Serene in his unconquerable might
Endued(,) the Almighty King, his steadfast throne
Encompassed unapproachably with power
And darkness and deep solitude an awe
Stood like a black cloud on some aery cliff 5
Embosoming its lightning — in his sight
Unnumbered glorious spirits trembling stood
Like slaves before their Lord — prostrate around
Heaven’s multitudes hymned everlasting praise.
TO THE MIND OF MAN. (FRAGMENT)
(Edited, published and here placed as the preceding.)
Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues
Clothest this naked world; and over Sea
And Earth and air, and all the shapes that be
In peopled darkness of this wondrous world
The Spirit of thy glory dost diffuse 5
… truth … thou Vital Flame
Mysterious thought that in this mortal frame
Of things, with unextinguished lustre burnest
Now pale and faint now high to Heaven upcurled
That eer as thou dost languish still returnest 10
And ever
Before the … before the Pyramids
So soon as from the Earth formless and rude
One living step had chased drear Solitude
Thou wert, Thought; thy brightness charmed the lids 15
Of the vast snake Eternity, who kept
The tree of good and evil. —
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821.
DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, and dated
January 1, 1821.)
1.
Orphan Hours, the Year is dead,
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry Hours, smile instead,
For the Year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleeping, 5
Mocking your untimely weeping.
2.
As an earthquake rocks a corse
In its coffin in the clay,
So White Winter, that rough nurse,
Rocks the death-cold Year to-day; 10
Solemn Hours! wail aloud
For your mother in her shroud.
3.
As the wild air stirs and sways
The tree-swung cradle of a child,
So the breath of these rude days 15
Rocks the Year: — be calm and mild,
Trembling Hours, she will arise
With new love within her eyes.
4.
January gray is here,
Like a sexton by her grave; 20
February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave,
And April weeps — but, O ye Hours!
Follow with May’s fairest flowers.
TO NIGHT.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.
There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book.)
1.
Swiftly walk o’er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, 5
‘Which make thee terrible and dear, —
Swift be thy flight!
2.
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; 10
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o’er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand —
Come, long-sought!
3.
When I arose and saw the dawn, 15
I sighed for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee. 20
4.
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee, 25
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? — And I replied,
No, not thee!
5.
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon — 30
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night —
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon! 35
TIME.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.)
Unfathomable Sea! whose waves are years,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep woe
Are brackish with the salt of human tears!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow
Claspest the limits of mortality, 5
And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm,
Who shall put forth on thee,
Unfathomable Sea? 10
LINES.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.)
1.
Far, far away, O ye
Halcyons of Memory,
Seek some far calmer nest
Than this abandoned breast!
No news of your false spring 5
To my heart’s winter bring,
Once having gone, in vain
Ye come again.
2.
Vultures, who build your bowers
High in the Future’s towers, 10
Withered hopes on hopes are spread!
Dying joys, choked by the dead,
Will serve your beaks for prey
Many a day.
FROM THE ARABIC: AN IMITATION.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. There is an intermediate draft amongst the Bodleian manuscripts. See Locock, “Examination”, etc., 1903, page 13.)
1.
My faint spirit was sitting in the light
Of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the tempest’s flight 5
Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Did companion thee.
2.
Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed
Or the death they bear, 10
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, 15
It may bring to thee.
TO EMILIA VIVIANI.
(Published, (1) by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824; (2, 1) by
Dr. Garnett, “Relics of Shelley”, 1862; (2, 2 and 3) by H. Buxton
Forman, “Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1876.)
1.
Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Sweet-basil and mignonette?
Embleming love and health, which never yet
In the same wreath might be.
Alas, and they are wet! 5
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?
For never rain or dew
Such fragrance drew
From plant or flower — the very doubt endears
My sadness ever new, 10
The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed for thee.
2.
Send the stars light, but send not love to me,
In whom love ever made
Health like a heap of embers soon to fade —
THE FUGITIVES.
(
Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”. 1824.)
1.
The waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The lightnings are glancing,
The hoar-spray is dancing —
Away! 5
The whirlwind is rolling,
The thunder is tolling,
The forest is swinging,
The minster bells ringing —
Come away! 10
The Earth is like Ocean,
Wreck-strewn and in motion:
Bird, beast, man and worm
Have crept out of the storm —
Come away! 15
2.
‘Our boat has one sail
And the helmsman is pale; —
A bold pilot I trow,
Who should follow us now,’ —
Shouted he — 20
And she cried: ‘Ply the oar!
Put off gaily from shore!’ —
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail, specked their path
O’er the sea. 25
And from isle, tower and rock,
The blue beacon-cloud broke,
And though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee. 30
3.
And ‘Fear’st thou?’ and ‘Fear’st thou?’
And Seest thou?’ and ‘Hear’st thou?’
And ‘Drive we not free
O’er the terrible sea,
I and thou?’ 35
One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover —
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low; — 40
While around the lashed Ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted
To and fro. 45
4.
In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame; 50
On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame; 55
And with curses as wild
As e’er clung to child,
He devotes to the blast,
The best, loveliest and last
Of his name! 60
TO — .
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.)
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory —
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, 5
Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
SONG.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.
There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript book.)
1.
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day 5
‘Tis since thou art fled away.
2.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain. 10
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
3.
As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed; 15
Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.
4.
Let me set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure; 20
Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure;
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
5.
I love all that thou lovest, 25
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born. 30
6.
I love snow, and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature’s, and may be 35
Untainted by man’s misery.
7.
I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good
Between thee and me 40
What difference? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.
8.
I love Love — though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things, 45
Spirit, I love thee —
Thou art love and life! Oh, come,
Make once more my heart thy home.
MUTABILITY.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.
There is a fair draft amongst the Boscombe manuscripts.)
1.
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world’s delight? 5
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
2.
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss 10
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.
3.
Whilst skies are blue and bright, 15
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou — and from thy sleep 20
Then wake to weep.
LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
(Published with “Hellas”, 1821.)
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold? 5
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
How! is not thy quick heart cold?
What spark is alive on thy hearth? 10
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O’er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled — 15
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
‘Who has known me of old,’ replied Earth,
‘Or who has my story told?
It is thou who art overbold.’
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth 20
As she sung, ‘To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
‘Still alive and still bold,’ shouted Earth, 25
‘I grow bolder and still more bold.
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth
.
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled, 30
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
‘Ay, alive and still bold.’ muttered Earth,
‘Napoleon’s fierce spirit rolled,
In terror and blood and gold, 35
A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.’ 40
SONNET: POLITICAL GREATNESS.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824. There is a transcript, headed “Sonnet to the Republic of Benevento”, in the Harvard manuscript book.)
Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fame,
Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts,
Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame;
Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts,
History is but the shadow of their shame, 5
Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts
As to oblivion their blind millions fleet,
Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery
Of their own likeness. What are numbers knit
By force or custom? Man who man would be, 10
Must rule the empire of himself; in it
Must be supreme, establishing his throne
On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy
Of hopes and fears, being himself alone.
THE AZIOLA.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley in “The Keepsake”, 1829.)
1.
‘Do you not hear the Aziola cry?
Methinks she must be nigh,’
Said Mary, as we sate
In dusk, ere stars were lit, or candles brought;
And I, who thought 5
This Aziola was some tedious woman,
Asked, ‘Who is Aziola?’ How elate
I felt to know that it was nothing human,
No mockery of myself to fear or hate:
And Mary saw my soul, 10
And laughed, and said, ‘Disquiet yourself not;
‘Tis nothing but a little downy owl.’
2.
Sad Aziola! many an eventide
Thy music I had heard
By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side, 15
And fields and marshes wide, —
Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird,
The soul ever stirred;
Unlike and far sweeter than them all.
Sad Aziola! from that moment I 20
Loved thee and thy sad cry.
A LAMENT.
(Published by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.)
1.
O world! O life! O time!
On whose last steps I climb,
Trembling at that where I had stood before;
When will return the glory of your prime?