_602-3 See Editor's Note.

(_583 A famous river in the new Atlantis of the Dynastophylic Pantisocratists.—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.])

(_588 See the description of the beautiful colours produced during the agonizing death of a number of trout, in the fourth part of a long poem in blank verse, published within a few years. ["The Excursion", 8 2 568-71.—Ed.] That poem contains curious evidence of the gradual hardening of a strong but circumscribed sensibility, of the perversion of a penetrating but panic-stricken understanding. The author might have derived a lesson which he had probably forgotten from these sweet and sublime verses:—

'This lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, Taught both by what she (Nature) shows and what conceals, Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.'—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.])

(_652 It is curious to observe how often extremes meet. Cobbett and Peter use the same language for a different purpose: Peter is indeed a sort of metrical Cobbett. Cobbett is, however, more mischievous than Peter, because he pollutes a holy and how unconquerable cause with the principles of legitimate murder; whilst the other only makes a bad one ridiculous and odious.

If either Peter or Cobbett should see this note, each will feel more indignation at being compared to the other than at any censure implied in the moral perversion laid to their charge.—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.])

NOTE ON PETER BELL THE THIRD, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

In this new edition I have added "Peter Bell the Third". A critique on Wordsworth's "Peter Bell" reached us at Leghorn, which amused Shelley exceedingly, and suggested this poem.

I need scarcely observe that nothing personal to the author of "Peter Bell" is intended in this poem. No man ever admired Wordsworth's poetry more;—he read it perpetually, and taught others to appreciate its beauties. This poem is, like all others written by Shelley, ideal. He conceived the idealism of a poet—a man of lofty and creative genius—quitting the glorious calling of discovering and announcing the beautiful and good, to support and propagate ignorant prejudices and pernicious errors; imparting to the unenlightened, not that ardour for truth and spirit of toleration which Shelley looked on as the sources of the moral improvement and happiness of mankind, but false and injurious opinions, that evil was good, and that ignorance and force were the best allies of purity and virtue. His idea was that a man gifted, even as transcendently as the author of "Peter Bell", with the highest qualities of genius, must, if he fostered such errors, be infected with dulness. This poem was written as a warning—not as a narration of the reality. He was unacquainted personally with Wordsworth, or with Coleridge (to whom he alludes in the fifth part of the poem), and therefore, I repeat, his poem is purely ideal;—it contains something of criticism on the compositions of those great poets, but nothing injurious to the men themselves.

No poem contains more of Shelley's peculiar views with regard to the errors into which many of the wisest have fallen, and the pernicious effects of certain opinions on society. Much of it is beautifully written: and, though, like the burlesque drama of "Swellfoot", it must be looked on as a plaything, it has so much merit and poetry—so much of HIMSELF in it—that it cannot fail to interest greatly, and by right belongs to the world for whose instruction and benefit it was written.

***

LETTER TO MARIA GISBORNE.

[Composed during Shelley's occupation of the Gisbornes' house at Leghorn, July, 1820; published in "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Sources of the text are (1) a draft in Shelley's hand, 'partly illegible' (Forman), amongst the Boscombe manuscripts; (2) a transcript by Mrs. Shelley; (3) the editio princeps, 1824; the text in "Poetical Works", 1839, let and 2nd editions. Our text is that of Mrs. Shelley's transcript, modified by the Boscombe manuscript. Here, as elsewhere in this edition, the readings of the editio princeps are preserved in the footnotes.]

LEGHORN, July 1, 1820.]

The spider spreads her webs, whether she be In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree; The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leaves His winding sheet and cradle ever weaves; So I, a thing whom moralists call worm, 5 Sit spinning still round this decaying form, From the fine threads of rare and subtle thought— No net of words in garish colours wrought To catch the idle buzzers of the day— But a soft cell, where when that fades away, 10 Memory may clothe in wings my living name And feed it with the asphodels of fame, Which in those hearts which must remember me Grow, making love an immortality.

Whoever should behold me now, I wist, _15 Would think I were a mighty mechanist, Bent with sublime Archimedean art To breathe a soul into the iron heart Of some machine portentous, or strange gin, Which by the force of figured spells might win _20 Its way over the sea, and sport therein; For round the walls are hung dread engines, such As Vulcan never wrought for Jove to clutch Ixion or the Titan:—or the quick Wit of that man of God, St. Dominic, _25 To convince Atheist, Turk, or Heretic, Or those in philanthropic council met, Who thought to pay some interest for the debt They owed to Jesus Christ for their salvation, By giving a faint foretaste of damnation _30 To Shakespeare, Sidney, Spenser, and the rest Who made our land an island of the blest, When lamp-like Spain, who now relumes her fire On Freedom's hearth, grew dim with Empire:— With thumbscrews, wheels, with tooth and spike and jag, _35 Which fishers found under the utmost crag Of Cornwall and the storm-encompassed isles, Where to the sky the rude sea rarely smiles Unless in treacherous wrath, as on the morn When the exulting elements in scorn, _40 Satiated with destroyed destruction, lay Sleeping in beauty on their mangled prey, As panthers sleep;—and other strange and dread Magical forms the brick floor overspread,— Proteus transformed to metal did not make _45 More figures, or more strange; nor did he take Such shapes of unintelligible brass, Or heap himself in such a horrid mass Of tin and iron not to be understood; And forms of unimaginable wood, _50 To puzzle Tubal Cain and all his brood: Great screws, and cones, and wheels, and grooved blocks, The elements of what will stand the shocks Of wave and wind and time.—Upon the table More knacks and quips there be than I am able _55 To catalogize in this verse of mine:— A pretty bowl of wood—not full of wine, But quicksilver; that dew which the gnomes drink When at their subterranean toil they swink, Pledging the demons of the earthquake, who _60 Reply to them in lava—cry halloo! And call out to the cities o'er their head,— Roofs, towers, and shrines, the dying and the dead, Crash through the chinks of earth—and then all quaff Another rouse, and hold their sides and laugh. _65 This quicksilver no gnome has drunk—within The walnut bowl it lies, veined and thin, In colour like the wake of light that stains The Tuscan deep, when from the moist moon rains The inmost shower of its white fire—the breeze _70 Is still—blue Heaven smiles over the pale seas. And in this bowl of quicksilver—for I Yield to the impulse of an infancy Outlasting manhood—I have made to float A rude idealism of a paper boat:— _75 A hollow screw with cogs—Henry will know The thing I mean and laugh at me,—if so He fears not I should do more mischief.—Next Lie bills and calculations much perplexed, With steam-boats, frigates, and machinery quaint _80 Traced over them in blue and yellow paint. Then comes a range of mathematical Instruments, for plans nautical and statical, A heap of rosin, a queer broken glass With ink in it;—a china cup that was _85 What it will never be again, I think,— A thing from which sweet lips were wont to drink The liquor doctors rail at—and which I Will quaff in spite of them—and when we die We'll toss up who died first of drinking tea, _90 And cry out,—'Heads or tails?' where'er we be. Near that a dusty paint-box, some odd hooks, A half-burnt match, an ivory block, three books, Where conic sections, spherics, logarithms, To great Laplace, from Saunderson and Sims, _95 Lie heaped in their harmonious disarray Of figures,—disentangle them who may. Baron de Tott's Memoirs beside them lie, And some odd volumes of old chemistry. Near those a most inexplicable thing, _100 With lead in the middle—I'm conjecturing How to make Henry understand; but no— I'll leave, as Spenser says, with many mo, This secret in the pregnant womb of time, Too vast a matter for so weak a rhyme. _105

And here like some weird Archimage sit I, Plotting dark spells, and devilish enginery, The self-impelling steam-wheels of the mind Which pump up oaths from clergymen, and grind The gentle spirit of our meek reviews _110 Into a powdery foam of salt abuse, Ruffling the ocean of their self-content;— I sit—and smile or sigh as is my bent, But not for them—Libeccio rushes round With an inconstant and an idle sound, _115 I heed him more than them—the thunder-smoke Is gathering on the mountains, like a cloak Folded athwart their shoulders broad and bare; The ripe corn under the undulating air Undulates like an ocean;—and the vines _120 Are trembling wide in all their trellised lines— The murmur of the awakening sea doth fill The empty pauses of the blast;—the hill Looks hoary through the white electric rain, And from the glens beyond, in sullen strain, _125 The interrupted thunder howls; above One chasm of Heaven smiles, like the eye of Love On the unquiet world;—while such things are, How could one worth your friendship heed the war Of worms? the shriek of the world's carrion jays, _130 Their censure, or their wonder, or their praise?

You are not here! the quaint witch Memory sees, In vacant chairs, your absent images, And points where once you sat, and now should be But are not.—I demand if ever we 135 Shall meet as then we met;—and she replies. Veiling in awe her second-sighted eyes; 'I know the past alone—but summon home My sister Hope,—she speaks of all to come.' But I, an old diviner, who knew well 140 Every false verse of that sweet oracle, Turned to the sad enchantress once again, And sought a respite from my gentle pain, In citing every passage o'er and o'er Of our communion—how on the sea-shore 145 We watched the ocean and the sky together, Under the roof of blue Italian weather; How I ran home through last year's thunder-storm, And felt the transverse lightning linger warm Upon my cheek—and how we often made 150 Feasts for each other, where good will outweighed The frugal luxury of our country cheer, As well it might, were it less firm and clear Than ours must ever be;—and how we spun A shroud of talk to hide us from the sun 155 Of this familiar life, which seems to be But is not:—or is but quaint mockery Of all we would believe, and sadly blame The jarring and inexplicable frame Of this wrong world:—and then anatomize 160 The purposes and thoughts of men whose eyes Were closed in distant years;—or widely guess The issue of the earth's great business, When we shall be as we no longer are— Like babbling gossips safe, who hear the war 165 Of winds, and sigh, but tremble not;—or how You listened to some interrupted flow Of visionary rhyme,—in joy and pain Struck from the inmost fountains of my brain, With little skill perhaps;—or how we sought 170 Those deepest wells of passion or of thought Wrought by wise poets in the waste of years, Staining their sacred waters with our tears; Quenching a thirst ever to be renewed! Or how I, wisest lady! then endued 175 The language of a land which now is free, And, winged with thoughts of truth and majesty, Flits round the tyrant's sceptre like a cloud, And bursts the peopled prisons, and cries aloud, 'My name is Legion!'—that majestic tongue 180 Which Calderon over the desert flung Of ages and of nations; and which found An echo in our hearts, and with the sound Startled oblivion;—thou wert then to me As is a nurse—when inarticulately 185 A child would talk as its grown parents do. If living winds the rapid clouds pursue, If hawks chase doves through the aethereal way, Huntsmen the innocent deer, and beasts their prey, Why should not we rouse with the spirit's blast 190 Out of the forest of the pathless past These recollected pleasures? You are now In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more. 195 Yet in its depth what treasures! You will see That which was Godwin,—greater none than he Though fallen—and fallen on evil times—to stand Among the spirits of our age and land, Before the dread tribunal of "to come" 200 The foremost,—while Rebuke cowers pale and dumb. You will see Coleridge—he who sits obscure In the exceeding lustre and the pure Intense irradiation of a mind, Which, with its own internal lightning blind, 200 Flags wearily through darkness and despair— A cloud-encircled meteor of the air, A hooded eagle among blinking owls.— You will see Hunt—one of those happy souls Which are the salt of the earth, and without whom 210 This world would smell like what it is—a tomb; Who is, what others seem; his room no doubt Is still adorned with many a cast from Shout, With graceful flowers tastefully placed about; And coronals of bay from ribbons hung, 215 And brighter wreaths in neat disorder flung; The gifts of the most learned among some dozens Of female friends, sisters-in-law, and cousins. And there is he with his eternal puns, Which beat the dullest brain for smiles, like duns 220 Thundering for money at a poet's door; Alas! it is no use to say, 'I'm poor!' Or oft in graver mood, when he will look Things wiser than were ever read in book, Except in Shakespeare's wisest tenderness.— 225 You will see Hogg,—and I cannot express His virtues,—though I know that they are great, Because he locks, then barricades the gate Within which they inhabit;—of his wit And wisdom, you'll cry out when you are bit. 230 He is a pearl within an oyster shell. One of the richest of the deep;—and there Is English Peacock, with his mountain Fair, Turned into a Flamingo;—that shy bird That gleams i' the Indian air—have you not heard 235 When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo, His best friends hear no more of him?—but you Will see him, and will like him too, I hope, With the milk-white Snowdonian Antelope Matched with this cameleopard—his fine wit 240 Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it; A strain too learned for a shallow age, Too wise for selfish bigots; let his page, Which charms the chosen spirits of the time, Fold itself up for the serener clime 245 Of years to come, and find its recompense In that just expectation.—Wit and sense, Virtue and human knowledge; all that might Make this dull world a business of delight, Are all combined in Horace Smith.—And these. 250 With some exceptions, which I need not tease Your patience by descanting on,—are all You and I know in London. I recall My thoughts, and bid you look upon the night. As water does a sponge, so the moonlight 255 Fills the void, hollow, universal air— What see you?—unpavilioned Heaven is fair, Whether the moon, into her chamber gone, Leaves midnight to the golden stars, or wan Climbs with diminished beams the azure steep; 260 Or whether clouds sail o'er the inverse deep, Piloted by the many-wandering blast, And the rare stars rush through them dim and fast:— All this is beautiful in every land.— But what see you beside?—a shabby stand 265 Of Hackney coaches—a brick house or wall Fencing some lonely court, white with the scrawl Of our unhappy politics;—or worse— A wretched woman reeling by, whose curse Mixed with the watchman's, partner of her trade, 270 You must accept in place of serenade— Or yellow-haired Pollonia murmuring To Henry, some unutterable thing. I see a chaos of green leaves and fruit Built round dark caverns, even to the root 275 Of the living stems that feed them—in whose bowers There sleep in their dark dew the folded flowers; Beyond, the surface of the unsickled corn Trembles not in the slumbering air, and borne In circles quaint, and ever-changing dance, 280 Like winged stars the fire-flies flash and glance, Pale in the open moonshine, but each one Under the dark trees seems a little sun, A meteor tamed; a fixed star gone astray From the silver regions of the milky way;— 285 Afar the Contadino's song is heard, Rude, but made sweet by distance—and a bird Which cannot be the Nightingale, and yet I know none else that sings so sweet as it At this late hour;—and then all is still— 290 Now—Italy or London, which you will!

Next winter you must pass with me; I'll have My house by that time turned into a grave Of dead despondence and low-thoughted care, And all the dreams which our tormentors are; 295 Oh! that Hunt, Hogg, Peacock, and Smith were there, With everything belonging to them fair!— We will have books, Spanish, Italian, Greek; And ask one week to make another week As like his father, as I'm unlike mine, 300 Which is not his fault, as you may divine. Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine, Yet let's be merry: we'll have tea and toast; Custards for supper, and an endless host Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies, 305 And other such lady-like luxuries,— Feasting on which we will philosophize! And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's wood, To thaw the six weeks' winter in our blood. And then we'll talk;—what shall we talk about? 310 Oh! there are themes enough for many a bout Of thought-entangled descant;—as to nerves— With cones and parallelograms and curves I've sworn to strangle them if once they dare To bother me—when you are with me there. 315 And they shall never more sip laudanum, From Helicon or Himeros (1);—well, come, And in despite of God and of the devil, We'll make our friendly philosophic revel Outlast the leafless time; till buds and flowers 320 Warn the obscure inevitable hours, Sweet meeting by sad parting to renew;— 'To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.'

NOTES: 13 must Bos. manuscript; most edition 1824. 27 philanthropic Bos. manuscript; philosophic edition 1824. 29 so 1839, 2nd edition; They owed... edition 1824. 36 Which fishers Bos. manuscript; Which fishes edition 1824; With fishes editions 1839. 38 rarely transcript; seldom editions 1824, 1839. 61 lava—cry]lava-cry editions 1824, 1839. 63 towers transcript; towns editions 1824, 1839. 84 queer Bos. manuscript; green transcript, editions 1824, 1839. 92 odd hooks transcript; old books editions 1839 (an evident misprint); old hooks edition 1824. 93 A]An edition 1824. 100 those transcript; them editions 1824, 1839. 101 lead Bos. manuscript; least transcript, editions 1824, 1839. 127 eye Bos. manuscript, transcript, editions 1839; age edition 1824. 140 knew Bos. manuscript; know transcript, editions 1824, 1839. 144 citing Bos. manuscript; acting transcript, editions 1824, 1839. 151 Feasts transcript; Treats editions 1824, 1839. 153 As well it]As it well editions 1824, 1839. 158 believe, and]believe; or editions 1824, 1839. 173 their transcript; the editions 1824, 1839. 188 aethereal transcript; aereal editions 1824, 1839. 197-201 See notes Volume 3. 202 Coleridge]C— edition 1824. So too H—t l. 209; H— l. 226; P— l. 233; H.S. l. 250; H— — and — l. 296. 205 lightning Bos. manuscript, transcript; lustre editions 1824, 1839. 224 read Bos. manuscript; said transcript, editions 1824, 1839. 244 time Bos. manuscript, transcript; age editions 1824, 1839. 245 the transcript: a editions 1824, 1839. 272, 273 found in the 2nd edition of P. W., 1839; wanting in transcript, edition 1824 and 1839, 1st. edition. 276 that transcript; who editions 1824, 1839. 288 the transcript; a editions 1824, 1839. 296 See notes Volume 3. 299, 300 So 1839, 2nd edition; wanting in editions 1824, 1839, 1st. 301 So transcript; wanting in editions 1824, 1839. 317 well, come 1839, 2nd edition; we'll come editions 1824, 1839. 1st. 318 despite of God] transcript; despite of... edition 1824; spite of... editions 1839.

(_317 Imeros, from which the river Himera was named, is, with some slight shade of difference, a synonym of Love.—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.]

***

THE WITCH OF ATLAS.

[Composed at the Baths of San Giuliano, near Pisa, August 14-16, 1820; published in Posthumous Poems, edition Mrs. Shelley, 1824. The dedication To Mas-y first appeared in the Poetical Works, 1839, 1st edition Sources of the text are (1) the editio princeps, 1824; (2) editions 1839 (which agree, and, save in two instances, follow edition 1824); (3) an early and incomplete manuscript in Shelley's handwriting (now at the Bodleian, here, as throughout, cited as B.), carefully collated by Mr. C.D. Locock, who printed the results in his Examination of the Shelley manuscripts, etc., Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1903; (4) a later, yet intermediate, transcript by Mrs. Shelley, the variations of which are noted by Mr. H. Buxton Forman. The original text is modified in many places by variants from the manuscripts, but the readings of edition 1824 are, in every instance, given in the footnotes.]

TO MARY (ON HER OBJECTING TO THE FOLLOWING POEM, UPON THE SCORE OF ITS CONTAINING NO HUMAN INTEREST).

1. How, my dear Mary,—are you critic-bitten (For vipers kill, though dead) by some review, That you condemn these verses I have written, Because they tell no story, false or true? What, though no mice are caught by a young kitten, _5 May it not leap and play as grown cats do, Till its claws come? Prithee, for this one time, Content thee with a visionary rhyme.

2. What hand would crush the silken-winged fly, The youngest of inconstant April's minions, 10 Because it cannot climb the purest sky, Where the swan sings, amid the sun's dominions? Not thine. Thou knowest 'tis its doom to die, When Day shall hide within her twilight pinions The lucent eyes, and the eternal smile, 15 Serene as thine, which lent it life awhile.

3. To thy fair feet a winged Vision came, Whose date should have been longer than a day, And o'er thy head did beat its wings for fame, And in thy sight its fading plumes display; _20 The watery bow burned in the evening flame. But the shower fell, the swift Sun went his way— And that is dead.—O, let me not believe That anything of mine is fit to live!

4. Wordsworth informs us he was nineteen years 25 Considering and retouching Peter Bell; Watering his laurels with the killing tears Of slow, dull care, so that their roots to Hell Might pierce, and their wide branches blot the spheres Of Heaven, with dewy leaves and flowers; this well 30 May be, for Heaven and Earth conspire to foil The over-busy gardener's blundering toil.

5. My Witch indeed is not so sweet a creature As Ruth or Lucy, whom his graceful praise Clothes for our grandsons—but she matches Peter, 35 Though he took nineteen years, and she three days In dressing. Light the vest of flowing metre She wears; he, proud as dandy with his stays, Has hung upon his wiry limbs a dress Like King Lear's 'looped and windowed raggedness.' 40

6. If you strip Peter, you will see a fellow Scorched by Hell's hyperequatorial climate Into a kind of a sulphureous yellow: A lean mark, hardly fit to fling a rhyme at; In shape a Scaramouch, in hue Othello. _45 If you unveil my Witch, no priest nor primate Can shrive you of that sin,—if sin there be In love, when it becomes idolatry.

THE WITCH OF ATLAS.

1. Before those cruel Twins, whom at one birth Incestuous Change bore to her father Time, 50 Error and Truth, had hunted from the Earth All those bright natures which adorned its prime, And left us nothing to believe in, worth The pains of putting into learned rhyme, A lady-witch there lived on Atlas' mountain 55 Within a cavern, by a secret fountain.

2. Her mother was one of the Atlantides: The all-beholding Sun had ne'er beholden In his wide voyage o'er continents and seas So fair a creature, as she lay enfolden _60 In the warm shadow of her loveliness;— He kissed her with his beams, and made all golden The chamber of gray rock in which she lay— She, in that dream of joy, dissolved away.

3. 'Tis said, she first was changed into a vapour, 65 And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit, Like splendour-winged moths about a taper, Round the red west when the sun dies in it: And then into a meteor, such as caper On hill-tops when the moon is in a fit: 70 Then, into one of those mysterious stars Which hide themselves between the Earth and Mars.

4. Ten times the Mother of the Months had bent Her bow beside the folding-star, and bidden With that bright sign the billows to indent 75 The sea-deserted sand—like children chidden, At her command they ever came and went— Since in that cave a dewy splendour hidden Took shape and motion: with the living form Of this embodied Power, the cave grew warm. 80

5. A lovely lady garmented in light From her own beauty—deep her eyes, as are Two openings of unfathomable night Seen through a Temple's cloven roof—her hair Dark—the dim brain whirls dizzy with delight. _85 Picturing her form; her soft smiles shone afar, And her low voice was heard like love, and drew All living things towards this wonder new.

6. And first the spotted cameleopard came, And then the wise and fearless elephant; 90 Then the sly serpent, in the golden flame Of his own volumes intervolved;—all gaunt And sanguine beasts her gentle looks made tame. They drank before her at her sacred fount; And every beast of beating heart grew bold, 95 Such gentleness and power even to behold.

7. The brinded lioness led forth her young, That she might teach them how they should forego Their inborn thirst of death; the pard unstrung His sinews at her feet, and sought to know _100 With looks whose motions spoke without a tongue How he might be as gentle as the doe. The magic circle of her voice and eyes All savage natures did imparadise.

8. And old Silenus, shaking a green stick 105 Of lilies, and the wood-gods in a crew Came, blithe, as in the olive copses thick Cicadae are, drunk with the noonday dew: And Dryope and Faunus followed quick, Teasing the God to sing them something new; 110 Till in this cave they found the lady lone, Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone.

9. And universal Pan, 'tis said, was there, And though none saw him,—through the adamant Of the deep mountains, through the trackless air, 115 And through those living spirits, like a want, He passed out of his everlasting lair Where the quick heart of the great world doth pant, And felt that wondrous lady all alone,— And she felt him, upon her emerald throne. 120

10. And every nymph of stream and spreading tree, And every shepherdess of Ocean's flocks, Who drives her white waves over the green sea, And Ocean with the brine on his gray locks, And quaint Priapus with his company, _125 All came, much wondering how the enwombed rocks Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth;— Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth.

11. The herdsmen and the mountain maidens came, And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant— 130 Their spirits shook within them, as a flame Stirred by the air under a cavern gaunt: Pigmies, and Polyphemes, by many a name, Centaurs, and Satyrs, and such shapes as haunt Wet clefts,—and lumps neither alive nor dead, 135 Dog-headed, bosom-eyed, and bird-footed.

12. For she was beautiful—her beauty made The bright world dim, and everything beside Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade: No thought of living spirit could abide, _140 Which to her looks had ever been betrayed, On any object in the world so wide, On any hope within the circling skies, But on her form, and in her inmost eyes.

13. Which when the lady knew, she took her spindle 145 And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and three Long lines of light, such as the dawn may kindle The clouds and waves and mountains with; and she As many star-beams, ere their lamps could dwindle In the belated moon, wound skilfully; 150 And with these threads a subtle veil she wove— A shadow for the splendour of her love.

14. The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling Were stored with magic treasures—sounds of air, Which had the power all spirits of compelling, 155 Folded in cells of crystal silence there; Such as we hear in youth, and think the feeling Will never die—yet ere we are aware, The feeling and the sound are fled and gone, And the regret they leave remains alone. 160

15. And there lay Visions swift, and sweet, and quaint, Each in its thin sheath, like a chrysalis, Some eager to burst forth, some weak and faint With the soft burthen of intensest bliss. It was its work to bear to many a saint _165 Whose heart adores the shrine which holiest is, Even Love's:—and others white, green, gray, and black, And of all shapes—and each was at her beck.

16. And odours in a kind of aviary Of ever-blooming Eden-trees she kept, 170 Clipped in a floating net, a love-sick Fairy Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet slept; As bats at the wired window of a dairy, They beat their vans; and each was an adept, When loosed and missioned, making wings of winds, 175 To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined minds.

17. And liquors clear and sweet, whose healthful might Could medicine the sick soul to happy sleep, And change eternal death into a night Of glorious dreams—or if eyes needs must weep, _180 Could make their tears all wonder and delight, She in her crystal vials did closely keep: If men could drink of those clear vials, 'tis said The living were not envied of the dead.

18. Her cave was stored with scrolls of strange device, 185 The works of some Saturnian Archimage, Which taught the expiations at whose price Men from the Gods might win that happy age Too lightly lost, redeeming native vice; And which might quench the Earth-consuming rage 190 Of gold and blood—till men should live and move Harmonious as the sacred stars above;

19. And how all things that seem untameable, Not to be checked and not to be confined, Obey the spells of Wisdom's wizard skill; 195 Time, earth, and fire—the ocean and the wind, And all their shapes—and man's imperial will; And other scrolls whose writings did unbind The inmost lore of Love—let the profane Tremble to ask what secrets they contain. 200

20. And wondrous works of substances unknown, To which the enchantment of her father's power Had changed those ragged blocks of savage stone, Were heaped in the recesses of her bower; Carved lamps and chalices, and vials which shone _205 In their own golden beams—each like a flower, Out of whose depth a fire-fly shakes his light Under a cypress in a starless night.

21. At first she lived alone in this wild home, And her own thoughts were each a minister, 210 Clothing themselves, or with the ocean foam, Or with the wind, or with the speed of fire, To work whatever purposes might come Into her mind; such power her mighty Sire Had girt them with, whether to fly or run, 215 Through all the regions which he shines upon.

22. The Ocean-nymphs and Hamadryades, Oreads and Naiads, with long weedy locks, Offered to do her bidding through the seas, Under the earth, and in the hollow rocks, _220 And far beneath the matted roots of trees, And in the gnarled heart of stubborn oaks, So they might live for ever in the light Of her sweet presence—each a satellite.

23. 'This may not be,' the wizard maid replied; 225 'The fountains where the Naiades bedew Their shining hair, at length are drained and dried; The solid oaks forget their strength, and strew Their latest leaf upon the mountains wide; The boundless ocean like a drop of dew 230 Will be consumed—the stubborn centre must Be scattered, like a cloud of summer dust.

24. 'And ye with them will perish, one by one;— If I must sigh to think that this shall be, If I must weep when the surviving Sun 235 Shall smile on your decay—oh, ask not me To love you till your little race is run; I cannot die as ye must—over me Your leaves shall glance—the streams in which ye dwell Shall be my paths henceforth, and so—farewell!'— 240

25. She spoke and wept:—the dark and azure well Sparkled beneath the shower of her bright tears, And every little circlet where they fell Flung to the cavern-roof inconstant spheres And intertangled lines of light:—a knell _245 Of sobbing voices came upon her ears From those departing Forms, o'er the serene Of the white streams and of the forest green.

26. All day the wizard lady sate aloof, Spelling out scrolls of dread antiquity, 250 Under the cavern's fountain-lighted roof; Or broidering the pictured poesy Of some high tale upon her growing woof, Which the sweet splendour of her smiles could dye In hues outshining heaven—and ever she 255 Added some grace to the wrought poesy.

27. While on her hearth lay blazing many a piece Of sandal wood, rare gums, and cinnamon; Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is— Each flame of it is as a precious stone _260 Dissolved in ever-moving light, and this Belongs to each and all who gaze upon. The Witch beheld it not, for in her hand She held a woof that dimmed the burning brand.

28. This lady never slept, but lay in trance 265 All night within the fountain—as in sleep. Its emerald crags glowed in her beauty's glance; Through the green splendour of the water deep She saw the constellations reel and dance Like fire-flies—and withal did ever keep 270 The tenour of her contemplations calm, With open eyes, closed feet, and folded palm.

29. And when the whirlwinds and the clouds descended From the white pinnacles of that cold hill, She passed at dewfall to a space extended, 275 Where in a lawn of flowering asphodel Amid a wood of pines and cedars blended, There yawned an inextinguishable well Of crimson fire—full even to the brim, And overflowing all the margin trim. 280

30. Within the which she lay when the fierce war Of wintry winds shook that innocuous liquor In many a mimic moon and bearded star O'er woods and lawns;—the serpent heard it flicker In sleep, and dreaming still, he crept afar— _285 And when the windless snow descended thicker Than autumn leaves, she watched it as it came Melt on the surface of the level flame.

31. She had a boat, which some say Vulcan wrought For Venus, as the chariot of her star; 290 But it was found too feeble to be fraught With all the ardours in that sphere which are, And so she sold it, and Apollo bought And gave it to this daughter: from a car Changed to the fairest and the lightest boat 295 Which ever upon mortal stream did float.

32. And others say, that, when but three hours old, The first-born Love out of his cradle lept, And clove dun Chaos with his wings of gold, And like a horticultural adept, _300 Stole a strange seed, and wrapped it up in mould, And sowed it in his mother's star, and kept Watering it all the summer with sweet dew, And with his wings fanning it as it grew.

33. The plant grew strong and green, the snowy flower 305 Fell, and the long and gourd-like fruit began To turn the light and dew by inward power To its own substance; woven tracery ran Of light firm texture, ribbed and branching, o'er The solid rind, like a leaf's veined fan— 310 Of which Love scooped this boat—and with soft motion Piloted it round the circumfluous ocean.

34. This boat she moored upon her fount, and lit A living spirit within all its frame, Breathing the soul of swiftness into it. 315 Couched on the fountain like a panther tame, One of the twain at Evan's feet that sit— Or as on Vesta's sceptre a swift flame— Or on blind Homer's heart a winged thought,— In joyous expectation lay the boat. 320

35. Then by strange art she kneaded fire and snow Together, tempering the repugnant mass With liquid love—all things together grow Through which the harmony of love can pass; And a fair Shape out of her hands did flow— _325 A living Image, which did far surpass In beauty that bright shape of vital stone Which drew the heart out of Pygmalion.

36. A sexless thing it was, and in its growth It seemed to have developed no defect 330 Of either sex, yet all the grace of both,— In gentleness and strength its limbs were decked; The bosom swelled lightly with its full youth, The countenance was such as might select Some artist that his skill should never die, 335 Imaging forth such perfect purity.

37. From its smooth shoulders hung two rapid wings, Fit to have borne it to the seventh sphere, Tipped with the speed of liquid lightenings, Dyed in the ardours of the atmosphere: _340 She led her creature to the boiling springs Where the light boat was moored, and said: 'Sit here!' And pointed to the prow, and took her seat Beside the rudder, with opposing feet.

38. And down the streams which clove those mountains vast, 345 Around their inland islets, and amid The panther-peopled forests whose shade cast Darkness and odours, and a pleasure hid In melancholy gloom, the pinnace passed; By many a star-surrounded pyramid 350 Of icy crag cleaving the purple sky, And caverns yawning round unfathomably.

39. The silver noon into that winding dell, With slanted gleam athwart the forest tops, Tempered like golden evening, feebly fell; 355 A green and glowing light, like that which drops From folded lilies in which glow-worms dwell, When Earth over her face Night's mantle wraps; Between the severed mountains lay on high, Over the stream, a narrow rift of sky. 360

40. And ever as she went, the Image lay With folded wings and unawakened eyes; And o'er its gentle countenance did play The busy dreams, as thick as summer flies, Chasing the rapid smiles that would not stay, _365 And drinking the warm tears, and the sweet sighs Inhaling, which, with busy murmur vain, They had aroused from that full heart and brain.

41. And ever down the prone vale, like a cloud Upon a stream of wind, the pinnace went: 370 Now lingering on the pools, in which abode The calm and darkness of the deep content In which they paused; now o'er the shallow road Of white and dancing waters, all besprent With sand and polished pebbles:—mortal boat 375 In such a shallow rapid could not float.

42. And down the earthquaking cataracts which shiver Their snow-like waters into golden air, Or under chasms unfathomable ever Sepulchre them, till in their rage they tear _380 A subterranean portal for the river, It fled—the circling sunbows did upbear Its fall down the hoar precipice of spray, Lighting it far upon its lampless way.

43. And when the wizard lady would ascend 385 The labyrinths of some many-winding vale, Which to the inmost mountain upward tend— She called 'Hermaphroditus!'—and the pale And heavy hue which slumber could extend Over its lips and eyes, as on the gale 390 A rapid shadow from a slope of grass, Into the darkness of the stream did pass.

44. And it unfurled its heaven-coloured pinions, With stars of fire spotting the stream below; And from above into the Sun's dominions 395 Flinging a glory, like the golden glow In which Spring clothes her emerald-winged minions, All interwoven with fine feathery snow And moonlight splendour of intensest rime, With which frost paints the pines in winter time. 400

45. And then it winnowed the Elysian air Which ever hung about that lady bright, With its aethereal vans—and speeding there, Like a star up the torrent of the night, Or a swift eagle in the morning glare _405 Breasting the whirlwind with impetuous flight, The pinnace, oared by those enchanted wings, Clove the fierce streams towards their upper springs.

46. The water flashed, like sunlight by the prow Of a noon-wandering meteor flung to Heaven; 410 The still air seemed as if its waves did flow In tempest down the mountains; loosely driven The lady's radiant hair streamed to and fro: Beneath, the billows having vainly striven Indignant and impetuous, roared to feel 415 The swift and steady motion of the keel.

47. Or, when the weary moon was in the wane, Or in the noon of interlunar night, The lady-witch in visions could not chain Her spirit; but sailed forth under the light _420 Of shooting stars, and bade extend amain Its storm-outspeeding wings, the Hermaphrodite; She to the Austral waters took her way, Beyond the fabulous Thamondocana,—

48. Where, like a meadow which no scythe has shaven, 425 Which rain could never bend, or whirl-blast shake, With the Antarctic constellations paven, Canopus and his crew, lay the Austral lake— There she would build herself a windless haven Out of the clouds whose moving turrets make 430 The bastions of the storm, when through the sky The spirits of the tempest thundered by:

49. A haven beneath whose translucent floor The tremulous stars sparkled unfathomably, And around which the solid vapours hoar, 435 Based on the level waters, to the sky Lifted their dreadful crags, and like a shore Of wintry mountains, inaccessibly Hemmed in with rifts and precipices gray, And hanging crags, many a cove and bay. 440

50. And whilst the outer lake beneath the lash Of the wind's scourge, foamed like a wounded thing, And the incessant hail with stony clash Ploughed up the waters, and the flagging wing Of the roused cormorant in the lightning flash _445 Looked like the wreck of some wind-wandering Fragment of inky thunder-smoke—this haven Was as a gem to copy Heaven engraven,—

51. On which that lady played her many pranks, Circling the image of a shooting star, 450 Even as a tiger on Hydaspes' banks Outspeeds the antelopes which speediest are, In her light boat; and many quips and cranks She played upon the water, till the car Of the late moon, like a sick matron wan, 455 To journey from the misty east began.

52. And then she called out of the hollow turrets Of those high clouds, white, golden and vermilion, The armies of her ministering spirits— In mighty legions, million after million, _460 They came, each troop emblazoning its merits On meteor flags; and many a proud pavilion Of the intertexture of the atmosphere They pitched upon the plain of the calm mere.

53. They framed the imperial tent of their great Queen 465 Of woven exhalations, underlaid With lambent lightning-fire, as may be seen A dome of thin and open ivory inlaid With crimson silk—cressets from the serene Hung there, and on the water for her tread 470 A tapestry of fleece-like mist was strewn, Dyed in the beams of the ascending moon.

54. And on a throne o'erlaid with starlight, caught Upon those wandering isles of aery dew, Which highest shoals of mountain shipwreck not, 475 She sate, and heard all that had happened new Between the earth and moon, since they had brought The last intelligence—and now she grew Pale as that moon, lost in the watery night— And now she wept, and now she laughed outright. 480

55. These were tame pleasures; she would often climb The steepest ladder of the crudded rack Up to some beaked cape of cloud sublime, And like Arion on the dolphin's back Ride singing through the shoreless air;—oft-time _485 Following the serpent lightning's winding track, She ran upon the platforms of the wind, And laughed to bear the fire-balls roar behind.

56. And sometimes to those streams of upper air Which whirl the earth in its diurnal round, 490 She would ascend, and win the spirits there To let her join their chorus. Mortals found That on those days the sky was calm and fair, And mystic snatches of harmonious sound Wandered upon the earth where'er she passed, 495 And happy thoughts of hope, too sweet to last.

57. But her choice sport was, in the hours of sleep, To glide adown old Nilus, where he threads Egypt and Aethiopia, from the steep Of utmost Axume, until he spreads, _500 Like a calm flock of silver-fleeced sheep, His waters on the plain: and crested heads Of cities and proud temples gleam amid, And many a vapour-belted pyramid.

58. By Moeris and the Mareotid lakes, 505 Strewn with faint blooms like bridal chamber floors, Where naked boys bridling tame water-snakes, Or charioteering ghastly alligators, Had left on the sweet waters mighty wakes Of those huge forms—within the brazen doors 510 Of the great Labyrinth slept both boy and beast, Tired with the pomp of their Osirian feast.

59. And where within the surface of the river The shadows of the massy temples lie, And never are erased—but tremble ever 515 Like things which every cloud can doom to die, Through lotus-paven canals, and wheresoever The works of man pierced that serenest sky With tombs, and towers, and fanes, 'twas her delight To wander in the shadow of the night. 520

60. With motion like the spirit of that wind Whose soft step deepens slumber, her light feet Passed through the peopled haunts of humankind. Scattering sweet visions from her presence sweet, Through fane, and palace-court, and labyrinth mined _525 With many a dark and subterranean street Under the Nile, through chambers high and deep She passed, observing mortals in their sleep.

61. A pleasure sweet doubtless it was to see Mortals subdued in all the shapes of sleep. 530 Here lay two sister twins in infancy; There, a lone youth who in his dreams did weep; Within, two lovers linked innocently In their loose locks which over both did creep Like ivy from one stem;—and there lay calm 535 Old age with snow-bright hair and folded palm.

62. But other troubled forms of sleep she saw, Not to be mirrored in a holy song— Distortions foul of supernatural awe, And pale imaginings of visioned wrong; _540 And all the code of Custom's lawless law Written upon the brows of old and young: 'This,' said the wizard maiden, 'is the strife Which stirs the liquid surface of man's life.'

63. And little did the sight disturb her soul.— 545 We, the weak mariners of that wide lake Where'er its shores extend or billows roll, Our course unpiloted and starless make O'er its wild surface to an unknown goal:— But she in the calm depths her way could take, 550 Where in bright bowers immortal forms abide Beneath the weltering of the restless tide.

64. And she saw princes couched under the glow Of sunlike gems; and round each temple-court In dormitories ranged, row after row, 555 She saw the priests asleep—all of one sort— For all were educated to be so.— The peasants in their huts, and in the port The sailors she saw cradled on the waves, And the dead lulled within their dreamless graves. 560

65. And all the forms in which those spirits lay Were to her sight like the diaphanous Veils, in which those sweet ladies oft array Their delicate limbs, who would conceal from us Only their scorn of all concealment: they _565 Move in the light of their own beauty thus. But these and all now lay with sleep upon them, And little thought a Witch was looking on them.

66. She, all those human figures breathing there, Beheld as living spirits—to her eyes 570 The naked beauty of the soul lay bare, And often through a rude and worn disguise She saw the inner form most bright and fair— And then she had a charm of strange device, Which, murmured on mute lips with tender tone, 575 Could make that spirit mingle with her own.

67. Alas! Aurora, what wouldst thou have given For such a charm when Tithon became gray? Or how much, Venus, of thy silver heaven Wouldst thou have yielded, ere Proserpina _580 Had half (oh! why not all?) the debt forgiven Which dear Adonis had been doomed to pay, To any witch who would have taught you it? The Heliad doth not know its value yet.

68. 'Tis said in after times her spirit free 585 Knew what love was, and felt itself alone— But holy Dian could not chaster be Before she stooped to kiss Endymion, Than now this lady—like a sexless bee Tasting all blossoms, and confined to none, 590 Among those mortal forms, the wizard-maiden Passed with an eye serene and heart unladen.

69. To those she saw most beautiful, she gave Strange panacea in a crystal bowl:— They drank in their deep sleep of that sweet wave, 595 And lived thenceforward as if some control, Mightier than life, were in them; and the grave Of such, when death oppressed the weary soul, Was as a green and overarching bower Lit by the gems of many a starry flower. 600

70. For on the night when they were buried, she Restored the embalmers' ruining, and shook The light out of the funeral lamps, to be A mimic day within that deathy nook; And she unwound the woven imagery _605 Of second childhood's swaddling bands, and took The coffin, its last cradle, from its niche, And threw it with contempt into a ditch.

71. And there the body lay, age after age. Mute, breathing, beating, warm, and undecaying, 610 Like one asleep in a green hermitage, With gentle smiles about its eyelids playing, And living in its dreams beyond the rage Of death or life; while they were still arraying In liveries ever new, the rapid, blind 615 And fleeting generations of mankind.

72. And she would write strange dreams upon the brain Of those who were less beautiful, and make All harsh and crooked purposes more vain Than in the desert is the serpent's wake _620 Which the sand covers—all his evil gain The miser in such dreams would rise and shake Into a beggar's lap;—the lying scribe Would his own lies betray without a bribe.

73. The priests would write an explanation full, 625 Translating hieroglyphics into Greek, How the God Apis really was a bull, And nothing more; and bid the herald stick The same against the temple doors, and pull The old cant down; they licensed all to speak 630 Whate'er they thought of hawks, and cats, and geese, By pastoral letters to each diocese.

74. The king would dress an ape up in his crown And robes, and seat him on his glorious seat, And on the right hand of the sunlike throne 635 Would place a gaudy mock-bird to repeat The chatterings of the monkey.—Every one Of the prone courtiers crawled to kiss the feet Of their great Emperor, when the morning came, And kissed—alas, how many kiss the same! 640

75. The soldiers dreamed that they were blacksmiths, and Walked out of quarters in somnambulism; Round the red anvils you might see them stand Like Cyclopses in Vulcan's sooty abysm, Beating their swords to ploughshares;—in a band _645 The gaolers sent those of the liberal schism Free through the streets of Memphis, much, I wis, To the annoyance of king Amasis.

76. And timid lovers who had been so coy, They hardly knew whether they loved or not, 650 Would rise out of their rest, and take sweet joy, To the fulfilment of their inmost thought; And when next day the maiden and the boy Met one another, both, like sinners caught, Blushed at the thing which each believed was done 655 Only in fancy—till the tenth moon shone;

77. And then the Witch would let them take no ill: Of many thousand schemes which lovers find, The Witch found one,—and so they took their fill Of happiness in marriage warm and kind. _660 Friends who, by practice of some envious skill, Were torn apart—a wide wound, mind from mind!— She did unite again with visions clear Of deep affection and of truth sincere.

80. These were the pranks she played among the cities 665 Of mortal men, and what she did to Sprites And Gods, entangling them in her sweet ditties To do her will, and show their subtle sleights, I will declare another time; for it is A tale more fit for the weird winter nights 670 Than for these garish summer days, when we Scarcely believe much more than we can see.

NOTES: 2 dead]deaf cj. A.C. Bradley, who cps. "Adonais" 317. 65 first was transcript, B.; was first edition 1824. 84 Temple's transcript, B.; tempest's edition 1824. 165 was its transcript, B.; is its edition 1824. 184 envied so all manuscripts and editions; envious cj. James Thomson ('B. V.'). 262 upon so all manuscripts and editions: thereon cj. Rossetti. 333 swelled lightly edition 1824, B.; lightly swelled editions 1839; swelling lightly with its full growth transcript. 339 lightenings B., editions 1839; lightnings edition 1824, transcript. 422 Its transcript; His edition 1824, B. 424 Thamondocana transcript, B.; Thamondocona edition 1824. 442 wind's transcript, B.; winds' edition 1834. 493 where transcript, B.; when edition 1824. 596 thenceforward B.; thence forth edition 1824; henceforward transcript. 599 Was as a B.; Was a edition 1824. 601 night when transcript; night that edition 1824, B. 612 smiles transcript, B.; sleep edition 1824.

NOTE ON THE WITCH OF ATLAS, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

We spent the summer of 1820 at the Baths of San Giuliano, four miles from Pisa. These baths were of great use to Shelley in soothing his nervous irritability. We made several excursions in the neighbourhood. The country around is fertile, and diversified and rendered picturesque by ranges of near hills and more distant mountains. The peasantry are a handsome intelligent race; and there was a gladsome sunny heaven spread over us, that rendered home and every scene we visited cheerful and bright. During some of the hottest days of August, Shelley made a solitary journey on foot to the summit of Monte San Pellegrino—a mountain of some height, on the top of which there is a chapel, the object, during certain days of the year, of many pilgrimages. The excursion delighted him while it lasted; though he exerted himself too much, and the effect was considerable lassitude and weakness on his return. During the expedition he conceived the idea, and wrote, in the three days immediately succeeding to his return, the "Witch of Atlas". This poem is peculiarly characteristic of his tastes—wildly fanciful, full of brilliant imagery, and discarding human interest and passion, to revel in the fantastic ideas that his imagination suggested.

The surpassing excellence of "The Cenci" had made me greatly desire that Shelley should increase his popularity by adopting subjects that would more suit the popular taste than a poem conceived in the abstract and dreamy spirit of the "Witch of Atlas". It was not only that I wished him to acquire popularity as redounding to his fame; but I believed that he would obtain a greater mastery over his own powers, and greater happiness in his mind, if public applause crowned his endeavours. The few stanzas that precede the poem were addressed to me on my representing these ideas to him. Even now I believe that I was in the right. Shelley did not expect sympathy and approbation from the public; but the want of it took away a portion of the ardour that ought to have sustained him while writing. He was thrown on his own resources, and on the inspiration of his own soul; and wrote because his mind overflowed, without the hope of being appreciated. I had not the most distant wish that he should truckle in opinion, or submit his lofty aspirations for the human race to the low ambition and pride of the many; but I felt sure that, if his poems were more addressed to the common feelings of men, his proper rank among the writers of the day would be acknowledged, and that popularity as a poet would enable his countrymen to do justice to his character and virtues, which in those days it was the mode to attack with the most flagitious calumnies and insulting abuse. That he felt these things deeply cannot be doubted, though he armed himself with the consciousness of acting from a lofty and heroic sense of right. The truth burst from his heart sometimes in solitude, and he would writes few unfinished verses that showed that he felt the sting; among such I find the following:—

'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 Untouched by suffering through the rugged glen. In mine own heart I saw as in a glass The hearts of others...And, when I went among my kind, with triple brass Of calm endurance my weak breast I armed, To bear scorn, fear, and hate—a woful mass!'

I believed that all this morbid feeling would vanish if the chord of sympathy between him and his countrymen were touched. But my persuasions were vain, the mind could not be bent from its natural inclination. Shelley shrunk instinctively from portraying human passion, with its mixture of good and evil, of disappointment and disquiet. Such opened again the wounds of his own heart; and he loved to shelter himself rather in the airiest flights of fancy, forgetting love and hate, and regret and lost hope, in such imaginations as borrowed their hues from sunrise or sunset, from the yellow moonshine or paly twilight, from the aspect of the far ocean or the shadows of the woods,—which celebrated the singing of the winds among the pines, the flow of a murmuring stream, and the thousand harmonious sounds which Nature creates in her solitudes. These are the materials which form the "Witch of Atlas": it is a brilliant congregation of ideas such as his senses gathered, and his fancy coloured, during his rambles in the sunny land he so much loved.

***

OEDIPUS TYRANNUS

OR

SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT.

A TRAGEDY IN TWO ACTS

TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL DORIC.

'Choose Reform or Civil War, When through thy streets, instead of hare with dogs, A CONSORT-QUEEN shall hunt a king with hogs, Riding on the IONIAN MINOTAUR.'

[Begun at the Baths of San Giuliano, near Pisa, August 24, 1819; published anonymously by J. Johnston, Cheapside (imprint C.F. Seyfang), 1820. On a threat of prosecution the publisher surrendered the whole impression, seven copies—the total number sold—excepted. "Oedipus" does not appear in the first edition of the "Poetical Works", 1839, but it was included by Mrs. Shelley in the second edition of that year. Our text is that of the editio princeps, 1820, save in three places, where the reading of edition 1820 will be found in the notes.]

ADVERTISEMENT.

This Tragedy is one of a triad, or system of three Plays (an arrangement according to which the Greeks were accustomed to connect their dramatic representations), elucidating the wonderful and appalling fortunes of the SWELLFOOT dynasty. It was evidently written by some LEARNED THEBAN, and, from its characteristic dulness, apparently before the duties on the importation of ATTIC SALT had been repealed by the Boeotarchs. The tenderness with which he treats the PIGS proves him to have been a sus Boeotiae; possibly Epicuri de grege porcus; for, as the poet observes,

'A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.'

No liberty has been taken with the translation of this remarkable piece of antiquity, except the suppressing a seditious and blasphemous Chorus of the Pigs and Bulls at the last Act. The work Hoydipouse (or more properly Oedipus) has been rendered literally SWELLFOOT, without its having been conceived necessary to determine whether a swelling of the hind or the fore feet of the Swinish Monarch is particularly indicated.

Should the remaining portions of this Tragedy be found, entitled, "Swellfoot in Angaria", and "Charite", the Translator might be tempted to give them to the reading Public.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

TYRANT SWELLFOOT, KING OF THEBES. IONA TAURINA, HIS QUEEN. MAMMON, ARCH-PRIEST OF FAMINE. PURGANAX, DAKRY, LAOCTONOS—WIZARDS, MINISTERS OF SWELLFOOT. THE GADFLY. THE LEECH. THE RAT. MOSES, THE SOW-GELDER. SOLOMON, THE PORKMAN. ZEPHANIAH, PIG-BUTCHER. THE MINOTAUR. CHORUS OF THE SWINISH MULTITUDE. GUARDS, ATTENDANTS, PRIESTS, ETC., ETC.

SCENE.—THEBES.

ACT 1.

SCENE 1.1.—A MAGNIFICENT TEMPLE, BUILT OF THIGH-BONES AND DEATH'S-HEADS, AND TILED WITH SCALPS. OVER THE ALTAR THE STATUE OF FAMINE, VEILED; A NUMBER OF BOARS, SOWS, AND SUCKING-PIGS, CROWNED WITH THISTLE, SHAMROCK, AND OAK, SITTING ON THE STEPS, AND CLINGING ROUND THE ALTAR OF THE TEMPLE.

ENTER SWELLFOOT, IN HIS ROYAL ROBES, WITHOUT PERCEIVING THE PIGS.

SWELLFOOT: Thou supreme Goddess! by whose power divine These graceful limbs are clothed in proud array [HE CONTEMPLATES HIMSELF WITH SATISFACTION.] Of gold and purple, and this kingly paunch Swells like a sail before a favouring breeze, And these most sacred nether promontories _5 Lie satisfied with layers of fat; and these Boeotian cheeks, like Egypt's pyramid, (Nor with less toil were their foundations laid), Sustain the cone of my untroubled brain, That point, the emblem of a pointless nothing! _10 Thou to whom Kings and laurelled Emperors, Radical-butchers, Paper-money-millers, Bishops and Deacons, and the entire army Of those fat martyrs to the persecution Of stifling turtle-soup, and brandy-devils, _15 Offer their secret vows! Thou plenteous Ceres Of their Eleusis, hail!

NOTE: (_8 See Universal History for an account of the number of people who died, and the immense consumption of garlic by the wretched Egyptians, who made a sepulchre for the name as well as the bodies of their tyrants.—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.])

SWINE: Eigh! eigh! eigh! eigh!

SWELLFOOT: Ha! what are ye, Who, crowned with leaves devoted to the Furies, Cling round this sacred shrine?

SWINE: Aigh! aigh! aigh!

SWELLFOOT: What! ye that are The very beasts that, offered at her altar _20 With blood and groans, salt-cake, and fat, and inwards, Ever propitiate her reluctant will When taxes are withheld?

SWINE: Ugh! ugh! ugh!

SWELLFOOT: What! ye who grub With filthy snouts my red potatoes up In Allan's rushy bog? Who eat the oats _25 Up, from my cavalry in the Hebrides? Who swill the hog-wash soup my cooks digest From bones, and rags, and scraps of shoe-leather, Which should be given to cleaner Pigs than you?

SWINE—SEMICHORUS 1: The same, alas! the same; _30 Though only now the name Of Pig remains to me.

SEMICHORUS 2: If 'twere your kingly will Us wretched Swine to kill, What should we yield to thee? _35

SWELLFOOT: Why, skin and bones, and some few hairs for mortar.

CHORUS OF SWINE: I have heard your Laureate sing, That pity was a royal thing; Under your mighty ancestors, we Pigs Were bless'd as nightingales on myrtle sprigs, 40 Or grasshoppers that live on noonday dew, And sung, old annals tell, as sweetly too; But now our sties are fallen in, we catch The murrain and the mange, the scab and itch; Sometimes your royal dogs tear down our thatch, 45 And then we seek the shelter of a ditch; Hog-wash or grains, or ruta-baga, none Has yet been ours since your reign begun.

FIRST SOW: My Pigs, 'tis in vain to tug.

SECOND SOW: I could almost eat my litter. _50

FIRST PIG: I suck, but no milk will come from the dug.

SECOND PIG: Our skin and our bones would be bitter.

THE BOARS: We fight for this rag of greasy rug, Though a trough of wash would be fitter.

SEMICHORUS: Happier Swine were they than we, _55 Drowned in the Gadarean sea— I wish that pity would drive out the devils, Which in your royal bosom hold their revels, And sink us in the waves of thy compassion! Alas! the Pigs are an unhappy nation! _60 Now if your Majesty would have our bristles To bind your mortar with, or fill our colons With rich blood, or make brawn out of our gristles, In policy—ask else your royal Solons— You ought to give us hog-wash and clean straw, _65 And sties well thatched; besides it is the law!

NOTE: _59 thy edition 1820; your edition 1839.

SWELLFOOT: This is sedition, and rank blasphemy! Ho! there, my guards!

[ENTER A GUARD.]

GUARD: Your sacred Majesty.

SWELLFOOT: Call in the Jews, Solomon the court porkman, Moses the sow-gelder, and Zephaniah _70 The hog-butcher.

GUARD: They are in waiting, Sire.

[ENTER SOLOMON, MOSES, AND ZEPHANIAH.]

SWELLFOOT: Out with your knife, old Moses, and spay those Sows [THE PIGS RUN ABOUT IN CONSTERNATION.] That load the earth with Pigs; cut close and deep. Moral restraint I see has no effect, Nor prostitution, nor our own example, _75 Starvation, typhus-fever, war, nor prison— This was the art which the arch-priest of Famine Hinted at in his charge to the Theban clergy— Cut close and deep, good Moses.

MOSES: Let your Majesty Keep the Boars quiet, else—

SWELLFOOT: Zephaniah, cut _80 That fat Hog's throat, the brute seems overfed; Seditious hunks! to whine for want of grains.

ZEPHANIAH: Your sacred Majesty, he has the dropsy;— We shall find pints of hydatids in 's liver, He has not half an inch of wholesome fat _85 Upon his carious ribs—

SWELLFOOT: 'Tis all the same, He'll serve instead of riot money, when Our murmuring troops bivouac in Thebes' streets And January winds, after a day Of butchering, will make them relish carrion. _90 Now, Solomon, I'll sell you in a lump The whole kit of them.

SOLOMON: Why, your Majesty, I could not give—

SWELLFOOT: Kill them out of the way, That shall be price enough, and let me hear Their everlasting grunts and whines no more! _95

[EXEUNT, DRIVING IN THE SWINE. ENTER MAMM0N, THE ARCH-PRIEST, AND PURGANAX, CHIEF OF THE COUNCIL OF WIZARDS.]

PURGANAX: The future looks as black as death, a cloud, Dark as the frown of Hell, hangs over it— The troops grow mutinous—the revenue fails— There's something rotten in us—for the level _100 Of the State slopes, its very bases topple, The boldest turn their backs upon themselves!

MAMMON: Why what's the matter, my dear fellow, now? Do the troops mutiny?—decimate some regiments; Does money fail?—come to my mint—coin paper, Till gold be at a discount, and ashamed _105 To show his bilious face, go purge himself, In emulation of her vestal whiteness.

PURGANAX: Oh, would that this were all! The oracle!!

MAMMON: Why it was I who spoke that oracle, And whether I was dead drunk or inspired, _110 I cannot well remember; nor, in truth, The oracle itself!

PURGANAX: The words went thus:— 'Boeotia, choose reform or civil war! When through the streets, instead of hare with dogs, A Consort Queen shall hunt a King with Hogs, _115 Riding on the Ionian Minotaur.'

MAMMON: Now if the oracle had ne'er foretold This sad alternative, it must arrive, Or not, and so it must now that it has; And whether I was urged by grace divine 120 Or Lesbian liquor to declare these words, Which must, as all words must, he false or true, It matters not: for the same Power made all, Oracle, wine, and me and you—or none— 'Tis the same thing. If you knew as much 125 Of oracles as I do—

PURGANAX: You arch-priests Believe in nothing; if you were to dream Of a particular number in the Lottery, You would not buy the ticket?

MAMMON: Yet our tickets Are seldom blanks. But what steps have you taken? 130 For prophecies, when once they get abroad, Like liars who tell the truth to serve their ends, Or hypocrites who, from assuming virtue, Do the same actions that the virtuous do, Contrive their own fulfilment. This Iona— 135 Well—you know what the chaste Pasiphae did, Wife to that most religious King of Crete, And still how popular the tale is here; And these dull Swine of Thebes boast their descent From the free Minotaur. You know they still 140 Call themselves Bulls, though thus degenerate, And everything relating to a Bull Is popular and respectable in Thebes. Their arms are seven Bulls in a field gules; They think their strength consists in eating beef,— 145 Now there were danger in the precedent If Queen Iona—

NOTES: 114 the edition 1820; thy cj. Forman; cf. Motto below Title, and II. i, 153-6. ticket? edition 1820; ticket! edition 1839. 135 their own Mrs. Shelley, later editions; their editions 1820 and 1839.

PURGANAX: I have taken good care That shall not be. I struck the crust o' the earth With this enchanted rod, and Hell lay bare! And from a cavern full of ugly shapes _150 I chose a LEECH, a GADFLY, and a RAT. The Gadfly was the same which Juno sent To agitate Io, and which Ezekiel mentions That the Lord whistled for out of the mountains Of utmost Aethiopia, to torment _155 Mesopotamian Babylon. The beast Has a loud trumpet like the scarabee, His crooked tail is barbed with many stings, Each able to make a thousand wounds, and each Immedicable; from his convex eyes _160 He sees fair things in many hideous shapes, And trumpets all his falsehood to the world. Like other beetles he is fed on dung— He has eleven feet with which he crawls, Trailing a blistering slime, and this foul beast _165 Has tracked Iona from the Theban limits, From isle to isle, from city unto city, Urging her flight from the far Chersonese To fabulous Solyma, and the Aetnean Isle, Ortygia, Melite, and Calypso's Rock, _170 And the swart tribes of Garamant and Fez, Aeolia and Elysium, and thy shores, Parthenope, which now, alas! are free! And through the fortunate Saturnian land, Into the darkness of the West.

NOTES: (153 (Io) The Promethetes Bound of Aeschylus.—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.]) (153 (Ezekiel) And the Lord whistled for the gadfly out of Aethiopia, and for the bee of Egypt, etc.—EZEKIEL.—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.])

MAMMON: But if _175 This Gadfly should drive Iona hither?

PURGANAX: Gods! what an IF! but there is my gray RAT: So thin with want, he can crawl in and out Of any narrow chink and filthy hole, And he shall creep into her dressing-room, _180 And—

MAMMON: My dear friend, where are your wits? as if She does not always toast a piece of cheese And bait the trap? and rats, when lean enough To crawl through SUCH chinks—

PURGANAX: But my LEECH—a leech Fit to suck blood, with lubricous round rings, 185 Capaciously expatiative, which make His little body like a red balloon, As full of blood as that of hydrogen, Sucked from men's hearts; insatiably he sucks And clings and pulls—a horse-leech, whose deep maw 190 The plethoric King Swellfoot could not fill, And who, till full, will cling for ever.

MAMMON: This For Queen Jona would suffice, and less; But 'tis the Swinish multitude I fear, And in that fear I have—

PURGANAX: Done what?

MAMMON: Disinherited 195 My eldest son Chrysaor, because he Attended public meetings, and would always Stand prating there of commerce, public faith, Economy, and unadulterate coin, And other topics, ultra-radical; 200 And have entailed my estate, called the Fool's Paradise, And funds in fairy-money, bonds, and bills, Upon my accomplished daughter Banknotina, And married her to the gallows. [1]

NOTE: (_204 'If one should marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone.—CYMBELINE.—[SHELLEY'S NOTE.]

PURGANAX: A good match!

MAMMON: A high connexion, Purganax. The bridegroom _205 Is of a very ancient family, Of Hounslow Heath, Tyburn, and the New Drop, And has great influence in both Houses;—oh! He makes the fondest husband; nay, TOO fond,— New-married people should not kiss in public; _210 But the poor souls love one another so! And then my little grandchildren, the gibbets, Promising children as you ever saw,— The young playing at hanging, the elder learning How to hold radicals. They are well taught too, _215 For every gibbet says its catechism And reads a select chapter in the Bible Before it goes to play.

[A MOST TREMENDOUS HUMMING IS HEARD.]

PURGANAX: Ha! what do I hear?

[ENTER THE GADFLY.]

MAMMON: Your Gadfly, as it seems, is tired of gadding.

GADFLY: Hum! hum! hum! 220 From the lakes of the Alps, and the cold gray scalps Of the mountains, I come! Hum! hum! hum! From Morocco and Fez, and the high palaces Of golden Byzantium; 225 From the temples divine of old Palestine, From Athens and Rome, With a ha! and a hum! I come! I come!

All inn-doors and windows 230 Were open to me: I saw all that sin does, Which lamps hardly see That burn in the night by the curtained bed,— The impudent lamps! for they blushed not red, 235 Dinging and singing, From slumber I rung her, Loud as the clank of an ironmonger; Hum! hum! hum!

Far, far, far! _240 With the trump of my lips, and the sting at my hips, I drove her—afar! Far, far, far! From city to city, abandoned of pity, A ship without needle or star;— _245 Homeless she passed, like a cloud on the blast, Seeking peace, finding war;— She is here in her car, From afar, and afar;— Hum! hum! _250

I have stung her and wrung her, The venom is working;— And if you had hung her With canting and quirking, She could not be deader than she will be soon;— 255 I have driven her close to you, under the moon, Night and day, hum! hum! ha! I have hummed her and drummed her From place to place, till at last I have dumbed her, Hum! hum! hum! 260

NOTE: _260 Edd. 1820, 1839 have no stage direction after this line.

[ENTER THE LEECH AND THE RAT.]

LEECH: I will suck Blood or muck! The disease of the state is a plethory, Who so fit to reduce it as I?

RAT: I'll slily seize and _265 Let blood from her weasand,— Creeping through crevice, and chink, and cranny, With my snaky tail, and my sides so scranny.

PURGANAX: Aroint ye! thou unprofitable worm! [TO THE LEECH.] And thou, dull beetle, get thee back to hell! _270 [TO THE GADFLY.] To sting the ghosts of Babylonian kings, And the ox-headed Io—

SWINE (WITHIN): Ugh, ugh, ugh! Hail! Iona the divine, We will be no longer Swine, But Bulls with horns and dewlaps.

RAT: For, _275 You know, my lord, the Minotaur—

PURGANAX (FIERCELY): Be silent! get to hell! or I will call The cat out of the kitchen. Well, Lord Mammon, This is a pretty business.

[EXIT THE RAT.]

MAMMON: I will go And spell some scheme to make it ugly then.— _280

[EXIT.]

[ENTER SWELLFOOT.]

SWELLFOOT: She is returned! Taurina is in Thebes, When Swellfoot wishes that she were in hell! Oh, Hymen, clothed in yellow jealousy, And waving o'er the couch of wedded kings The torch of Discord with its fiery hair; _285 This is thy work, thou patron saint of queens! Swellfoot is wived! though parted by the sea, The very name of wife had conjugal rights; Her cursed image ate, drank, slept with me, And in the arms of Adiposa oft 290 Her memory has received a husband's— [A LOUD TUMULT, AND CRIES OF 'IONA FOR EVER —NO SWELLFOOT!'] Hark! How the Swine cry Iona Taurina; I suffer the real presence; Purganax, Off with her head!

PURGANAX: But I must first impanel A jury of the Pigs.

SWELLFOOT: Pack them then. _295

PURGANAX: Or fattening some few in two separate sties. And giving them clean straw, tying some bits Of ribbon round their legs—giving their Sows Some tawdry lace, and bits of lustre glass, And their young Boars white and red rags, and tails 300 Of cows, and jay feathers, and sticking cauliflowers Between the ears of the old ones; and when They are persuaded, that by the inherent virtue Of these things, they are all imperial Pigs, Good Lord! they'd rip each other's bellies up, 305 Not to say, help us in destroying her.

SWELLFOOT: This plan might be tried too;—where's General Laoctonos? [ENTER LAOCTONOS AND DAKRY.] It is my royal pleasure That you, Lord General, bring the head and body, If separate it would please me better, hither _310 Of Queen Iona.

LAOCTONOS: That pleasure I well knew, And made a charge with those battalions bold, Called, from their dress and grin, the royal apes, Upon the Swine, who in a hollow square Enclosed her, and received the first attack 315 Like so many rhinoceroses, and then Retreating in good order, with bare tusks And wrinkled snouts presented to the foe, Bore her in triumph to the public sty. What is still worse, some Sows upon the ground 320 Have given the ape-guards apples, nuts, and gin, And they all whisk their tails aloft, and cry, 'Long live Iona! down with Swellfoot!'

PURGANAX: Hark!

THE SWINE (WITHOUT): Long live Iona! down with Swellfoot!

DAKRY: I Went to the garret of the swineherd's tower, _325 Which overlooks the sty, and made a long Harangue (all words) to the assembled Swine, Of delicacy mercy, judgement, law, Morals, and precedents, and purity, Adultery, destitution, and divorce, _330 Piety, faith, and state necessity, And how I loved the Queen!—and then I wept With the pathos of my own eloquence, And every tear turned to a mill-stone, which Brained many a gaping Pig, and there was made _335 A slough of blood and brains upon the place, Greased with the pounded bacon; round and round The mill-stones rolled, ploughing the pavement up, And hurling Sucking-Pigs into the air, With dust and stones.—

[ENTER MAMMON.]

MAMMON: I wonder that gray wizards 340 Like you should be so beardless in their schemes; It had been but a point of policy To keep Iona and the Swine apart. Divide and rule! but ye have made a junction Between two parties who will govern you 345 But for my art.—Behold this BAG! it is The poison BAG of that Green Spider huge, On which our spies skulked in ovation through The streets of Thebes, when they were paved with dead: A bane so much the deadlier fills it now 350 As calumny is worse than death,—for here The Gadfly's venom, fifty times distilled, Is mingled with the vomit of the Leech, In due proportion, and black ratsbane, which That very Rat, who, like the Pontic tyrant, 355 Nurtures himself on poison, dare not touch;— All is sealed up with the broad seal of Fraud, Who is the Devil's Lord High Chancellor, And over it the Primate of all Hell Murmured this pious baptism:—'Be thou called 360 The GREEN BAG; and this power and grace be thine: That thy contents, on whomsoever poured, Turn innocence to guilt, and gentlest looks To savage, foul, and fierce deformity. Let all baptized by thy infernal dew 365 Be called adulterer, drunkard, liar, wretch! No name left out which orthodoxy loves, Court Journal or legitimate Review!— Be they called tyrant, beast, fool, glutton, lover Of other wives and husbands than their own— 370 The heaviest sin on this side of the Alps! Wither they to a ghastly caricature Of what was human!—let not man or beast Behold their face with unaverted eyes! Or hear their names with ears that tingle not 375 With blood of indignation, rage, and shame!'— This is a perilous liquor;—good my Lords.— [SWELLFOOT APPROACHES TO TOUCH THE GREEN BAG.] Beware! for God's sake, beware!-if you should break The seal, and touch the fatal liquor—

NOTE: _373 or edition 1820; nor edition 1839.

PURGANAX: There, Give it to me. I have been used to handle _380 All sorts of poisons. His dread Majesty Only desires to see the colour of it.

MAMMON: Now, with a little common sense, my Lords, Only undoing all that has been done (Yet so as it may seem we but confirm it), _385 Our victory is assured. We must entice Her Majesty from the sty, and make the Pigs Believe that the contents of the GREEN BAG Are the true test of guilt or innocence. And that, if she be guilty, 'twill transform her _390 To manifest deformity like guilt. If innocent, she will become transfigured Into an angel, such as they say she is; And they will see her flying through the air, So bright that she will dim the noonday sun; _395 Showering down blessings in the shape of comfits. This, trust a priest, is just the sort of thing Swine will believe. I'll wager you will see them Climbing upon the thatch of their low sties, With pieces of smoked glass, to watch her sail _400 Among the clouds, and some will hold the flaps Of one another's ears between their teeth, To catch the coming hail of comfits in. You, Purganax, who have the gift o' the gab, Make them a solemn speech to this effect: _405 I go to put in readiness the feast Kept to the honour of our goddess Famine, Where, for more glory, let the ceremony Take place of the uglification of the Queen.

DAKRY (TO SWELLFOOT): I, as the keeper of your sacred conscience, _410 Humbly remind your Majesty that the care Of your high office, as Man-milliner To red Bellona, should not be deferred.

PURGANAX: All part, in happier plight to meet again.

[EXEUNT.]

END OF THE ACT 1.

ACT 2.

SCENE 1.2: THE PUBLIC STY. THE B0ARS IN FULL ASSEMBLY. ENTER PUEGANAX.

PURGANAX: Grant me your patience, Gentlemen and Boars, Ye, by whose patience under public burthens The glorious constitution of these sties Subsists, and shall subsist. The Lean-Pig rates Grow with the growing populace of Swine, 5 The taxes, that true source of Piggishness (How can I find a more appropriate term To include religion, morals, peace, and plenty, And all that fit Boeotia as a nation To teach the other nations how to live?), 10 Increase with Piggishness itself; and still Does the revenue, that great spring of all The patronage, and pensions, and by-payments, Which free-born Pigs regard with jealous eyes, Diminish, till at length, by glorious steps, 15 All the land's produce will be merged in taxes, And the revenue will amount to—nothing! The failure of a foreign market for Sausages, bristles, and blood-puddings, And such home manufactures, is but partial; 20 And, that the population of the Pigs, Instead of hog-wash, has been fed on straw And water, is a fact which is—you know— That is—it is a state-necessity— Temporary, of course. Those impious Pigs, 25 Who, by frequent squeaks, have dared impugn The settled Swellfoot system, or to make Irreverent mockery of the genuflexions Inculcated by the arch-priest, have been whipped Into a loyal and an orthodox whine. 30 Things being in this happy state, the Queen Iona—

NOTE: _16 land's]lands edition 1820.

A LOUD CRY FROM THE PIGS: She is innocent! most innocent!

PURGANAX: That is the very thing that I was saying, Gentlemen Swine; the Queen Iona being Most innocent, no doubt, returns to Thebes, 35 And the lean Sows and Bears collect about her, Wishing to make her think that WE believe (I mean those more substantial Pigs, who swill Rich hog-wash, while the others mouth damp straw) That she is guilty; thus, the Lean-Pig faction 40 Seeks to obtain that hog-wash, which has been Your immemorial right, and which I will Maintain you in to the last drop of—

A BOAR (INTERRUPTING HIM): What Does any one accuse her of?

PURGANAX: Why, no one Makes ANY positive accusation;—but _45 There were hints dropped, and so the privy wizards Conceived that it became them to advise His Majesty to investigate their truth;— Not for his own sake; he could be content To let his wife play any pranks she pleased, _50 If, by that sufferance, HE could please the Pigs; But then he fears the morals of the Swine, The Sows especially, and what effect It might produce upon the purity and Religion of the rising generation _55 Of Sucking-Pigs, if it could be suspected That Queen Iona—

[A PAUSE.]

FIRST BOAR: Well, go on; we long To hear what she can possibly have done.

PURGANAX: Why, it is hinted, that a certain Bull— Thus much is KNOWN:—the milk-white Bulls that feed _60 Beside Clitumnus and the crystal lakes Of the Cisalpine mountains, in fresh dews Of lotus-grass and blossoming asphodel Sleeking their silken hair, and with sweet breath Loading the morning winds until they faint _65 With living fragrance, are so beautiful!— Well, _I_ say nothing;—but Europa rode On such a one from Asia into Crete, And the enamoured sea grew calm beneath His gliding beauty. And Pasiphae, _70 Iona's grandmother,—but SHE is innocent! And that both you and I, and all assert.

FIRST BOAR: Most innocent!

PURGANAX: Behold this BAG; a bag—

SECOND BOAR: Oh! no GREEN BAGS!! Jealousy's eyes are green, Scorpions are green, and water-snakes, and efts, _75 And verdigris, and—

PURGANAX: Honourable Swine, In Piggish souls can prepossessions reign? Allow me to remind you, grass is green— All flesh is grass;—no bacon but is flesh— Ye are but bacon. This divining BAG _80 (Which is not green, but only bacon colour) Is filled with liquor, which if sprinkled o'er A woman guilty of—we all know what— Makes her so hideous, till she finds one blind She never can commit the like again. _85 If innocent, she will turn into an angel, And rain down blessings in the shape of comfits As she flies up to heaven. Now, my proposal Is to convert her sacred Majesty Into an angel (as I am sure we shall do), _90 By pouring on her head this mystic water. [SHOWING THE BAG.] I know that she is innocent; I wish Only to prove her so to all the world.

FIRST BOAR: Excellent, just, and noble Purganax.

SECOND BOAR: How glorious it will be to see her Majesty _95 Flying above our heads, her petticoats Streaming like—like—like—

THIRD BOAR: Anything.

PURGANAX: Oh no! But like a standard of an admiral's ship, Or like the banner of a conquering host, Or like a cloud dyed in the dying day, _100 Unravelled on the blast from a white mountain; Or like a meteor, or a war-steed's mane, Or waterfall from a dizzy precipice Scattered upon the wind.

FIRST BOAR: Or a cow's tail.

SECOND BOAR: Or ANYTHING, as the learned Boar observed. _105

PURGANAX: Gentlemen Boars, I move a resolution, That her most sacred Majesty should be Invited to attend the feast of Famine, And to receive upon her chaste white body Dews of Apotheosis from this BAG. _110

[A GREAT CONFUSION IS HEARD OF THE PIGS OUT OF DOORS, WHICH COMMUNICATES ITSELF TO THOSE WITHIN. DURING THE FIRST STROPHE, THE DOORS OF THE STY ARE STAVED IN, AND A NUMBER OF EXCEEDINGLY LEAN PIGS AND SOWS AND BOARS RUSH IN.]

SEMICHORUS 1: No! Yes!

SEMICHORUS 2: Yes! No!

SEMICHORUS 1: A law!

SEMICHORUS 2: A flaw!

SEMICHORUS 1: Porkers, we shall lose our wash, _115 Or must share it with the Lean-Pigs!

FIRST BOAR: Order! order! be not rash! Was there ever such a scene, Pigs!

AN OLD SOW (RUSHING IN): I never saw so fine a dash Since I first began to wean Pigs. _120

SECOND BOAR (SOLEMNLY): The Queen will be an angel time enough. I vote, in form of an amendment, that Purganax rub a little of that stuff Upon his face.

PURGANAX [HIS HEART IS SEEN TO BEAT THROUGH HIS WAISTCOAT]: Gods! What would ye be at?

SEMICHORUS 1: Purganax has plainly shown a _125 Cloven foot and jackdaw feather.

SEMICHORUS 2: I vote Swellfoot and Iona Try the magic test together; Whenever royal spouses bicker, Both should try the magic liquor. _130

AN OLD BOAR [ASIDE]: A miserable state is that of Pigs, For if their drivers would tear caps and wigs, The Swine must bite each other's ear therefore.

AN OLD SOW [ASIDE]: A wretched lot Jove has assigned to Swine, Squabbling makes Pig-herds hungry, and they dine _135 On bacon, and whip Sucking-Pigs the more.

CHORUS: Hog-wash has been ta'en away: If the Bull-Queen is divested, We shall be in every way Hunted, stripped, exposed, molested; 140 Let us do whate'er we may, That she shall not be arrested. QUEEN, we entrench you with walls of brawn, And palisades of tusks, sharp as a bayonet: Place your most sacred person here. We pawn 145 Our lives that none a finger dare to lay on it. Those who wrong you, wrong us; Those who hate you, hate us; Those who sting you, sting us; Those who bait you, bait us; 150 The ORACLE is now about to be Fulfilled by circumvolving destiny; Which says: 'Thebes, choose REFORM or CIVIL WAR, When through your streets, instead of hare with dogs, A CONSORT QUEEN shall hunt a KING with Hogs, 155 Riding upon the IONIAN MINOTAUR.'