knew I not that heart was broken From which it came, and I departed

Hail to thee, Cambria! for the unfettered wind Which from thy wilds even now methinks I feel, Chasing the clouds that roll in wrath behind,

6. No trump tells thy virtues - the grave where they rest With thy dust shall remain unpolluted by fame,

1. Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,

1. It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky, Upon the cloudy mountain-peak supine;

[Published by Shelley, 1810. A Reprint, edited by Richard Garnett, C.B., LL.D., was issued by John Lane, in 1898. The punctuation of the original edition is here retained.] A Person complained that whenever he began to write, he never could arrange his ideas in grammatical order. Which occasion suggested the idea of the following lines: 1.

A: Not far from hence. From yonder pointed hill, Crowned with a ring of oaks, you may behold

1. Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou couldst not be, Last of the Romans, though thy memory claim

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,

Pan loved his neighbour Echo - but that child Of Earth and Air pined for the Satyr leaping; The Satyr loved with wasting madness wild

Listen, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar,

PROLOGUE. Peter Bells, one, two and three, O'er the wide world wandering be. -

PART 1. There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel, Had grown quite weak and gray before his time;

DRAMATIS PERSONAE. PROMETHEUS. DEMOGORGON.

[An edition (250 copies) of "Queen Mab" was printed at London in the summer of 1813 by Shelley himself, whose name, as author and printer, appears on the title-page. Of this edition about seventy copies were privately distributed. Sections 1, 2, 8, and 9 were afterwards rehandled, and the intermediate sections here and there revised and altered; and of this new text sections 1 and 2 were published by Shelley in the "Alastor" volume of 1816, under the title, "The Daemon of the World". The remainder lay unpublished till 1876, when sections 8 and 9 were printed by Mr. H. Buxton Forman, C.B., from a printed copy of "Queen Mab" with Shelley's manuscript corrections. "Queen Mab" was probably written during the year 1812 - it is first heard of at Lynmouth, August 18, 1812 - but the text may be assumed to include earlier material.] ECRASEZ L'INFAME! - Correspondance de Voltaire.

1. Swifter far than summer's flight - Swifter far than youth's delight -

'Ah! quit me not yet, for the wind whistles shrill, Its blast wanders mournfully over the hill, The thunder's wild voice rattles madly above,

ROSALIND, HELEN, AND HER CHILD. SCENE. THE SHORE OF THE LAKE OF COMO. HELEN:

Oh! did you observe the Black Canon pass, And did you observe his frown? He goeth to say the midnight mass,

MADDALO, A COURTIER. MALPIGLIO, A POET. PIGNA, A MINISTER.

SCENE 1. - PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. THE LORD AND THE HOST OF HEAVEN. ENTER THREE ARCHANGELS.

SCENE 1: ENTER CYPRIAN, DRESSED AS A STUDENT; CLARIN AND MOSCON AS POOR SCHOLARS, WITH BOOKS.

1. As from an ancestral oak Two empty ravens sound their clarion,

1. The death-bell beats! - The mountain repeats

1. I loved - alas! our life is love; But when we cease to breathe and move

See yon opening flower Spreads its fragrance to the blast; It fades within an hour,

1. Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom

1. Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low?

Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling, Cold are the damps on a dying man's brow, - Stern are the seas when the wild waves are rolling,

Come [Harriet]! sweet is the hour, Soft Zephyrs breathe gently around, The anemone's night-boding flower,

And said I that all hope was fled, That sorrow and despair were mine, That each enthusiast wish was dead,

Stern, stern is the voice of fate's fearful command, When accents of horror it breathes in our ear, Or compels us for aye bid adieu to the land,

Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain, And sweet the mild rush of the soft-sighing breeze, And sweet is the glimpse of yon dimly-seen mountain,

Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couch the fell spear, If vengeance and death to thy bosom be dear, The dastard shall perish, death's torment shall prove,

Oh! what is the gain of restless care, And what is ambitious treasure? And what are the joys that the modish share,

[I am afraid these verses will not please you, but] If I esteemed you less, Envy would kill Pleasure, and leave to Wonder and Despair

Lift not the painted veil which those who live Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there, And it but mimic all we would believe

Ye hasten to the grave! What seek ye there, Ye restless thoughts and busy purposes Of the idle brain, which the world's livery wear?

GUIDO CAVALCANTI TO DANTE ALIGHIERI: Returning from its daily quest, my Spirit Changed thoughts and vile in thee doth weep to find:

Dante Alighieri To Guido Cavalcanti: Guido, I would that Lapo, thou, and I, Led by some strong enchantment, might ascend

Vessels of heavenly medicine! may the breeze Auspicious waft your dark green forms to shore; Safe may ye stem the wide surrounding roar

Bright ball of flame that through the gloom of even Silently takest thine aethereal way, And with surpassing glory dimm'st each ray

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king, - Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn, - mud from a muddy spring, -

Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame, Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts, Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;

To me this world's a dreary blank, All hopes in life are gone and fled, My high strung energies are sank,

1. How swiftly through Heaven's wide expanse Bright day's resplendent colours fade!

Tremble, Kings despised of man! Ye traitors to your Country, Tremble! Your parricidal plan

Thy dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy gentle words stir poison there; Thou hast disturbed the only rest

If I walk in Autumn's even While the dead leaves pass, If I look on Spring's soft heaven, -

Translated By Medwin And Corrected By Shelley. [Published by Medwin, "Life of Shelley", 1847, with Shelley's corrections in ''.] 1.

1. The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright,

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,

It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Towards the end of the sunny month of June, When the north wind congregates in crowds

1. 'Do you not hear the Aziola cry? Methinks she must be nigh,'

At the creation of the Earth Pleasure, that divinest birth, From the soil of Heaven did rise,

Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream, Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream, The helm sways idly, hither and thither;

DRAMATIS PERSONAE: COUNT FRANCESCO CENCI. GIACOMO, BERNARDO, HIS SONS.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid

SILENUS. ULYSSES. CHORUS OF SATYRS.

PART 1. Nec tantum prodere vati, Quantum scire licet. Venit aetas omnis in unam

1. Once, early in the morning, Beelzebub arose, With care his sweet person adorning,

Old winter was gone In his weakness back to the mountains hoar, And the spring came down

1. Ah! faint are her limbs, and her footstep is weary, Yet far must the desolate wanderer roam;

1. Ye who intelligent the Third Heaven move, Hear the discourse which is within my heart,

1. The waters are flashing, The white hail is dashing,

1. I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night,

The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light May sink into ne'er ending chaos and night, Our mansions must fall, and earth vanish away,

There was a little lawny islet By anemone and violet, Like mosaic, paven:

1. 'Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain; My hand is on thy brow,

1. As I lay asleep in Italy There came a voice from over the Sea,

1. Wilt thou forget the happy hours Which we buried in Love's sweet bowers,

Dearest, best and brightest, Come away, To the woods and to the fields!

1. I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way, Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring,

A scene, which 'wildered fancy viewed In the soul's coldest solitude, With that same scene when peaceful love

1. When the last hope of trampled France had failed Like a brief dream of unremaining glory,

1. Was there a human spirit in the steed, That thus with his proud voice, ere night was gone,

1. She saw me not - she heard me not - alone Upon the mountain's dizzy brink she stood;

1. The transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness Spread through the multitudinous streets, fast flying

1. The starlight smile of children, the sweet looks Of women, the fair breast from which I fed,

1. What thoughts had sway o'er Cythna's lonely slumber That night, I know not; but my own did seem

1. The old man took the oars, and soon the bark Smote on the beach beside a tower of stone;

1. Over the utmost hill at length I sped, A snowy steep: - the moon was hanging low

1. Beside the dimness of the glimmering sea, Weaving swift language from impassioned themes,

1. So we sate joyous as the morning ray Which fed upon the wrecks of night and storm

1. 'I sate beside the Steersman then, and gazing Upon the west, cried, "Spread the sails! Behold!

1. 'That night we anchored in a woody bay, And sleep no more around us dared to hover

1. So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, And I return to thee, mine own heart's home;

(As revised by Mr. C.D. Locock.) Melodious Arethusa, o'er my verse Shed thou once more the spirit of thy stream:

PART 1. A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew,

1. Dar'st thou amid the varied multitude To live alone, an isolated thing?

Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson. Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. [The "Posthumous Fragments", published at Oxford by Shelley, appeared in November, 1810.]

There late was One within whose subtle being, As light and wind within some delicate cloud That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky,

Amid the desolation of a city, Which was the cradle, and is now the grave Of an extinguished people, - so that Pity

Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory and of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, and the mask

FIRST SPIRIT: O thou, who plumed with strong desire Wouldst float above the earth, beware!

Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He Who dares arrest the wheels of destiny And plunge me in the lowest Hell of Hells?

And like a dying lady, lean and pale, Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil, Out of her chamber, led by the insane

1. Before those cruel Twins, whom at one birth Incestuous Change bore to her father Time,

A woodman whose rough heart was out of tune (I think such hearts yet never came to good) Hated to hear, under the stars or moon,

1. Tell me, thou Star, whose wings of light Speed thee in thy fiery flight,

1. Summer was dead and Autumn was expiring, And infant Winter laughed upon the land

1. Like the ghost of a dear friend dead Is Time long past.

Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years, Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe Are brackish with the salt of human tears!

1. I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, Thou needest not fear mine;

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory - Odours, when sweet violets sicken,

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it,

Sweet star, which gleaming o'er the darksome scene Through fleecy clouds of silvery radiance fliest, Spanglet of light on evening's shadowy veil,

1. Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die, Perchance were death indeed! - Constantia, turn!

1. The rose that drinks the fountain dew In the pleasant air of noon,

Death! where is thy victory? To triumph whilst I die, To triumph whilst thine ebon wing

1. The serpent is shut out from Paradise. The wounded deer must seek the herb no more

1. Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me Sweet-basil and mignonette?

Thy look of love has power to calm The stormiest passion of my soul; Thy gentle words are drops of balm

It is not blasphemy to hope that Heaven More perfectly will give those nameless joys Which throb within the pulses of the blood

I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake; Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek, Thy tender frame, so eloquently weak,

1. Bear witness, Erin! when thine injured isle Sees summer on its verdant pastures smile,

1. The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among them,

Best and brightest, come away! Fairer far than this fair Day, Which, like thee to those in sorrow,

1. Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou,

1. How, my dear Mary, are you critic-bitten (For vipers kill, though dead) by some review,

O Mary dear, that you were here With your brown eyes bright and clear. And your sweet voice, like a bird

The world is dreary, And I am weary Of wandering on without thee, Mary;

My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone, And left me in this dreary world alone? Thy form is here indeed - a lovely one -

1. Maiden, quench the glare of sorrow Struggling in thine haggard eye:

1. Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, I was firm - thus wert not thou; -

For your letter, dear - [Hattie], accept my best thanks, Rendered long and amusing by virtue of franks, Though concise they would please, yet the longer the better,

1. Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night!

1. Thou art fair, and few are fairer Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean;

1. Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm

1. Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,

1. Moonbeam, leave the shadowy vale, To bathe this burning brow.

Month after month the gathered rains descend Drenching yon secret Aethiopian dells, And from the desert's ice-girt pinnacles

1. Shall we roam, my love, To the twilight grove,

1. Brothers! between you and me Whirlwinds sweep and billows roar:

1. The billows on the beach are leaping around it, The bark is weak and frail,

(With what truth may I say - Roma! Roma! Roma! Non e piu come era prima!)

Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know That things depart which never may return: Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow,

Where art thou, beloved To-morrow? When young and old, and strong and weak, Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,

(Published by Medwin, "Life of Shelley", 1847, with Shelley's corrections in italics [''].) INFERNO 33, 22-75. [Translated by Medwin and corrected by Shelley.]

As a violet's gentle eye Gazes on the azure sky Until its hue grows like what it beholds;

1. A cat in distress, Nothing more, nor less;

1. 'Twas dead of the night, when I sat in my dwelling; One glimmering lamp was expiring and low;

Posthumous Fragments Of Margaret Mcholson. Being Poems found amongst the Papers of that noted Female who attempted the life of the King in 1786. Edited by John Fitzvictor. [The "Posthumous Fragments", published at Oxford by Shelley, appeared in November, 1810.]

Ariel to Miranda: - Take This slave of Music, for the sake Of him who is the slave of thee,