"Fallen, as Napoleon fell."-I felt my cheek
Alter to see the shadow pass away,
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
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 be-

hold," Said my guide, "those spoilers spoiled, Voltaire,

"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 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, 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, "Our shadows on it as it past 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 wo his master knew not: 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, 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;

"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 leapt
Like lightning out of darkness--he compelled
The Proteus shape of Nature as it slept

"To wake, and lead him to the eaves 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
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 !"

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

"Her only child who died upon her breast
At eventide-a king would mourn no more
The crown of which his brows were dispossest

"When the sun lingered o'er his ocean floor,
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,

"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 wake to weep, I know not. I arose, and for a space 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 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

"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
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; 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

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

"Into this valley of perpetual dream,

"And underneath ethereal 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

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

"Beside my path, as silent as a ghost;
But the new Vision and the cold bright car,
With solemn speed and stunning music, crost
"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
Built high over her wind-winged pavilion,

The favourite song "Stanco di pascolar le peccorelle," is a Brescian national air.

"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; 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 Was swept-me, sweetest flowers delayed not long; Me, not the shadow nor the solitude;

66

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

"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, 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 care; the wondrous story 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 loversA wonder worthy of his rhyme-the grove

66

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, Strange night upon some Indian vale;-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 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

"Of kingly mantles; some across the tire
Of pontiffs rode, like demons; 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

Sate hatching their bare broods under the shade

"Of demon 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 Humble, like falcons, sat 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 ;-

"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 In drops of sorrow. I became aware

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

ΤΟ

HERE, my dear friend, is a new book for you;
I have already dedicated two

To other friends, one female and one male,
What you are, is a thing that I must veil;
What can this be to those who praise or rail?
I never was attached to that great sect
Whose doctrine is that each one should select
Out of the world a mistress or a friend,
And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend
To cold oblivion-though it is the code
Of modern morals, and the beaten road
Which those poor slaves with weary footsteps tread
Who travel to their home among the dead,
By the broad highway of the world—and so
With one sad friend, and many a jealous foe,
The dreariest and the longest journey go.

Free love has this, different from gold and clay,
That to divide is not to take away.

Like ocean, which the general north wind breaks
Into ten thousand waves, and each one makes
A mirror of the moon; like some great glass,
Which did distort whatever form might pass,
Dashed into fragments by a playful child,
Which then reflects its eyes and forehead mild,
Giving for one, which it could ne'er express,
A thousand images of loveliness.

If I were one whom the loud world held wise,
I should disdain to quote authorities
In the support of this kind of love ;-
Why there is first the God in heaven above,
Who wrote a book called 'Nature, 'tis to be
Reviewed I hear in the next Quarterly;
And Socrates, the Jesus Christ of Greece;
And Jesus Christ himself did never cease
To urge all living things to love each other,
And to forgive their mutual faults, and smother
The Devil of disunion in their souls.

It is a sweet thing friendship, a dear balm,
A happy and auspicious bird of calm,
Which rides o'er life's ever tumultuous Ocean;
A God that broods o'er chaos in commotion;
A flower which fresh as Lapland roses are,
Lifts its bold head into the world's pure air,
And blooms most radiantly when others die,
Health, hope, and youth, and brief prosperity;
And, with the light and odour of its bloom,
Shining within the dungeon and the tomb;
Whose coming is as light and music are
'Mid dissonance and gloom-a star

These fragments do not properly belong to the poems of 1822. They are gleanings from Shelley's manuscript books and papers; preserved not only because they are beautiful in themselves, but as affording indications of his feelings and virtues.

Which moves not 'mid the moving heavens alone, A smile among dark frowns-a gentle tone Among rude voices, a beloved light,

A solitude, a refuge, a delight.

If I had but a friend! why I have three,
Even by my own confession; there may be
Some more, for what I know; for 'tis my mind
To call my friends all who are wise and kind,
And these, Heaven knows, at best are very few,
But none can ever be more dear than you.
Why should they be? my muse has lost her wings,
Or like a dying swan who soars and sings
I should describe you in heroic style,
But as it is are you not void of guile?
A lovely soul, formed to be blessed and bless;
A well of sealed and secret happiness;
A lute, which those whom love has taught to play
Make music on, to cheer the roughest day?