The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 107

FRAGMENT: HOME.

[Published by Garnett, "Relics of Sh.e.l.ley", 1862.]

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

FRAGMENT OF A GHOST STORY.

[Published by Garnett, "Relics of Sh.e.l.ley", 1862.]

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

Helen and Henry knew that Granny Was as much afraid of Ghosts as any, _5 And so they followed hard-- But Helen clung to her brother's arm, And her own spasm made her shake.

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1816, BY MRS. Sh.e.l.lEY.

Sh.e.l.ley wrote little during this year. The poem ent.i.tled "The Sunset"

was written in the spring of the year, while still residing at Bishopsgate. He spent the summer on the sh.o.r.es of the Lake of Geneva.

The "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" was conceived during his voyage round the lake with Lord Byron. He occupied himself during this voyage by reading the "Nouvelle Heloise" for the first time. The reading it on the very spot where the scenes are laid added to the interest; and he was at once surprised and charmed by the pa.s.sionate eloquence and earnest enthralling interest that pervade this work. There was something in the character of Saint-Preux, in his abnegation of self, and in the worship he paid to Love, that coincided with Sh.e.l.ley's own disposition; and, though differing in many of the views and shocked by others, yet the effect of the whole was fascinating and delightful.

"Mont Blanc" was inspired by a view of that mountain and its surrounding peaks and valleys, as he lingered on the Bridge of Arve on his way through the Valley of Chamouni. Sh.e.l.ley makes the following mention of this poem in his publication of the "History of a Six Weeks'

Tour, and Letters from Switzerland": 'The poem ent.i.tled "Mont Blanc" is written by the author of the two letters from Chamouni and Vevai. It was composed under the immediate impression of the deep and powerful feelings excited by the objects which it attempts to describe; and, as an undisciplined overflowing of the soul, rests its claim to approbation on an attempt to imitate the untamable wildness and inaccessible solemnity from which those feelings sprang.'

This was an eventful year, and less time was given to study than usual.

In the list of his reading I find, in Greek, Theocritus, the "Prometheus" of Aeschylus, several of Plutarch's "Lives", and the works of Lucian. In Latin, Lucretius, Pliny's "Letters", the "Annals" and "Germany" of Tacitus. In French, the "History of the French Revolution"

by Lacretelle. He read for the first time, this year, Montaigne's "Essays", and regarded them ever after as one of the most delightful and instructive books in the world. The list is scanty in English works: Locke's "Essay", "Political Justice", and Coleridge's "Lay Sermon", form nearly the whole. It was his frequent habit to read aloud to me in the evening; in this way we read, this year, the New Testament, "Paradise Lost", Spenser's "Faery Queen", and "Don Quixote".

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817.

MARIANNE'S DREAM.

[Composed at Marlow, 1817. Published in Hunt's "Literary Pocket-Book", 1819, and reprinted in "Posthumous Poems", 1824.]

1.

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

I know the secrets of the air, And things are lost in the glare of day, Which I can make the sleeping see, _5 If they will put their trust in me.

2.

And thou shalt know of things unknown, If thou wilt let me rest between The veiny lids, whose fringe is thrown Over thine eyes so dark and sheen: _10 And half in hope, and half in fright, The Lady closed her eyes so bright.

3.

At first all deadly shapes were driven Tumultuously across her sleep, And o'er the vast cope of bending heaven _15 All ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep; And the Lady ever looked to spy If the golden sun shone forth on high.

4.

And as towards the east she turned, She saw aloft in the morning air, _20 Which now with hues of sunrise burned, A great black Anchor rising there; And wherever the Lady turned her eyes, It hung before her in the skies.

5.

The sky was blue as the summer sea, _25 The depths were cloudless overhead, The air was calm as it could be, There was no sight or sound of dread, But that black Anchor floating still Over the piny eastern hill. _30

6.

The Lady grew sick with a weight of fear To see that Anchor ever hanging, And veiled her eyes; she then did hear The sound as of a dim low clanging, And looked abroad if she might know _35 Was it aught else, or but the flow Of the blood in her own veins, to and fro.

7.

There was a mist in the sunless air, Which shook as it were with an earthquake's shock, But the very weeds that blossomed there _40 Were moveless, and each mighty rock Stood on its basis steadfastly; The Anchor was seen no more on high.

8.

But piled around, with summits hid In lines of cloud at intervals, _45 Stood many a mountain pyramid Among whose everlasting walls Two mighty cities shone, and ever Through the red mist their domes did quiver.

9.

On two dread mountains, from whose crest, _50 Might seem, the eagle, for her brood, Would ne'er have hung her dizzy nest, Those tower-encircled cities stood.

A vision strange such towers to see, Sculptured and wrought so gorgeously, _55 Where human art could never be.

10.

And columns framed of marble white, And giant fanes, dome over dome Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright With workmanship, which could not come _60 From touch of mortal instrument, Shot o'er the vales, or l.u.s.tre lent From its own shapes magnificent.

11.

But still the Lady heard that clang Filling the wide air far away; _65 And still the mist whose light did hang Among the mountains shook alway, So that the Lady's heart beat fast, As half in joy, and half aghast, On those high domes her look she cast. _70

12.

Sudden, from out that city sprung A light that made the earth grow red; Two flames that each with quivering tongue Licked its high domes, and overhead Among those mighty towers and fanes _75 Dropped fire, as a volcano rains Its sulphurous ruin on the plains.

13.

And hark! a rush as if the deep Had burst its bonds; she looked behind And saw over the western steep _80 A raging flood descend, and wind Through that wide vale; she felt no fear, But said within herself, 'Tis clear These towers are Nature's own, and she To save them has sent forth the sea. _85

14.

And now those raging billows came Where that fair Lady sate, and she Was borne towards the showering flame By the wild waves heaped tumultuously.

And, on a little plank, the flow _90 Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.

15.

The flames were fiercely vomited From every tower and every dome, And dreary light did widely shed O'er that vast flood's suspended foam, _95 Beneath the smoke which hung its night On the stained cope of heaven's light.

16.

The plank whereon that Lady sate Was driven through the chasms, about and about, Between the peaks so desolate _100 Of the drowning mountains, in and out, As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails-- While the flood was filling those hollow vales.

17.

At last her plank an eddy crossed, And bore her to the city's wall, _105 Which now the flood had reached almost; It might the stoutest heart appal To hear the fire roar and hiss Through the domes of those mighty palaces.

18.