NOTE: _73 make 1824; made 1839.

LEIGHTON: I WAS Leighton: what I AM thou seest. And yet turn thine eyes, And with thy memory look on thy friend's mind, _90 Which is unchanged, and where is written deep The sentence of my judge.

THIRD CITIZEN: Are these the marks with which Laud thinks to improve the image of his Maker Stamped on the face of man? Curses upon him, The impious tyrant!

SECOND CITIZEN: It is said besides 95 That lewd and papist drunkards may profane The Sabbath with their And has permitted that most heathenish custom Of dancing round a pole dressed up with wreaths On May-day. 100 A man who thus twice crucifies his God May well ... his brother.—In my mind, friend, The root of all this ill is prelacy. I would cut up the root.

THIRD CITIZEN: And by what means?

SECOND CITIZEN: Smiting each Bishop under the fifth rib. _105

THIRD CITIZEN: You seem to know the vulnerable place Of these same crocodiles.

SECOND CITIZEN: I learnt it in Egyptian bondage, sir. Your worm of Nile Betrays not with its flattering tears like they; For, when they cannot kill, they whine and weep. _110 Nor is it half so greedy of men's bodies As they of soul and all; nor does it wallow In slime as they in simony and lies And close lusts of the flesh.

NOTE: _78-_114 A seasonable...of the flesh 1870; omitted 1824. _108 bondage cj. Forman; bondages 1870.

A MARSHALSMAN: Give place, give place! You torch-bearers, advance to the great gate, _115 And then attend the Marshal of the Masque Into the Royal presence.

A LAW STUDENT: What thinkest thou Of this quaint show of ours, my aged friend? Even now we see the redness of the torches Inflame the night to the eastward, and the clarions _120 [Gasp?] to us on the wind's wave. It comes! And their sounds, floating hither round the pageant, Rouse up the astonished air.

NOTE: 119-123 Even now...air 1870; omitted 1824.

FIRST CITIZEN: I will not think but that our country's wounds May yet be healed. The king is just and gracious, _125 Though wicked counsels now pervert his will: These once cast off—

SECOND CITIZEN: As adders cast their skins And keep their venom, so kings often change; Councils and counsellors hang on one another, Hiding the loathsome _130 Like the base patchwork of a leper's rags.

THE YOUTH: Oh, still those dissonant thoughts!—List how the music Grows on the enchanted air! And see, the torches Restlessly flashing, and the crowd divided Like waves before an admiral's prow!

NOTE: _132 how the 1870; loud 1824.

A MARSHALSMAN: Give place _135 To the Marshal of the Masque!

A PURSUIVANT: Room for the King!

NOTE: _136 A Pursuivant: Room for the King! 1870; omitted 1824.

THE YOUTH: How glorious! See those thronging chariots Rolling, like painted clouds before the wind, Behind their solemn steeds: how some are shaped Like curved sea-shells dyed by the azure depths 140 Of Indian seas; some like the new-born moon; And some like cars in which the Romans climbed (Canopied by Victory's eagle-wings outspread) The Capitolian—See how gloriously The mettled horses in the torchlight stir 145 Their gallant riders, while they check their pride, Like shapes of some diviner element Than English air, and beings nobler than The envious and admiring multitude.

NOTE: _138-40 Rolling...depths 1870; Rolling like painted clouds before the wind Some are Like curved shells, dyed by the azure depths 1824.

SECOND CITIZEN: Ay, there they are— _150 Nobles, and sons of nobles, patentees, Monopolists, and stewards of this poor farm, On whose lean sheep sit the prophetic crows, Here is the pomp that strips the houseless orphan, Here is the pride that breaks the desolate heart. _155 These are the lilies glorious as Solomon, Who toil not, neither do they spin,—unless It be the webs they catch poor rogues withal. Here is the surfeit which to them who earn The niggard wages of the earth, scarce leaves _160 The tithe that will support them till they crawl Back to her cold hard bosom. Here is health Followed by grim disease, glory by shame, Waste by lame famine, wealth by squalid want, And England's sin by England's punishment. _165 And, as the effect pursues the cause foregone, Lo, giving substance to my words, behold At once the sign and the thing signified— A troop of cripples, beggars, and lean outcasts, Horsed upon stumbling jades, carted with dung, _170 Dragged for a day from cellars and low cabins And rotten hiding-holes, to point the moral Of this presentment, and bring up the rear Of painted pomp with misery!

NOTES: _162 her 1870; its 1824. _170 jades 1870; shapes 1824. _173 presentment 1870; presentiment 1824.

THE YOUTH: 'Tis but The anti-masque, and serves as discords do _175 In sweetest music. Who would love May flowers If they succeeded not to Winter's flaw; Or day unchanged by night; or joy itself Without the touch of sorrow?

SECOND CITIZEN: I and thou-

A MARSHALSMAN: Place, give place! _180

NOTE: 179, 180 I...place! 1870; omitted 1824.

SCENE 2: A CHAMBER IN WHITEHALL. ENTER THE KING, QUEEN, LAUD, LORD STRAFTORD, LORD COTTINGTON, AND OTHER LORDS; ARCHY; ALSO ST. JOHN, WITH SOME GENTLEMEN OF THE INNS OF COURT.

KING: Thanks, gentlemen. I heartily accept This token of your service: your gay masque Was performed gallantly. And it shows well When subjects twine such flowers of [observance?] With the sharp thorns that deck the English crown. _5 A gentle heart enjoys what it confers, Even as it suffers that which it inflicts, Though Justice guides the stroke. Accept my hearty thanks.

NOTE: _3-9 And...thanks 1870; omitted 1824.

QUEEN: And gentlemen, Call your poor Queen your debtor. Your quaint pageant 10 Rose on me like the figures of past years, Treading their still path back to infancy, More beautiful and mild as they draw nearer The quiet cradle. I could have almost wept To think I was in Paris, where these shows 15 Are well devised—such as I was ere yet My young heart shared a portion of the burthen, The careful weight, of this great monarchy. There, gentlemen, between the sovereign's pleasure And that which it regards, no clamour lifts 20 Its proud interposition. In Paris ribald censurers dare not move Their poisonous tongues against these sinless sports; And HIS smile Warms those who bask in it, as ours would do 25 If ... Take my heart's thanks: add them, gentlemen, To those good words which, were he King of France, My royal lord would turn to golden deeds.

ST. JOHN: Madam, the love of Englishmen can make The lightest favour of their lawful king _30 Outweigh a despot's.—We humbly take our leaves, Enriched by smiles which France can never buy.

[EXEUNT ST. JOHN AND THE GENTLEMEN OF THE INNS OF COURT.]

KING: My Lord Archbishop, Mark you what spirit sits in St. John's eyes? Methinks it is too saucy for this presence. _35

ARCHY: Yes, pray your Grace look: for, like an unsophisticated [eye] sees everything upside down, you who are wise will discern the shadow of an idiot in lawn sleeves and a rochet setting springes to catch woodcocks in haymaking time. Poor Archy, whose owl-eyes are tempered to the error of his age, and because he is a fool, and by special ordinance of God forbidden ever to see himself as he is, sees now in that deep eye a blindfold devil sitting on the ball, and weighing words out between king and subjects. One scale is full of promises, and the other full of protestations: and then another devil creeps behind the first out of the dark windings [of a] pregnant lawyer's brain, and takes the bandage from the other's eyes, and throws a sword into the left-hand scale, for all the world like my Lord Essex's there. _48

STRAFFORD: A rod in pickle for the Fool's back!

ARCHY: Ay, and some are now smiling whose tears will make the brine; for the Fool sees—

STRAFFORD: Insolent! You shall have your coat turned and be whipped out of the palace for this. _53

ARCHY: When all the fools are whipped, and all the Protestant writers, while the knaves are whipping the fools ever since a thief was set to catch a thief. If all turncoats were whipped out of palaces, poor Archy would be disgraced in good company. Let the knaves whip the fools, and all the fools laugh at it. [Let the] wise and godly slit each other's noses and ears (having no need of any sense of discernment in their craft); and the knaves, to marshal them, join in a procession to Bedlam, to entreat the madmen to omit their sublime Platonic contemplations, and manage the state of England. Let all the honest men who lie [pinched?] up at the prisons or the pillories, in custody of the pursuivants of the High-Commission Court, marshal them. _65

NOTE: _64 pinched marked as doubtful by Rossetti. 1870; Forman, Dowden; penned Woodberry.

[ENTER SECRETARY LYTTELTON, WITH PAPERS.]

KING [LOOKING OVER THE PAPERS]: These stiff Scots His Grace of Canterbury must take order To force under the Church's yoke.—You, Wentworth, Shall be myself in Ireland, and shall add Your wisdom, gentleness, and energy, _70 To what in me were wanting.—My Lord Weston, Look that those merchants draw not without loss Their bullion from the Tower; and, on the payment Of shipmoney, take fullest compensation For violation of our royal forests, _75 Whose limits, from neglect, have been o'ergrown With cottages and cornfields. The uttermost Farthing exact from those who claim exemption From knighthood: that which once was a reward Shall thus be made a punishment, that subjects _80 May know how majesty can wear at will The rugged mood.—My Lord of Coventry, Lay my command upon the Courts below That bail be not accepted for the prisoners Under the warrant of the Star Chamber. _85 The people shall not find the stubbornness Of Parliament a cheap or easy method Of dealing with their rightful sovereign: And doubt not this, my Lord of Coventry, We will find time and place for fit rebuke.— _90 My Lord of Canterbury.

NOTE: _22-90 In Paris...rebuke 1870; omitted 1824.

ARCHY: The fool is here.

LAUD: I crave permission of your Majesty To order that this insolent fellow be Chastised: he mocks the sacred character, Scoffs at the state, and—

NOTE: _95 state 1870; stake 1824.

KING: What, my Archy? 95 He mocks and mimics all he sees and hears, Yet with a quaint and graceful licence—Prithee For this once do not as Prynne would, were he Primate of England. With your Grace's leave, He lives in his own world; and, like a parrot 100 Hung in his gilded prison from the window Of a queen's bower over the public way, Blasphemes with a bird's mind:—his words, like arrows Which know no aim beyond the archer's wit, Strike sometimes what eludes philosophy.— 105 [TO ARCHY.] Go, sirrah, and repent of your offence Ten minutes in the rain; be it your penance To bring news how the world goes there. [EXIT ARCHY.] Poor Archy! He weaves about himself a world of mirth Out of the wreck of ours. 110

NOTES: _99 With your Grace's leave 1870; omitted 1824. _106-_110 Go...ours spoken by THE QUEEN, 1824.

LAUD: I take with patience, as my Master did, All scoffs permitted from above.

KING: My lord, Pray overlook these papers. Archy's words Had wings, but these have talons.

QUEEN: And the lion That wears them must be tamed. My dearest lord, 115 I see the new-born courage in your eye Armed to strike dead the Spirit of the Time, Which spurs to rage the many-headed beast. Do thou persist: for, faint but in resolve, And it were better thou hadst still remained 120 The slave of thine own slaves, who tear like curs The fugitive, and flee from the pursuer; And Opportunity, that empty wolf, Flies at his throat who falls. Subdue thy actions Even to the disposition of thy purpose, 125 And be that tempered as the Ebro's steel; And banish weak-eyed Mercy to the weak, Whence she will greet thee with a gift of peace And not betray thee with a traitor's kiss, As when she keeps the company of rebels, 130 Who think that she is Fear. This do, lest we Should fall as from a glorious pinnacle In a bright dream, and wake as from a dream Out of our worshipped state.

NOTES: 116 your 1824; thine 1870. 118 Which...beast 1870; omitted 1824.

KING: Beloved friend, God is my witness that this weight of power, 135 Which He sets me my earthly task to wield Under His law, is my delight and pride Only because thou lovest that and me. For a king bears the office of a God To all the under world; and to his God 140 Alone he must deliver up his trust, Unshorn of its permitted attributes. [It seems] now as the baser elements Had mutinied against the golden sun That kindles them to harmony, and quells 145 Their self-destroying rapine. The wild million Strike at the eye that guides them; like as humours Of the distempered body that conspire Against the spirit of life throned in the heart,— And thus become the prey of one another, 150 And last of death—

STRAFFORD: That which would be ambition in a subject Is duty in a sovereign; for on him, As on a keystone, hangs the arch of life, Whose safety is its strength. Degree and form, _155 And all that makes the age of reasoning man More memorable than a beast's, depend on this— That Right should fence itself inviolably With Power; in which respect the state of England From usurpation by the insolent commons _160 Cries for reform. Get treason, and spare treasure. Fee with coin The loudest murmurers; feed with jealousies Opposing factions,—be thyself of none; And borrow gold of many, for those who lend _165 Will serve thee till thou payest them; and thus Keep the fierce spirit of the hour at bay, Till time, and its coming generations Of nights and days unborn, bring some one chance,

...

Or war or pestilence or Nature's self,— 170 By some distemperature or terrible sign, Be as an arbiter betwixt themselves. Nor let your Majesty Doubt here the peril of the unseen event. How did your brother Kings, coheritors 175 In your high interest in the subject earth, Rise past such troubles to that height of power Where now they sit, and awfully serene Smile on the trembling world? Such popular storms Philip the Second of Spain, this Lewis of France, 180 And late the German head of many bodies, And every petty lord of Italy, Quelled or by arts or arms. Is England poorer Or feebler? or art thou who wield'st her power Tamer than they? or shall this island be— 185 [Girdled] by its inviolable waters— To the world present and the world to come Sole pattern of extinguished monarchy? Not if thou dost as I would have thee do.

KING: Your words shall be my deeds: _190 You speak the image of my thought. My friend (If Kings can have a friend, I call thee so), Beyond the large commission which [belongs] Under the great seal of the realm, take this: And, for some obvious reasons, let there be _195 No seal on it, except my kingly word And honour as I am a gentleman. Be—as thou art within my heart and mind— Another self, here and in Ireland: Do what thou judgest well, take amplest licence, _200 And stick not even at questionable means. Hear me, Wentworth. My word is as a wall Between thee and this world thine enemy— That hates thee, for thou lovest me.

STRAFFORD: I own No friend but thee, no enemies but thine: _205 Thy lightest thought is my eternal law. How weak, how short, is life to pay—

KING: Peace, peace. Thou ow'st me nothing yet. [TO LAUD.] My lord, what say Those papers?

LAUD: Your Majesty has ever interposed, 210 In lenity towards your native soil, Between the heavy vengeance of the Church And Scotland. Mark the consequence of warming This brood of northern vipers in your bosom. The rabble, instructed no doubt 215 By London, Lindsay, Hume, and false Argyll (For the waves never menace heaven until Scourged by the wind's invisible tyranny), Have in the very temple of the Lord Done outrage to His chosen ministers. 220 They scorn the liturgy of the Holy Church, Refuse to obey her canons, and deny The apostolic power with which the Spirit Has filled its elect vessels, even from him Who held the keys with power to loose and bind, 225 To him who now pleads in this royal presence.— Let ample powers and new instructions be Sent to the High Commissioners in Scotland. To death, imprisonment, and confiscation, Add torture, add the ruin of the kindred 230 Of the offender, add the brand of infamy, Add mutilation: and if this suffice not, Unleash the sword and fire, that in their thirst They may lick up that scum of schismatics. I laugh at those weak rebels who, desiring 235 What we possess, still prate of Christian peace, As if those dreadful arbitrating messengers Which play the part of God 'twixt right and wrong, Should be let loose against the innocent sleep Of templed cities and the smiling fields, 240 For some poor argument of policy Which touches our own profit or our pride (Where it indeed were Christian charity To turn the cheek even to the smiter's hand): And, when our great Redeemer, when our God, 245 When He who gave, accepted, and retained Himself in propitiation of our sins, Is scorned in His immediate ministry, With hazard of the inestimable loss Of all the truth and discipline which is 250 Salvation to the extremest generation Of men innumerable, they talk of peace! Such peace as Canaan found, let Scotland now: For, by that Christ who came to bring a sword, Not peace, upon the earth, and gave command 255 To His disciples at the Passover That each should sell his robe and buy a sword,- Once strip that minister of naked wrath, And it shall never sleep in peace again Till Scotland bend or break.

NOTES: 134-232 Beloved...mutilation 1870; omitted 1824. 237 arbitrating messengers 1870; messengers of wrath 1824. 239 the 1870; omitted 1524. 243-244 Parentheses inserted 1870. 246, 247 When He...sins 1870; omitted 1824. 248 ministry 1870; ministers 1824. 249-52 With...innumerable 1870; omitted 1824.

KING: My Lord Archbishop, 260 Do what thou wilt and what thou canst in this. Thy earthly even as thy heavenly King Gives thee large power in his unquiet realm. But we want money, and my mind misgives me That for so great an enterprise, as yet, 265 We are unfurnished.

STRAFFORD: Yet it may not long Rest on our wills.

COTTINGTON: The expenses Of gathering shipmoney, and of distraining For every petty rate (for we encounter A desperate opposition inch by inch _270 In every warehouse and on every farm), Have swallowed up the gross sum of the imposts; So that, though felt as a most grievous scourge Upon the land, they stand us in small stead As touches the receipt.

STRAFFORD: 'Tis a conclusion 275 Most arithmetical: and thence you infer Perhaps the assembling of a parliament. Now, if a man should call his dearest enemies T0 sit in licensed judgement on his life, His Majesty might wisely take that course. 280 [ASIDE TO COTTINGTON.] It is enough to expect from these lean imposts That they perform the office of a scourge, Without more profit. [ALOUD.] Fines and confiscations, And a forced loan from the refractory city, Will fill our coffers: and the golden love 285 Of loyal gentlemen and noble friends For the worshipped father of our common country, With contributions from the catholics, Will make Rebellion pale in our excess. Be these the expedients until time and wisdom 290 Shall frame a settled state of government.

LAUD: And weak expedients they! Have we not drained All, till the ... which seemed A mine exhaustless?

STRAFFORD: And the love which IS, If loyal hearts could turn their blood to gold. _295

LAUD: Both now grow barren: and I speak it not As loving parliaments, which, as they have been In the right hand of bold bad mighty kings The scourges of the bleeding Church, I hate. Methinks they scarcely can deserve our fear. _300

STRAFFORD: Oh! my dear liege, take back the wealth thou gavest: With that, take all I held, but as in trust For thee, of mine inheritance: leave me but This unprovided body for thy service, And a mind dedicated to no care _305 Except thy safety:—but assemble not A parliament. Hundreds will bring, like me, Their fortunes, as they would their blood, before—

KING: No! thou who judgest them art but one. Alas! We should be too much out of love with Heaven, 310 Did this vile world show many such as thee, Thou perfect, just, and honourable man! Never shall it be said that Charles of England Stripped those he loved for fear of those he scorns; Nor will he so much misbecome his throne 315 As to impoverish those who most adorn And best defend it. That you urge, dear Strafford, Inclines me rather—

QUEEN: To a parliament? Is this thy firmness? and thou wilt preside Over a knot of ... censurers, 320 To the unswearing of thy best resolves, And choose the worst, when the worst comes too soon? Plight not the worst before the worst must come. Oh, wilt thou smile whilst our ribald foes, Dressed in their own usurped authority, 325 Sharpen their tongues on Henrietta's fame? It is enough! Thou lovest me no more! [WEEPS.]

KING: Oh, Henrietta!

[THEY TALK APART.]

COTTINGTON [TO LAUD]: Money we have none: And all the expedients of my Lord of Strafford Will scarcely meet the arrears.

LAUD: Without delay 330 An army must be sent into the north; Followed by a Commission of the Church, With amplest power to quench in fire and blood, And tears and terror, and the pity of hell, The intenser wrath of Heresy. God will give 335 Victory; and victory over Scotland give The lion England tamed into our hands. That will lend power, and power bring gold.

COTTINGTON: Meanwhile We must begin first where your Grace leaves off. Gold must give power, or—

LAUD: I am not averse 340 From the assembling of a parliament. Strong actions and smooth words might teach them soon The lesson to obey. And are they not A bubble fashioned by the monarch's mouth, The birth of one light breath? If they serve no purpose, 345 A word dissolves them.

STRAFFORD: The engine of parliaments Might be deferred until I can bring over The Irish regiments: they will serve to assure The issue of the war against the Scots. And, this game won—which if lost, all is lost— _350 Gather these chosen leaders of the rebels, And call them, if you will, a parliament.

KING: Oh, be our feet still tardy to shed blood. Guilty though it may be! I would still spare The stubborn country of my birth, and ward _355 From countenances which I loved in youth The wrathful Church's lacerating hand. [TO LAUD.] Have you o'erlooked the other articles?

[ENTER ARCHY.]

LAUD: Hazlerig, Hampden, Pym, young Harry Vane, Cromwell, and other rebels of less note, _360 Intend to sail with the next favouring wind For the Plantations.

ARCHY: Where they think to found A commonwealth like Gonzalo's in the play, Gynaecocoenic and pantisocratic.

NOTE: _363 Gonzalo's 1870; Gonzaga Boscombe manuscript.

KING: What's that, sirrah?

ARCHY: New devil's politics. _365 Hell is the pattern of all commonwealths: Lucifer was the first republican. Will you hear Merlin's prophecy, how three [posts?] 'In one brainless skull, when the whitethorn is full, Shall sail round the world, and come back again: _370 Shall sail round the world in a brainless skull, And come back again when the moon is at full:'— When, in spite of the Church, They will hear homilies of whatever length Or form they please. _375

[COTTINGTON?]: So please your Majesty to sign this order For their detention.

ARCHY: If your Majesty were tormented night and day by fever, gout, rheumatism, and stone, and asthma, etc., and you found these diseases had secretly entered into a conspiracy to abandon you, should you think it necessary to lay an embargo on the port by which they meant to dispeople your unquiet kingdom of man? _383

KING: If fear were made for kings, the Fool mocks wisely; But in this case—[WRITING]. Here, my lord, take the warrant, And see it duly executed forthwith.— That imp of malice and mockery shall be punished. _387

[EXEUNT ALL BUT KING, QUEEN, AND ARCHY.]

ARCHY: Ay, I am the physician of whom Plato prophesied, who was to be accused by the confectioner before a jury of children, who found him guilty without waiting for the summing-up, and hanged him without benefit of clergy. Thus Baby Charles, and the Twelfth-night Queen of Hearts, and the overgrown schoolboy Cottington, and that little urchin Laud—who would reduce a verdict of 'guilty, death,' by famine, if it were impregnable by composition—all impannelled against poor Archy for presenting them bitter physic the last day of the holidays. _397

QUEEN: Is the rain over, sirrah?

KING: When it rains And the sun shines, 'twill rain again to-morrow: And therefore never smile till you've done crying. _400

ARCHY: But 'tis all over now: like the April anger of woman, the gentle sky has wept itself serene.

QUEEN: What news abroad? how looks the world this morning?

ARCHY: Gloriously as a grave covered with virgin flowers. There's a rainbow in the sky. Let your Majesty look at it, for

'A rainbow in the morning _407 Is the shepherd's warning;'

and the flocks of which you are the pastor are scattered among the mountain-tops, where every drop of water is a flake of snow, and the breath of May pierces like a January blast. _411

KING: The sheep have mistaken the wolf for their shepherd, my poor boy; and the shepherd, the wolves for their watchdogs.

QUEEN: But the rainbow was a good sign, Archy: it says that the waters of the deluge are gone, and can return no more.

ARCHY: Ay, the salt-water one: but that of tears and blood must yet come down, and that of fire follow, if there be any truth in lies.—The rainbow hung over the city with all its shops,...and churches, from north to south, like a bridge of congregated lightning pieced by the masonry of heaven—like a balance in which the angel that distributes the coming hour was weighing that heavy one whose poise is now felt in the lightest hearts, before it bows the proudest heads under the meanest feet. _424

QUEEN: Who taught you this trash, sirrah?

ARCHY: A torn leaf out of an old book trampled in the dirt.—But for the rainbow. It moved as the sun moved, and...until the top of the Tower...of a cloud through its left-hand tip, and Lambeth Palace look as dark as a rock before the other. Methought I saw a crown figured upon one tip, and a mitre on the other. So, as I had heard treasures were found where the rainbow quenches its points upon the earth, I set off, and at the Tower— But I shall not tell your Majesty what I found close to the closet-window on which the rainbow had glimmered.

KING: Speak: I will make my Fool my conscience. _435

ARCHY: Then conscience is a fool.—I saw there a cat caught in a rat-trap. I heard the rats squeak behind the wainscots: it seemed to me that the very mice were consulting on the manner of her death.

QUEEN: Archy is shrewd and bitter.

ARCHY: Like the season, _440 So blow the winds.—But at the other end of the rainbow, where the gray rain was tempered along the grass and leaves by a tender interfusion of violet and gold in the meadows beyond Lambeth, what think you that I found instead of a mitre?

KING: Vane's wits perhaps. _445

ARCHY: Something as vain. I saw a gross vapour hovering in a stinking ditch over the carcass of a dead ass, some rotten rags, and broken dishes—the wrecks of what once administered to the stuffing-out and the ornament of a worm of worms. His Grace of Canterbury expects to enter the New Jerusalem some Palm Sunday in triumph on the ghost of this ass. _451

QUEEN: Enough, enough! Go desire Lady Jane She place my lute, together with the music Mari received last week from Italy, In my boudoir, and—

[EXIT ARCHY.]

KING: I'll go in.

NOTE: 254-455 For by...I'll go in 1870; omitted 1824.

QUEEN: MY beloved lord, _455 Have you not noted that the Fool of late Has lost his careless mirth, and that his words Sound like the echoes of our saddest fears? What can it mean? I should be loth to think Some factious slave had tutored him.

KING: Oh, no! _460 He is but Occasion's pupil. Partly 'tis That our minds piece the vacant intervals Of his wild words with their own fashioning,— As in the imagery of summer clouds, Or coals of the winter fire, idlers find _465 The perfect shadows of their teeming thoughts: And partly, that the terrors of the time Are sown by wandering Rumour in all spirits; And in the lightest and the least, may best Be seen the current of the coming wind. _470

NOTES: 460, 461 Oh...pupil 1870; omitted 1824. 461 Partly 'tis 1870; It partly is 1824. 465 of 1870; in 1824.

QUEEN: Your brain is overwrought with these deep thoughts. Come, I will sing to you; let us go try These airs from Italy; and, as we pass The gallery, we'll decide where that Correggio Shall hang—the Virgin Mother _475 With her child, born the King of heaven and earth, Whose reign is men's salvation. And you shall see A cradled miniature of yourself asleep, Stamped on the heart by never-erring love; Liker than any Vandyke ever made, _480 A pattern to the unborn age of thee, Over whose sweet beauty I have wept for joy A thousand times, and now should weep for sorrow, Did I not think that after we were dead Our fortunes would spring high in him, and that _485 The cares we waste upon our heavy crown Would make it light and glorious as a wreath Of Heaven's beams for his dear innocent brow.

NOTE: 473-477 and, as...salvation 1870; omitted 1824.

KING: Dear Henrietta!

SCENE 3: THE STAR CHAMBER. LAUD, JUXON, STRAFFORD, AND OTHERS, AS JUDGES. PRYNNE AS A PRISONER, AND THEN BASTWICK.

LAUD: Bring forth the prisoner Bastwick: let the clerk Recite his sentence.

CLERK: 'That he pay five thousand Pounds to the king, lose both his ears, be branded With red-hot iron on the cheek and forehead, And be imprisoned within Lancaster Castle _5 During the pleasure of the Court.'

LAUD: Prisoner, If you have aught to say wherefore this sentence Should not be put into effect, now speak.

JUXON: If you have aught to plead in mitigation, Speak.

BASTWICK: Thus, my lords. If, like the prelates, I _10 Were an invader of the royal power A public scorner of the word of God, Profane, idolatrous, popish, superstitious, Impious in heart and in tyrannic act, Void of wit, honesty, and temperance; _15 If Satan were my lord, as theirs,—our God Pattern of all I should avoid to do; Were I an enemy of my God and King And of good men, as ye are;—I should merit Your fearful state and gilt prosperity, _20 Which, when ye wake from the last sleep, shall turn To cowls and robes of everlasting fire. But, as I am, I bid ye grudge me not The only earthly favour ye can yield, Or I think worth acceptance at your hands,— _25 Scorn, mutilation, and imprisonment. even as my Master did, Until Heaven's kingdom shall descend on earth, Or earth be like a shadow in the light Of Heaven absorbed—some few tumultuous years _30 Will pass, and leave no wreck of what opposes His will whose will is power.

NOTE: 27-32 even...power printed as a fragment, Garnett, 1862; inserted here conjecturally, Rossetti, 1870.

LAUD: Officer, take the prisoner from the bar, And be his tongue slit for his insolence.

BASTWICK: While this hand holds a pen—

LAUD: Be his hands—

JUXON: Stop! 35 Forbear, my lord! The tongue, which now can speak No terror, would interpret, being dumb, Heaven's thunder to our harm;... And hands, which now write only their own shame, With bleeding stumps might sign our blood away. 40

LAUD: Much more such 'mercy' among men would be, Did all the ministers of Heaven's revenge Flinch thus from earthly retribution. I Could suffer what I would inflict. [EXIT BASTWICK GUARDED.] Bring up The Lord Bishop of Lincoln.— [TO STRATFORD.] Know you not 45 That, in distraining for ten thousand pounds Upon his books and furniture at Lincoln, Were found these scandalous and seditious letters Sent from one Osbaldistone, who is fled? I speak it not as touching this poor person; 50 But of the office which should make it holy, Were it as vile as it was ever spotless. Mark too, my lord, that this expression strikes His Majesty, if I misinterpret not.

[ENTER BISHOP WILLIAMS GUARDED.]

STRAFFORD: 'Twere politic and just that Williams taste _55 The bitter fruit of his connection with The schismatics. But you, my Lord Archbishop, Who owed your first promotion to his favour, Who grew beneath his smile—

LAUD: Would therefore beg The office of his judge from this High Court,— 60 That it shall seem, even as it is, that I, In my assumption of this sacred robe, Have put aside all worldly preference, All sense of all distinction of all persons, All thoughts but of the service of the Church.— 65 Bishop of Lincoln!

WILLIAMS: Peace, proud hierarch! I know my sentence, and I own it just. Thou wilt repay me less than I deserve, In stretching to the utmost

...

NOTE: Scene 3. 1-69 Bring...utmost 1870; omitted 1824.

SCENE 4: HAMPDEN, PYM, CROMWELL, HIS DAUGHTER, AND YOUNG SIR HARRY VANE.

HAMPDEN: England, farewell! thou, who hast been my cradle, Shalt never be my dungeon or my grave! I held what I inherited in thee As pawn for that inheritance of freedom Which thou hast sold for thy despoiler's smile: _5 How can I call thee England, or my country?— Does the wind hold?

VANE: The vanes sit steady Upon the Abbey towers. The silver lightnings Of the evening star, spite of the city's smoke, Tell that the north wind reigns in the upper air. _10 Mark too that flock of fleecy-winged clouds Sailing athwart St. Margaret's.

NOTE: _11 flock 1824; fleet 1870.

HAMPDEN: Hail, fleet herald Of tempest! that rude pilot who shall guide Hearts free as his, to realms as pure as thee, Beyond the shot of tyranny, _15 Beyond the webs of that swoln spider... Beyond the curses, calumnies, and [lies?] Of atheist priests! ... And thou Fair star, whose beam lies on the wide Atlantic, Athwart its zones of tempest and of calm, _20 Bright as the path to a beloved home Oh, light us to the isles of the evening land! Like floating Edens cradled in the glimmer Of sunset, through the distant mist of years Touched by departing hope, they gleam! lone regions, _25 Where Power's poor dupes and victims yet have never Propitiated the savage fear of kings With purest blood of noblest hearts; whose dew Is yet unstained with tears of those who wake To weep each day the wrongs on which it dawns; _30 Whose sacred silent air owns yet no echo Of formal blasphemies; nor impious rites Wrest man's free worship, from the God who loves, To the poor worm who envies us His love! Receive, thou young ... of Paradise. _35 These exiles from the old and sinful world!

...

This glorious clime, this firmament, whose lights Dart mitigated influence through their veil Of pale blue atmosphere; whose tears keep green The pavement of this moist all-feeding earth; 40 This vaporous horizon, whose dim round Is bastioned by the circumfluous sea, Repelling invasion from the sacred towers, Presses upon me like a dungeon's grate, A low dark roof, a damp and narrow wall. 45 The boundless universe Becomes a cell too narrow for the soul That owns no master; while the loathliest ward Of this wide prison, England, is a nest Of cradling peace built on the mountain tops,— 50 To which the eagle spirits of the free, Which range through heaven and earth, and scorn the storm Of time, and gaze upon the light of truth, Return to brood on thoughts that cannot die And cannot be repelled. 55 Like eaglets floating in the heaven of time, They soar above their quarry, and shall stoop Through palaces and temples thunderproof.

NOTES: _13 rude 1870; wild 1824. _16-_18 Beyond...priests 1870; omitted 1824. _25 Touched 1870; Tinged 1824. _34 To the poor 1870; Towards the 1824. _38 their 1870; the 1824. _46 boundless 1870; mighty 1824. _48 owns no 1824; owns a 1870. ward 1870; spot 1824. _50 cradling 1870; cradled 1824. _54, _55 Return...repelled 1870; Return to brood over the [ ] thoughts That cannot die, and may not he repelled 1824. _56-_58 Like...thunderproof 1870; omitted 1824.

SCENE 5:

ARCHY: I'll go live under the ivy that overgrows the terrace, and count the tears shed on its old [roots?] as the [wind?] plays the song of

'A widow bird sate mourning Upon a wintry bough.' _5 [SINGS] Heigho! the lark and the owl! One flies the morning, and one lulls the night:— Only the nightingale, poor fond soul, Sings like the fool through darkness and light.

'A widow bird sate mourning for her love _10 Upon a wintry bough; The frozen wind crept on above, The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare. No flower upon the ground, _15 And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel's sound.'

NOTE: Scene 5. 1-9 I'll...light 1870; omitted 1824.

***

THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE.

[Composed at Lerici on the Gulf of Spezzia in the spring and early summer of 1822—the poem on which Shelley was engaged at the time of his death. Published by Mrs. Shelley in the "Posthumous Poems" of 1824, pages 73-95. Several emendations, the result of Dr. Garnett's examination of the Boscombe manuscript, were given to the world by Miss Mathilde Blind, "Westminster Review", July, 1870. The poem was, of course, included in the "Poetical Works", 1839, both editions. See Editor's Notes.]

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

Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth— The smokeless altars of the mountain snows _5 Flamed above crimson clouds, and at the birth

Of light, the Ocean's orison arose, To which the birds tempered their matin lay. All flowers in field or forest which unclose

Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day, _10 Swinging their censers in the element, With orient incense lit by the new ray

Burned slow and inconsumably, and sent Their odorous sighs up to the smiling air; And, in succession due, did continent, _15

Isle, ocean, and all things that in them wear The form and character of mortal mould, Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear

Their portion of the toil, which he of old Took as his own, and then imposed on them: _20 But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold

Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem The cone of night, now they were laid asleep Stretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem

Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep _25 Of a green Apennine: before me fled The night; behind me rose the day; the deep

Was at my feet, and Heaven above my head,— When a strange trance over my fancy grew Which was not slumber, for the shade it spread _30

Was so transparent, that the scene came through As clear as when a veil of light is drawn O'er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew

That I had felt the freshness of that dawn Bathe in the same cold dew my brow and hair, _35 And sate as thus upon that slope of lawn

Under the self-same bough, and heard as there The birds, the fountains and the ocean hold Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air, And then a vision on my train was rolled. _40

...

As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay, This was the tenour of my waking dream:— Methought I sate beside a public way

Thick strewn with summer dust, and a great stream Of people there was hurrying to and fro, _45 Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam,

All hastening onward, yet none seemed to know Whither he went, or whence he came, or why He made one of the multitude, and so

Was borne amid the crowd, as through the sky _50 One of the million leaves of summer's bier; Old age and youth, manhood and infancy,

Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, Some flying from the thing they feared, and some Seeking the object of another's fear; _55

And others, as with steps towards the tomb, Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath, And others mournfully within the gloom

Of their own shadow walked, and called it death; And some fled from it as it were a ghost, _60 Half fainting in the affliction of vain breath:

But more, with motions which each other crossed, Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw, Or birds within the noonday aether lost,

Upon that path where flowers never grew,— And, weary with vain toil and faint for thirst, Heard not the fountains, whose melodious dew

Out of their mossy cells forever burst; Nor felt the breeze which from the forest told Of grassy paths and wood-lawns interspersed _70

With overarching elms and caverns cold, And violet banks where sweet dreams brood, but they Pursued their serious folly as of old.

And as I gazed, methought that in the way The throng grew wilder, as the woods of June _75 When the south wind shakes the extinguished day,

And a cold glare, intenser than the noon, But icy cold, obscured with blinding light The sun, as he the stars. Like the young moon—

When on the sunlit limits of the night _80 Her white shell trembles amid crimson air, And whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might—

Doth, as the herald of its coming, bear The ghost of its dead mother, whose dim form Bends in dark aether from her infant's chair,— _85

So came a chariot on the silent storm Of its own rushing splendour, and a Shape So sate within, as one whom years deform,

Beneath a dusky hood and double cape, Crouching within the shadow of a tomb; _90 And o'er what seemed the head a cloud-like crape

Was bent, a dun and faint aethereal gloom Tempering the light. Upon the chariot-beam A Janus-visaged Shadow did assume

The guidance of that wonder-winged team; _95 The shapes which drew it in thick lightenings Were lost:—I heard alone on the air's soft stream

The music of their ever-moving wings. All the four faces of that Charioteer Had their eyes banded; little profit brings _100

Speed in the van and blindness in the rear, Nor then avail the beams that quench the sun,— Or that with banded eyes could pierce the sphere

Of all that is, has been or will be done; So ill was the car guided—but it passed _105 With solemn speed majestically on.

The crowd gave way, and I arose aghast, Or seemed to rise, so mighty was the trance, And saw, like clouds upon the thunder-blast,

The million with fierce song and maniac dance _110 Raging around—such seemed the jubilee As when to greet some conqueror's advance

Imperial Rome poured forth her living sea From senate-house, and forum, and theatre, When ... upon the free _115

Had bound a yoke, which soon they stooped to bear. Nor wanted here the just similitude Of a triumphal pageant, for where'er

The chariot rolled, a captive multitude Was driven;—all those who had grown old in power _120 Or misery,—all who had their age subdued

By action or by suffering, and whose hour Was drained to its last sand in weal or woe, So that the trunk survived both fruit and flower;—

All those whose fame or infamy must grow _125 Till the great winter lay the form and name Of this green earth with them for ever low;—

All but the sacred few who could not tame Their spirits to the conquerors—but as soon As they had touched the world with living flame, _130

Fled back like eagles to their native noon, Or those who put aside the diadem Of earthly thrones or gems...

Were there, of Athens or Jerusalem. Were neither mid the mighty captives seen, _135 Nor mid the ribald crowd that followed them,

Nor those who went before fierce and obscene. The wild dance maddens in the van, and those Who lead it—fleet as shadows on the green,

Outspeed the chariot, and without repose _140 Mix with each other in tempestuous measure To savage music, wilder as it grows,

They, tortured by their agonizing pleasure, Convulsed and on the rapid whirlwinds spun Of that fierce Spirit, whose unholy leisure _145

Was soothed by mischief since the world begun, Throw back their heads and loose their streaming hair; And in their dance round her who dims the sun,

Maidens and youths fling their wild arms in air As their feet twinkle; they recede, and now _150 Bending within each other's atmosphere,

Kindle invisibly—and as they glow, Like moths by light attracted and repelled, Oft to their bright destruction come and go,

Till like two clouds into one vale impelled, _155 That shake the mountains when their lightnings mingle And die in rain—the fiery band which held

Their natures, snaps—while the shock still may tingle One falls and then another in the path Senseless—nor is the desolation single, _160

Yet ere I can say WHERE—the chariot hath Passed over them—nor other trace I find But as of foam after the ocean's wrath

Is spent upon the desert shore;—behind, Old men and women foully disarrayed, _165 Shake their gray hairs in the insulting wind,

And follow in the dance, with limbs decayed, Seeking to reach the light which leaves them still Farther behind and deeper in the shade.

But not the less with impotence of will _170 They wheel, though ghastly shadows interpose Round them and round each other, and fulfil

Their work, and in the dust from whence they rose Sink, and corruption veils them as they lie, And past in these performs what ... in those. _175

Struck to the heart by this sad pageantry, Half to myself I said—'And what is this? Whose shape is that within the car? And why—'

I would have added—'is all here amiss?—' But a voice answered—'Life!'—I turned, and knew _180 (O Heaven, have mercy on such wretchedness!)

That what I thought was an old root which grew To strange distortion out of the hill side, Was indeed one of those deluded crew,

And that the grass, which methought hung so wide _185 And white, was but his thin discoloured hair, And that the holes he vainly sought to hide,

Were or had been eyes:—'If thou canst forbear To join the dance, which I had well forborne,' Said the grim Feature, of my thought aware, _190

'I will unfold that which to this deep scorn Led me and my companions, and relate The progress of the pageant since the morn;

'If thirst of knowledge shall not then abate, Follow it thou even to the night, but I _195 Am weary.'—Then like one who with the weight

Of his own words is staggered, wearily He paused; and ere he could resume, I cried: 'First, who art thou?'—'Before thy memory,

'I feared, loved, hated, suffered, did and died, _200 And if the spark with which Heaven lit my spirit Had been with purer nutriment supplied,

'Corruption would not now thus much inherit Of what was once Rousseau,—nor this disguise Stain that which ought to have disdained to wear it; _205

'If I have been extinguished, yet there rise A thousand beacons from the spark I bore'— 'And who are those chained to the car?'—'The wise,

'The great, the unforgotten,—they who wore Mitres and helms and crowns, or wreaths of light, _210 Signs of thought's empire over thought—their lore

'Taught them not this, to know themselves; their might Could not repress the mystery within, And for the morn of truth they feigned, deep night

'Caught them ere evening.'—'Who is he with chin _215 Upon his breast, and hands crossed on his chain?'— 'The child of a fierce hour; he sought to win

'The world, and lost all that it did contain Of greatness, in its hope destroyed; and more Of fame and peace than virtue's self can gain _220

'Without the opportunity which bore Him on its eagle pinions to the peak From which a thousand climbers have before

'Fallen, as Napoleon fell.'—I felt my cheek Alter, to see the shadow pass away, _225 Whose grasp had left the giant world so weak

That every pigmy kicked it as it lay; And much I grieved to think how power and will In opposition rule our mortal day,

And why God made irreconcilable _230 Good and the means of good; and for despair I half disdained mine eyes' desire to fill

With the spent vision of the times that were And scarce have ceased to be.—'Dost thou behold,' Said my guide, 'those spoilers spoiled, Voltaire, _235

'Frederick, and Paul, Catherine, and Leopold, And hoary anarchs, demagogues, and sage— names which the world thinks always old,

'For in the battle Life and they did wage, She remained conqueror. I was overcome _240 By my own heart alone, which neither age,

'Nor tears, nor infamy, nor now the tomb Could temper to its object.'—'Let them pass,' I cried, 'the world and its mysterious doom

'Is not so much more glorious than it was, _245 That I desire to worship those who drew New figures on its false and fragile glass

'As the old faded.'—'Figures ever new Rise on the bubble, paint them as you may; We have but thrown, as those before us threw, _250

'Our shadows on it as it passed away. But mark how chained to the triumphal chair The mighty phantoms of an elder day;

'All that is mortal of great Plato there Expiates the joy and woe his master knew not; _255 The star that ruled his doom was far too fair.

'And life, where long that flower of Heaven grew not, Conquered that heart by love, which gold, or pain, Or age, or sloth, or slavery could subdue not.

'And near him walk the ... twain, _260 The tutor and his pupil, whom Dominion Followed as tame as vulture in a chain.

'The world was darkened beneath either pinion Of him whom from the flock of conquerors Fame singled out for her thunder-bearing minion; _265

'The other long outlived both woes and wars, Throned in the thoughts of men, and still had kept The jealous key of Truth's eternal doors,

'If Bacon's eagle spirit had not lept Like lightning out of darkness—he compelled _270 The Proteus shape of Nature, as it slept

'To wake, and lead him to the caves that held The treasure of the secrets of its reign. See the great bards of elder time, who quelled

'The passions which they sung, as by their strain _275 May well be known: their living melody Tempers its own contagion to the vein

'Of those who are infected with it—I Have suffered what I wrote, or viler pain! And so my words have seeds of misery— _180

'Even as the deeds of others, not as theirs.' And then he pointed to a company,

'Midst whom I quickly recognized the heirs Of Caesar's crime, from him to Constantine; The anarch chiefs, whose force and murderous snares _285

Had founded many a sceptre-bearing line, And spread the plague of gold and blood abroad: And Gregory and John, and men divine,

Who rose like shadows between man and God; Till that eclipse, still hanging over heaven, _290 Was worshipped by the world o'er which they strode,

For the true sun it quenched—'Their power was given But to destroy,' replied the leader:—'I Am one of those who have created, even

'If it be but a world of agony.'— _295 'Whence camest thou? and whither goest thou? How did thy course begin?' I said, 'and why?

'Mine eyes are sick of this perpetual flow Of people, and my heart sick of one sad thought— Speak!'—'Whence I am, I partly seem to know, _300

'And how and by what paths I have been brought To this dread pass, methinks even thou mayst guess;— Why this should be, my mind can compass not;

'Whither the conqueror hurries me, still less;— But follow thou, and from spectator turn _305 Actor or victim in this wretchedness,

'And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learn From thee. Now listen:—In the April prime, When all the forest-tips began to burn

'With kindling green, touched by the azure clime _310 Of the young season, I was laid asleep Under a mountain, which from unknown time

'Had yawned into a cavern, high and deep; And from it came a gentle rivulet, Whose water, like clear air, in its calm sweep _315

'Bent the soft grass, and kept for ever wet The stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the grove With sounds, which whoso hears must needs forget

'All pleasure and all pain, all hate and love, Which they had known before that hour of rest; _320 A sleeping mother then would dream not of

'Her only child who died upon the breast At eventide—a king would mourn no more The crown of which his brows were dispossessed

'When the sun lingered o'er his ocean floor _325 To gild his rival's new prosperity. 'Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore

'Ills, which if ills can find no cure from thee, The thought of which no other sleep will quell, Nor other music blot from memory, _330

'So sweet and deep is the oblivious spell; And whether life had been before that sleep The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell

'Like this harsh world in which I woke to weep, I know not. I arose, and for a space _335 The scene of woods and waters seemed to keep,

Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace Of light diviner than the common sun Sheds on the common earth, and all the place

'Was filled with magic sounds woven into one _340 Oblivious melody, confusing sense Amid the gliding waves and shadows dun;

'And, as I looked, the bright omnipresence Of morning through the orient cavern flowed, And the sun's image radiantly intense _345

'Burned on the waters of the well that glowed Like gold, and threaded all the forest's maze With winding paths of emerald fire; there stood

'Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze _350 Of his own glory, on the vibrating Floor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays,

'A Shape all light, which with one hand did fling Dew on the earth, as if she were the dawn, And the invisible rain did ever sing

'A silver music on the mossy lawn; _355 And still before me on the dusky grass, Iris her many-coloured scarf had drawn:

'In her right hand she bore a crystal glass, Mantling with bright Nepenthe; the fierce splendour Fell from her as she moved under the mass _360

'Of the deep cavern, and with palms so tender, Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow, Glided along the river, and did bend her

'Head under the dark boughs, till like a willow Her fair hair swept the bosom of the stream _365 That whispered with delight to be its pillow.

'As one enamoured is upborne in dream O'er lily-paven lakes, mid silver mist To wondrous music, so this shape might seem

'Partly to tread the waves with feet which kissed _370 The dancing foam; partly to glide along The air which roughened the moist amethyst,

'Or the faint morning beams that fell among The trees, or the soft shadows of the trees; And her feet, ever to the ceaseless song _375

'Of leaves, and winds, and waves, and birds, and bees, And falling drops, moved in a measure new Yet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze,

'Up from the lake a shape of golden dew Between two rocks, athwart the rising moon, _380 Dances i' the wind, where never eagle flew;

'And still her feet, no less than the sweet tune To which they moved, seemed as they moved to blot The thoughts of him who gazed on them; and soon

'All that was, seemed as if it had been not; _385 And all the gazer's mind was strewn beneath Her feet like embers; and she, thought by thought,

'Trampled its sparks into the dust of death As day upon the threshold of the east Treads out the lamps of night, until the breath _390

'Of darkness re-illumine even the least Of heaven's living eyes—like day she came, Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased

'To move, as one between desire and shame Suspended, I said—If, as it doth seem, _395 Thou comest from the realm without a name

'Into this valley of perpetual dream, Show whence I came, and where I am, and why— Pass not away upon the passing stream.

'Arise and quench thy thirst, was her reply. _400 And as a shut lily stricken by the wand Of dewy morning's vital alchemy,

'I rose; and, bending at her sweet command, Touched with faint lips the cup she raised, And suddenly my brain became as sand _405

'Where the first wave had more than half erased The track of deer on desert Labrador; Whilst the wolf, from which they fled amazed,

'Leaves his stamp visibly upon the shore, Until the second bursts;—so on my sight _410 Burst a new vision, never seen before,

'And the fair shape waned in the coming light, As veil by veil the silent splendour drops From Lucifer, amid the chrysolite

'Of sunrise, ere it tinge the mountain-tops; _415 And as the presence of that fairest planet, Although unseen, is felt by one who hopes

'That his day's path may end as he began it, In that star's smile, whose light is like the scent Of a jonquil when evening breezes fan it, _420

'Or the soft note in which his dear lament The Brescian shepherd breathes, or the caress That turned his weary slumber to content;

'So knew I in that light's severe excess The presence of that Shape which on the stream _425 Moved, as I moved along the wilderness,

'More dimly than a day-appearing dream, The host of a forgotten form of sleep; A light of heaven, whose half-extinguished beam

'Through the sick day in which we wake to weep _430 Glimmers, for ever sought, for ever lost; So did that shape its obscure tenour keep

'Beside my path, as silent as a ghost; But the new Vision, and the cold bright car, With solemn speed and stunning music, crossed _435

'The forest, and as if from some dread war Triumphantly returning, the loud million Fiercely extolled the fortune of her star.

'A moving arch of victory, the vermilion And green and azure plumes of Iris had _440 Built high over her wind-winged pavilion,

'And underneath aethereal glory clad The wilderness, and far before her flew The tempest of the splendour, which forbade

'Shadow to fall from leaf and stone; the crew _445 Seemed in that light, like atomies to dance Within a sunbeam;—some upon the new

'Embroidery of flowers, that did enhance The grassy vesture of the desert, played, Forgetful of the chariot's swift advance; _450

'Others stood gazing, till within the shade Of the great mountain its light left them dim; Others outspeeded it; and others made

'Circles around it, like the clouds that swim Round the high moon in a bright sea of air; _455 And more did follow, with exulting hymn,

'The chariot and the captives fettered there:— But all like bubbles on an eddying flood Fell into the same track at last, and were

'Borne onward.—I among the multitude _460 Was swept—me, sweetest flowers delayed not long; Me, not the shadow nor the solitude;

'Me, not that falling stream's Lethean song; Me, not the phantom of that early Form Which moved upon its motion—but among _465

'The thickest billows of that living storm I plunged, and bared my bosom to the clime Of that cold light, whose airs too soon deform.

'Before the chariot had begun to climb The opposing steep of that mysterious dell, _470 Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme

'Of him who from the lowest depths of hell, Through every paradise and through all glory, Love led serene, and who returned to tell

'The words of hate and awe; the wondrous story _475 How all things are transfigured except Love; For deaf as is a sea, which wrath makes hoary,

'The world can hear not the sweet notes that move The sphere whose light is melody to lovers— A wonder worthy of his rhyme.—The grove _480

'Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers, The earth was gray with phantoms, and the air Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers

'A flock of vampire-bats before the glare Of the tropic sun, bringing, ere evening, _485 Strange night upon some Indian isle;—thus were

'Phantoms diffused around; and some did fling Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves, Behind them; some like eaglets on the wing

'Were lost in the white day; others like elves _490 Danced in a thousand unimagined shapes Upon the sunny streams and grassy shelves;

'And others sate chattering like restless apes On vulgar hands,... Some made a cradle of the ermined capes _495

'Of kingly mantles; some across the tiar Of pontiffs sate like vultures; others played Under the crown which girt with empire

'A baby's or an idiot's brow, and made Their nests in it. The old anatomies _500 Sate hatching their bare broods under the shade

'Of daemon wings, and laughed from their dead eyes To reassume the delegated power, Arrayed in which those worms did monarchize,

'Who made this earth their charnel. Others more _505 Humble, like falcons, sate upon the fist Of common men, and round their heads did soar;

Or like small gnats and flies, as thick as mist On evening marshes, thronged about the brow Of lawyers, statesmen, priest and theorist;— _510

'And others, like discoloured flakes of snow On fairest bosoms and the sunniest hair, Fell, and were melted by the youthful glow

'Which they extinguished; and, like tears, they were A veil to those from whose faint lids they rained _515 In drops of sorrow. I became aware

'Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stained The track in which we moved. After brief space, From every form the beauty slowly waned;

'From every firmest limb and fairest face _520 The strength and freshness fell like dust, and left The action and the shape without the grace

'Of life. The marble brow of youth was cleft With care; and in those eyes where once hope shone, Desire, like a lioness bereft _525

'Of her last cub, glared ere it died; each one Of that great crowd sent forth incessantly These shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown

'In autumn evening from a poplar tree. _530 Each like himself and like each other were At first; but some distorted seemed to be

'Obscure clouds, moulded by the casual air; And of this stuff the car's creative ray Wrought all the busy phantoms that were there,

'As the sun shapes the clouds; thus on the way _535 Mask after mask fell from the countenance And form of all; and long before the day

'Was old, the joy which waked like heaven's glance The sleepers in the oblivious valley, died; And some grew weary of the ghastly dance, _540

'And fell, as I have fallen, by the wayside;— Those soonest from whose forms most shadows passed, And least of strength and beauty did abide.

'Then, what is life? I cried.'—

CANCELLED OPENING OF THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE.

[Published by Miss M. Blind, "Westminster Review", July, 1870.]

Out of the eastern shadow of the Earth, Amid the clouds upon its margin gray Scattered by Night to swathe in its bright birth

In gold and fleecy snow the infant Day, The glorious Sun arose: beneath his light, _5 The earth and all...

_10-_17 A widow...sound 1870; omitted here 1824; printed as 'A Song,' 1824, page 217. _34, _35 dawn Bathe Mrs. Shelley (later editions); dawn, Bathed 1824, 1839. _63 shunned Boscombe manuscript; spurned 1824, 1839. _70 Of...interspersed Boscombe manuscript; Of grassy paths and wood, lawn-interspersed 1824; wood-lawn-interspersed 1839. _84 form]frown 1824. _93 light...beam]light upon the chariot beam; 1824. _96 it omitted 1824. _109 thunder Boscombe manuscript; thunders 1824; thunder's 1839. _112 greet Boscombe manuscript; meet 1824, 1839. _129 conqueror or conqueror's cj. A.C. Bradley. _131-_134 See Editor's Note. _158 while Boscombe manuscript; omitted 1824, 1839. _167 And...dance 1839 To seek, to [ ], to strain 1824. _168 Seeking 1839; Limping 1824. _188 canst, Mrs. Shelley 1824, 1839, 1847. _189 forborne!' 1824, 1839, 1847. _190 Feature, (of my thought aware); Mrs. Shelley 1847. _188-_190 The punctuation is A.C. Bradley's. _202 nutriment Boscombe manuscript; sentiment 1824, 1839. _205 Stain]Stained 1824, 1839. _235 Said my 1824, 1839; Said then my cj. Forman. _238 names which the 1839: name the 1824. _252 how]now cj. Forman. _260 him 1839; omitted 1824. _265 singled for cj. Forman. _280 See Editor's Note. _281, _282 Even...then Boscombe manuscript; omitted 1824, 1839. _296 camest Boscombe manuscript; comest 1824, 1839. _311 season Boscombe manuscript; year's dawn 1824, 1839. _322 the Boscombe manuscript; her 1824, 1839. _334 woke cj. A.C. Bradley; wake 1824, 1839. Cf. _296, footnote. _361 Of...and Boscombe manuscript; Out of the deep cavern with 1824, 1839. _363 Glided Boscombe manuscript; She glided 1824, 1839. _377 in Boscombe manuscript; to 1824. _422 The favourite song, Stanco di pascolar le pecorelle, is a Brescian national air.—[MRS. SHELLEY'S NOTE.] _464 early]aery cj. Forman. _475 awe Boscombe manuscript; care 1824. _486 isle Boscombe manuscript; vale 1824. _497 sate like vultures Boscombe manuscript; rode like demons 1824. _515 those]eyes cj. Rossetti. _534 Wrought Boscombe manuscript; Wrapt 1824.



THE COMPLETE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

VOLUME 2

OXFORD EDITION. INCLUDING MATERIALS NEVER BEFORE PRINTED IN ANY EDITION OF THE POEMS.

EDITED WITH TEXTUAL NOTES

BY

THOMAS HUTCHINSON, M. A. EDITOR OF THE OXFORD WORDSWORTH.

1914.

CONTENTS.

EARLY POEMS [1814, 1815]:

STANZA, WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL.

STANZAS.—APRIL, 1814.

TO HARRIET.

TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN.

TO —. 'YET LOOK ON ME'.

MUTABILITY.

ON DEATH.

A SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD.

TO —. 'OH! THERE ARE SPIRITS OF THE AIR'.

TO WORDSWORTH.

FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE

LINES: 'THE COLD EARTH SLEPT BELOW'

NOTE ON THE EARLY POEMS, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816:

THE SUNSET.

HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL BEAUTY.

MONT BLANC.

CANCELLED PASSAGE OF MONT BLANC.

FRAGMENT: HOME.

FRAGMENT OF A GHOST STORY.

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1816, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817:

MARIANNE'S DREAM.

TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING.

THE SAME: STANZAS 1 AND 2.

TO CONSTANTIA.

FRAGMENT: TO ONE SINGING.

A FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC.

ANOTHER FRAGMENT TO MUSIC.

'MIGHTY EAGLE'.

TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR.

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.

FROM THE ORIGINAL DRAFT OF THE POEM TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.

ON FANNY GODWIN.

LINES: 'THAT TIME IS DEAD FOR EVER'.

DEATH.

OTHO.

FRAGMENTS SUPPOSED TO BE PARTS OF OTHO.

'O THAT A CHARIOT OF CLOUD WERE MINE'.

FRAGMENTS: TO A FRIEND RELEASED FROM PRISON. SATAN BROKEN LOOSE. IGNICULUS DESIDERII. AMOR AETERNUS. THOUGHTS COME AND GO IN SOLITUDE.

A HATE-SONG.

LINES TO A CRITIC.

OZYMANDIAS.

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1817, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1818.

TO THE NILE.

PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES.

THE PAST.

TO MARY —.

ON A FADED VIOLET.

LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS.

SCENE FROM "TASSO".

SONG FOR "TASSO".

INVOCATION TO MISERY.

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES.

THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

MARENGHI.

SONNET: 'LIFT NOT THE PAINTED VEIL'.

FRAGMENTS: TO BYRON. APOSTROPHE TO SILENCE. THE LAKE'S MARGIN. 'MY HEAD IS WILD WITH WEEPING'. THE VINE-SHROUD.

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819:

LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION.

SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND.

SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819.

FRAGMENT: TO THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND.

FRAGMENT: 'WHAT MEN GAIN FAIRLY'.

A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM.

SONNET: ENGLAND IN 1819.

AN ODE WRITTEN OCTOBER, 1819.

CANCELLED STANZA.

ODE TO HEAVEN.

ODE TO THE WEST WIND.

AN EXHORTATION.

THE INDIAN SERENADE.

CANCELLED PASSAGE.

TO SOPHIA [MISS STACEY].

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY, 1.

TO WILLIAM SHELLEY, 2.

TO MARY SHELLEY, 1.

TO MARY SHELLEY, 2.

ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI.

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY.

FRAGMENT: 'FOLLOW TO THE DEEP WOOD'S WEEDS'.

THE BIRTH OF PLEASURE.

FRAGMENTS: LOVE THE UNIVERSE TO-DAY. 'A GENTLE STORY OF TWO LOVERS YOUNG'. LOVE'S TENDER ATMOSPHERE. WEDDED SOULS. 'IS IT THAT IN SOME BRIGHTER SPHERE'. SUFFICIENT UNTO THE DAY. 'YE GENTLE VISITATIONS OF CALM THOUGHT'. MUSIC AND SWEET POETRY. THE SEPULCHRE OF MEMORY. 'WHEN A LOVER CLASPS HIS FAIREST'. 'WAKE THE SERPENT NOT'. RAIN. A TALE UNTOLD. TO ITALY. WINE OF THE FAIRIES. A ROMAN'S CHAMBER. ROME AND NATURE.

VARIATION OF THE SONG OF THE MOON.

CANCELLED STANZA OF THE MASK OF ANARCHY.

NOTE BY MRS. SHELLEY.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820:

THE SENSITIVE PLANT.

CANCELLED PASSAGE.

A VISION OF THE SEA.

THE CLOUD.

TO A SKYLARK.

ODE TO LIBERTY.

CANCELLED PASSAGE.

TO —. 'I FEAR THY KISSES, GENTLE MAIDEN'.

ARETHUSA.

SONG OF PROSERPINE.

HYMN OF APOLLO.

HYMN OF PAN.

THE QUESTION.

THE TWO SPIRITS. AN ALLEGORY.

ODE TO NAPLES.

AUTUMN: A DIRGE.

THE WANING MOON.

TO THE MOON.

DEATH.

LIBERTY.

SUMMER AND WINTER.

THE TOWER OF FAMINE.

AN ALLEGORY.

THE WORLD'S WANDERERS.

SONNET: 'YE HASTEN TO THE GRAVE!'.

LINES TO A REVIEWER.

FRAGMENT OF A SATIRE ON SATIRE.

GOOD-NIGHT.

BUONA NOTTE.

ORPHEUS.

FIORDISPINA.

TIME LONG PAST.

FRAGMENTS: THE DESERTS OF DIM SLEEP. 'THE VIEWLESS AND INVISIBLE CONSEQUENCE'. A SERPENT-FACE. DEATH IN LIFE. 'SUCH HOPE, AS IS THE SICK DESPAIR OF GOOD'. 'ALAS THIS IS NOT WHAT I THOUGHT LIFE WAS'. MILTON'S SPIRIT. 'UNRISEN SPLENDOUR OF THE BRIGHTEST SUN'. PATER OMNIPOTENS. TO THE MIND OF MAN.

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS SHELLEY.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821:

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.

TO NIGHT.

TIME.

LINES: 'FAR, FAR AWAY'.

FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION.

TO EMILIA VIVIANI.

THE FUGITIVES.

TO —. 'MUSIC, WHEN SOFT VOICES DIE'.

SONG: 'RARELY, RARELY, COMEST THOU'.

MUTABILITY.

LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.

SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS.

THE AZIOLA.

A LAMENT.

REMEMBRANCE.

TO EDWARD WILLIAMS.

TO —. 'ONE WORD IS TOO OFTEN PROFANED'.

TO —. 'WHEN PASSION'S TRANCE IS OVERPAST'.

A BRIDAL SONG.

EPITHALAMIUM.

ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME.

LOVE, HOPE, DESIRE, AND FEAR.

FRAGMENTS WRITTEN FOR "HELLAS".

FRAGMENT: 'I WOULD NOT BE A KING'.

GINEVRA.

EVENING: PONTE AL MARE, PISA.

THE BOAT ON THE SERCHIO.

MUSIC.

SONNET TO BYRON.

FRAGMENT ON KEATS.

FRAGMENT: 'METHOUGHT I WAS A BILLOW IN THE CROWD'.

TO-MORROW.

STANZA: 'IF I WALK IN AUTUMN'S EVEN'.

FRAGMENTS: A WANDERER. LIFE ROUNDED WITH SLEEP. 'I FAINT, I PERISH WITH MY LOVE'. THE LADY OF THE SOUTH. ZEPHYRUS THE AWAKENER. RAIN. 'WHEN SOFT WINDS AND SUNNY SKIES'. 'AND THAT I WALK THUS PROUDLY CROWNED'. 'THE RUDE WIND IS SINGING'. 'GREAT SPIRIT'. 'O THOU IMMORTAL DEITY'. THE FALSE LAUREL AND THE TRUE. MAY THE LIMNER. BEAUTY'S HALO. 'THE DEATH KNELL IS RINGING'. 'I STOOD UPON A HEAVEN-CLEAVING TURRET'.

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1821, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1822:

THE ZUCCA.

THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER PATIENT.

LINES: 'WHEN THE LAMP IS SHATTERED'.

TO JANE: THE INVITATION.

TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION.

THE PINE FOREST OF THE CASCINE NEAR PISA.

WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE.

TO JANE: 'THE KEEN STARS WERE TWINKLING'.

A DIRGE.

LINES WRITTEN IN THE BAY OF LERICI.

LINES: 'WE MEET NOT AS WE PARTED'.

THE ISLE.

FRAGMENT: TO THE MOON.

EPITAPH.

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1822, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

***

EARLY POEMS [1814, 1815].

[The poems which follow appeared, with a few exceptions, either in the volumes published from time to time by Shelley himself, or in the "Posthumous Poems" of 1824, or in the "Poetical Works" of 1839, of which a second and enlarged edition was published by Mrs. Shelley in the same year. A few made their first appearance in some fugitive publication—such as Leigh Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book"—and were subsequently incorporated in the collective editions. In every case the editio princeps and (where this is possible) the exact date of composition are indicated below the title.]

***

STANZA, WRITTEN AT BRACKNELL.

[Composed March, 1814. Published in Hogg's "Life of Shelley", 1858.]

Thy dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy gentle words stir poison there; Thou hast disturbed the only rest That was the portion of despair! Subdued to Duty's hard control, _5 I could have borne my wayward lot: The chains that bind this ruined soul Had cankered then—but crushed it not.

***

STANZAS.—APRIL, 1814.

[Composed at Bracknell, April, 1814. Published with "Alastor", 1816.]

Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even: Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven.

Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away! _5 Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's ungentle mood: Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.

Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; _10 Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth.

The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head: The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet: But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, _15 Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace may meet.

The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep: Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. _20

Thou in the grave shalt rest—yet till the phantoms flee Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile.

NOTE: _6 tear 1816; glance 1839.

***

TO HARRIET.

[Composed May, 1814. Published (from the Esdaile manuscript) by Dowden, "Life of Shelley", 1887.]

Thy look of love has power to calm The stormiest passion of my soul; Thy gentle words are drops of balm In life's too bitter bowl; No grief is mine, but that alone _5 These choicest blessings I have known.

Harriet! if all who long to live In the warm sunshine of thine eye, That price beyond all pain must give,— Beneath thy scorn to die; _10 Then hear thy chosen own too late His heart most worthy of thy hate.

Be thou, then, one among mankind Whose heart is harder not for state, Thou only virtuous, gentle, kind, _15 Amid a world of hate; And by a slight endurance seal A fellow-being's lasting weal.

For pale with anguish is his cheek, His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim, _20 Thy name is struggling ere he speak, Weak is each trembling limb; In mercy let him not endure The misery of a fatal cure.

Oh, trust for once no erring guide! 25 Bid the remorseless feeling flee; 'Tis malice, 'tis revenge, 'tis pride, 'Tis anything but thee; Oh, deign a nobler pride to prove, And pity if thou canst not love. 30

***

TO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN.

[Composed June, 1814. Published in "Posthumous Poems", 1824.]

1. Mine eyes were dim with tears unshed; Yes, I was firm—thus wert not thou;— My baffled looks did fear yet dread To meet thy looks—I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine _5 With soothing pity upon mine.

2. To sit and curb the soul's mute rage Which preys upon itself alone; To curse the life which is the cage Of fettered grief that dares not groan, _10 Hiding from many a careless eye The scorned load of agony.

3. Whilst thou alone, then not regarded, The ... thou alone should be, To spend years thus, and be rewarded, _15 As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near—Oh! I did wake From torture for that moment's sake.

4. Upon my heart thy accents sweet Of peace and pity fell like dew _20 On flowers half dead;—thy lips did meet Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain.

5. We are not happy, sweet! our state 25 Is strange and full of doubt and fear; More need of words that ills abate;— Reserve or censure come not near Our sacred friendship, lest there be No solace left for thee and me. 30

6. Gentle and good and mild thou art, Nor can I live if thou appear Aught but thyself, or turn thine heart Away from me, or stoop to wear The mask of scorn, although it be _35 To hide the love thou feel'st for me.

NOTES: 2 wert 1839; did 1824. 3 fear 1824, 1839; yearn cj. Rossetti. 23 Their 1839; thy 1824. 30 thee]thou 1824, 1839. 32 can I 1839; I can 1824. 36 feel'st 1839; feel 1824.

***

TO —.

[Published in "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. See Editor's Note.]

Yet look on me—take not thine eyes away, Which feed upon the love within mine own, Which is indeed but the reflected ray Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown. Yet speak to me—thy voice is as the tone _5 Of my heart's echo, and I think I hear That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone Like one before a mirror, without care Of aught but thine own features, imaged there;

And yet I wear out life in watching thee; _10 A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed Art kind when I am sick, and pity me...

***

MUTABILITY.

[Published with "Alastor", 1816.]

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon; How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly!—yet soon Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings _5 Give various response to each varying blast, To whose frail frame no second motion brings One mood or modulation like the last.

We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep; We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day; _10 We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep; Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free: Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; _15 Nought may endure but Mutability.

NOTES: 15 may 1816; can Lodore, chapter 49, 1835 (Mrs. Shelley). 16 Nought may endure but 1816; Nor aught endure save Lodore, chapter 49, 1835 (Mrs. Shelley).

***

ON DEATH.

[For the date of composition see Editor's Note. Published with "Alastor", 1816.]

THERE IS NO WORK, NOR DEVICE, NOR KNOWLEDGE, NOR WISDOM, IN THE GRAVE, WHITHER THOU GOEST.—Ecclesiastes.

The pale, the cold, and the moony smile Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle, Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone. _5

O man! hold thee on in courage of soul Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way, And the billows of cloud that around thee roll Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, _10 Where Hell and Heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny.

This world is the nurse of all we know, This world is the mother of all we feel, And the coming of death is a fearful blow _15 To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel; When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass like an unreal mystery.

The secret things of the grave are there, Where all but this frame must surely be, _20 Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear No longer will live to hear or to see All that is great and all that is strange In the boundless realm of unending change.

Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death? 25 Who lifteth the veil of what is to come? Who painteth the shadows that are beneath The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see? 30

***

A SUMMER EVENING CHURCHYARD.

LECHLADE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE.

[Composed September, 1815. Published with "Alastor", 1816.]

The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray; And pallid Evening twines its beaming hair In duskier braids around the languid eyes of Day: Silence and Twilight, unbeloved of men, _5 Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen.

They breathe their spells towards the departing day, Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea; Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway, Responding to the charm with its own mystery. _10 The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass Knows not their gentle motions as they pass.

Thou too, aereal Pile! whose pinnacles Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells, _15 Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire, Around whose lessening and invisible height Gather among the stars the clouds of night.

The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres: And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound, _20 Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs, Breathed from their wormy beds all living things around, And mingling with the still night and mute sky Its awful hush is felt inaudibly.

Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild 25 And terrorless as this serenest night: Here could I hope, like some inquiring child Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human sight Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep. 30

***

TO —.

[Published with "Alastor", 1816. See Editor's Note.]

DAKRTSI DIOISO POTMON 'APOTMON.

Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair As star-beams among twilight trees:— Such lovely ministers to meet _5 Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.

With mountain winds, and babbling springs, And moonlight seas, that are the voice Of these inexplicable things, Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice _10 When they did answer thee; but they Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth:—tame sacrifice To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? _15 Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope On the false earth's inconstancy? _20 Did thine own mind afford no scope Of love, or moving thoughts to thee? That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles?

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled 25 Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted; The glory of the moon is dead; Night's ghosts and dreams have now departed; Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery. 30

This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever Beside thee like thy shadow hangs, Dream not to chase;—the mad endeavour Would scourge thee to severer pangs. Be as thou art. Thy settled fate, Dark as it is, all change would aggravate. _35

NOTES: 1 of 1816; in 1839. 8 moonlight 1816; mountain 1839.

***

TO WORDSWORTH.

[Published with "Alastor", 1816.]

Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know That things depart which never may return: Childhood and youth, friendship and love's first glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine 5 Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore. Thou wert as a lone star, whose light did shine On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar: Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood Above the blind and battling multitude: 10 In honoured poverty thy voice did weave Songs consecrate to truth and liberty,— Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve, Thus having been, that thou shouldst cease to be.

***

FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE.

[Published with "Alastor", 1816.]

I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan To think that a most unambitious slave, Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave Of Liberty. Thou mightst have built thy throne Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer 5 A frail and bloody pomp which Time has swept In fragments towards Oblivion. Massacre, For this I prayed, would on thy sleep have crept, Treason and Slavery, Rapine, Fear, and Lust, And stifled thee, their minister. I know 10 Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, That Virtue owns a more eternal foe Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, legal Crime, And bloody Faith the foulest birth of Time.

***

LINES.

[Published in Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book", 1823, where it is headed "November, 1815". Reprinted in the "Posthumous Poems", 1824. See Editor's Note.]

1. The cold earth slept below, Above the cold sky shone; And all around, with a chilling sound, From caves of ice and fields of snow, The breath of night like death did flow _5 Beneath the sinking moon.

2. The wintry hedge was black, The green grass was not seen, The birds did rest on the bare thorn's breast, Whose roots, beside the pathway track, _10 Had bound their folds o'er many a crack Which the frost had made between.

3. Thine eyes glowed in the glare Of the moon's dying light; As a fen-fire's beam on a sluggish stream _15 Gleams dimly, so the moon shone there, And it yellowed the strings of thy raven hair, That shook in the wind of night.

4. The moon made thy lips pale, beloved— The wind made thy bosom chill— _20 The night did shed on thy dear head Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie Where the bitter breath of the naked sky Might visit thee at will.

NOTE: _17 raven 1823; tangled 1824.

***

NOTE ON THE EARLY POEMS, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

The remainder of Shelley's Poems will be arranged in the order in which they were written. Of course, mistakes will occur in placing some of the shorter ones; for, as I have said, many of these were thrown aside, and I never saw them till I had the misery of looking over his writings after the hand that traced them was dust; and some were in the hands of others, and I never saw them till now. The subjects of the poems are often to me an unerring guide; but on other occasions I can only guess, by finding them in the pages of the same manuscript book that contains poems with the date of whose composition I am fully conversant. In the present arrangement all his poetical translations will be placed together at the end.