XVII.

"Ye seek for happiness-alas the day! Ye find it not in luxury nor in gold, Nor in the fame, nor in the envied sway For which, O willing slaves to Custom old, Severe task-mistress! ye your hearts have sold. Ye seek for peace, and when ye die, to dream No evil dreams; all mortal things are cold And senseless then. If aught survive, I deem It must be love and joy, for they immortal scem.

XVIII.

"Fear not the future, weep not for the past.
Oh, could I win your ears to dare be now
Glorious, and great and calm! that ye would cast
Into the dust those symbols of your wo,
Purple, and gold, and steel! that he would go
Proclaiming to the nations whence ye came,
That Want, and Plague, and Fear, from slavery
flow;

And that mankind is free, and that the shame Of royalty and faith is lost in freedom's fame.

XIX.

"If thus 'tis well-if not, I come to say That Laon-." While the Stranger spoke, among The Council sudden tumult and affray Arose for many of those warriors young Had on his eloquent accents fed and hung Like bees on mountain-flowers! they knew the truth,

And from their thrones in vindication sprung; The men of faith and law then without ruth Drew forth their secret steel, and stabbed each ardent youth.

xx.

They stabbed them in the back and sneered. A slave
Who stood behind the throne, those corpses drew
Each to its bloody, dark, and secret grave;
And one more daring raised his steel anew
To pierce the Stranger: "What hast thou to do
With me, poor wretch ?"-Calm, solemn, and

severe,

That voice unstrung his sinews, and he threw His dagger on the ground, and pale with fear, Sate silently-his voice then did the Stranger rear.

XXI.

"It doth avail not that I weep for yeYe cannot change, since ye are old and gray, And ye have chosen your lot-your fame must be A book of blood, whence in a milder day Men shall learn truth, when ye are wrapt in clay? Now ye shall triumph. I am Laon's friend, And him to your revenge will I betray, So ye concede one easy boon. Attend! For now I speak of things which ye can apprehend.

XXII.

"There is a People mighty in its youth,
A land beyond the Oceans of the West, [Truth
Where, though with rudest rites, Freedom and
Are worshipped; from a glorious mother's breast
Who, since high Athens fell among the rest
Sate like the Queen of Nations, but in wo,
By inbred monsters outraged and oppressed,
Turns to her chainless child for succour now,
And draws the milk of power in Wisdom's fullest

flow.

XXIII.

"This land is like an Eagle, whose young gaze Feeds on the noontide beams, whose golden plume Floats moveless on the storm, and in the blaze Of sunrise gleams when earth is wrapt in gloom; An epitaph of glory for the tomb

Of murdered Europe may thy fame be made, Great People! As the sands shalt thou become; Thy growth is swift as morn, when night must fade; The multitudinous Earth shall sleep beneath thy shade.

XXIV.

"Yes, in the desert then is built a home
For Freedom. Genius is made strong to rear
The monuments of man beneath the dome
Of a new heaven; myriads assemble there,
Whom the proud lords of man, in rage or fear
Drive from their wasted homes. The boon I pray
Is this, that Cythna shall be convoyed there,-
Nay, start not at the name-America!

And then to you this night Laon will I betray.

XXV.

"With me do what ye will. I am your foe!"
The light of such a joy as makes the stare
Of hungry snakes like living emeralds glow,
Shone in a hundred human eyes. Where, where
Is Laon? haste! fly! drag him swiftly here!
We grant thy boon.”—“I put no trust in ye,
Swear by the Power ye dread."—« We swear,
we swear!"

The Stranger threw his vest back suddenly,
And smiled in gentle pride, and said, "Lo! I am he."

CANTO XII.

I.

THE transport of a fierce and monstrous gladness Spread through the multitudinous streets, fast flying Upon the winds of fear; from his dull madness The starveling waked, and died in joy; the dying, Among the corpses in stark agony lying, Just heard the happy tidings, and in hope [ing Closed their faint eyes, from house to house replyWith loud acclaim, the living shook Heaven's cope, And filled the startled Earth with echoes: morn did ope

II.

Its pale eyes then; and lo! the long array Of guards in golden arms, and priests beside Singing their bloody hymns, whose garbs betray The blackness of the faith it seems to hide; And see, the Tyrant's gem-wrought chariot glide Among the gloomy cowls and glittering spears A shape of light is sitting by his side, A child most beautiful. I' the midst appears Laon-exempt alone from mortal hopes and fears.

III.

His head and feet are bare, his hands are bound Behind with heavy chains, yet none do wreak Their scoffs on him, though myriads throng around; There are no sneers upon his lip which speak That scorn or hate has made him bold; his cheek Resolve has not turned pale, his eyes are mild And calm, and like the morn about to break, Smile on mankind-his heart seems reconciled To all things and itself, like a reposing child.

SHELLEY possessed two remarkable qualities of intellect a brilliant imagination and a logical exactness of reason. His inclinations led him (he fancied) almost alike to poetry and metaphysical discussions. I say "he fancied," because I believe the former to have been paramount, and that it would have gained the mastery even had he struggled against it. However, he said that he deliberated at one time whether he should dedicate himself to poetry or metaphysics, and resolving on the former, he educated himself for it, discarding in a great measure his philosophical pursuits, and engaging himself in the study of the poets of Greece, Italy, and England. To these may be added a constant perusal of portions of the Old Testament-the Psalms, the book of Job, the Prophet Isaiah, and others, the sublime poetry of which filled him with delight.

As a poet, his intellect and compositions were powerfully influenced by exterior circumstances, and especially by his place of abode. He was very fond of travelling, and ill health increased this restlessness. The sufferings occasioned by a cold English winter, made him pine, especially when our colder spring arrived, for a more genial climate. In 1816 he again visited Switzerland, and rented a house on the banks of the lake of Geneva; and many a day, in cloud or sunshine, was passed alone in his boat-sailing as the wind listed, or weltering on the calm waters. The majestic aspect of nature ministered such thoughts as he afterwards enwove in verse. His lines on the Bridge of the Arve, and his Hymn to Intellectual beauty, were written at this time. Perhaps during this summer his genius was checked by association with another poet whose nature was utterly dissimilar to his own, yet who, in the poem he wrote at that time, gave tokens that he shared for a period the more

abstract and etherialized inspiration of Shelley. The saddest events awaited his return to England; but such was his fear to wound the feelings of others, that he never expressed the anguish he felt, and seldom gave vent to the indignation roused by the persecutions he underwent; while the course of deep unexpressed passion, and the sense of injury, engendered the desire to embody themselves in forms defecated of all the weakness and evil which cling to real life.

He chose therefore for his hero a youth nourished in dreams of liberty, some of whose actions are in direct opposition to the opinions of the world; but who is animated throughout by an ardent love of virtue, and a resolution to confer the boons of political and intellectual freedom on his fellowcreatures. He created for this youth a woman such as he delighted to imagine-full of enthusiasm for the same objects; and they both, with will unvanquished and the deepest sense of the justice of their cause, met adversity and death. There exists in this poem a memorial of a friend of his youth, The character of the old man who liberates Laon from his tower-prison, and tends on him in sickness, is founded on that of Doctor Lind, who, when Shelley was at Eton, had often stood by to befriend and support him, and whose name he never mentioned without love and veneration.

The