The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 136

FRAGMENT: MILTON'S SPIRIT.

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.", 1870.]

I dreamed that Milton's spirit rose, and took From life's green tree his Uranian lute; And from his touch sweet thunder flowed, and shook All human things built in contempt of man,-- And sanguine thrones and impious altars quaked, _5 Prisons and citadels...

NOTE: _2 lute Uranian cj. A.C. Bradley.

FRAGMENT: 'UNRISEN SPLENDOUR OF THE BRIGHTEST SUN'.

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

Unrisen splendour of the brightest sun, To rise upon our darkness, if the star Now beckoning thee out of thy misty throne Could thaw the clouds which wage an obscure war With thy young brightness! _5

FRAGMENT: PATER OMNIPOTENS.

[Edited from ma.n.u.script Sh.e.l.ley E 4 in the Bodleian Library, and published by Mr. C.D. Loc.o.c.k, "Examination" etc., Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1903. Here placed conjecturally amongst the compositions of 1820, but of uncertain date, and belonging possibly to 1819 or a still earlier year.]

Serene in his unconquerable might Endued[,] the Almighty King, his steadfast throne Encompa.s.sed 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 mult.i.tudes hymned everlasting praise.

FRAGMENT: TO THE MIND OF MAN.

[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 l.u.s.tre 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.--

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS. Sh.e.l.lEY.

We spent the latter part of the year 1819 in Florence, where Sh.e.l.ley pa.s.sed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes on its ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up also by the project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to ply between Leghorn and Ma.r.s.eilles, for which he supplied a sum of money. This was a sort of plan to delight Sh.e.l.ley, and he was greatly disappointed when it was thrown aside.

There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with his health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca as to the cause of Sh.e.l.ley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man, could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave his complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this advice. Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence at Pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence we remained.

In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house of some friends who were absent on a journey to England. It was on a beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the carolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful of his poems. He addressed the letter to Mrs. Gisborne from this house, which was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, who was an engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in her younger days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming from her frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love of knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved freshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a favourite friend of my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and the most open and cordial friendship was established between us.

Our stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. At the foot of our garden ran the ca.n.a.l that communicated between the Serchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking its bounds, this ca.n.a.l also overflowed; all this part of the country is below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, in the lower part of which our house was situated. The ca.n.a.l overflowed in the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet.

It was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving the cattle from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire was kept up to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the animals showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which was reflected again in the waters that filled the Square.

We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter.

The extreme mildness of the climate suited Sh.e.l.ley, and his solitude was enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chance cast us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its very peace suited Sh.e.l.ley. Its river, the near mountains, and not distant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many delightful excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter climate, on account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring us with terror. We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards; often, indeed, entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy, but still delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, I believe we should have wandered over the world, both being pa.s.sionately fond of travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable necessities, is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at the time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for their influence over our destiny.

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821.

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR.

[Published by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley, "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 s.e.xton 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. Sh.e.l.ley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.

There is a transcript in the Harvard ma.n.u.script 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?