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Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know
That things depart which never may return; Childhood and yoạth, friendship and love's first
glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to
mourn. These common woes I feel. One loss is mine,
Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore; Thou wert as a lone star whose light did
shine On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar; Thou hast like to a rock-built refuge stood
Above the blind and battling multitude;
In honored poverty thy voice did weave
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE
FALL OF BONAPARTE
I HATED thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan
To think that a most unambitious slave,
To Wordsworth. Published with Alastor, 1816.
Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte. Published with Alastor, 1816.
3 thou, shouldst || thee, Rossetti conj., should, Rossetti.
Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer
A frail and bloody pomp which time has swept
For this I prayed, would on thy sleep have crept, Treason and Slavery, Rapine, Fear, and Lust,
And stifled thee, their minister. I know
Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, That Virtue owns a more eternal foe
Than Force or Fraud : old Custom, Legal Crime, And bloody Faith, the foulest birth of time.
The cold earth slept below;
And all around,
With a chilling sound,
Beneath the sinking moon.
The wintry hedge was black;
green grass was not seen ;
On the bare thorn's breast,
Which the frost had made between.
Thine eyes glowed in the glare
Of the moon's dying light; Lines. Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || November, 1815. The Literary Pocket-Book, 1823. Published by Hunt, 1823.
As a fen-fire's beam
On a sluggish stream Gleams dimly - so the moon shone there, And it yellowed the strings of thy tangled hair,
That shook in the wind of night.
The moon made thy lips pale, beloved
The night did shed
On thy dear head
Might visit thee at will.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816
THERE late was One within whose subtle being,
The Sunset. Published in part by Hunt in The Literary PocketBook, 1823, 9–20, with title, Sunset. From an unpublished poem, and, 28-42, with title, Grief. A Fragment; and, entire, by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Composed at Bishopsgate in the spring.
4 death, Mrs. Shelley, 1839 1 || youth, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
“ I never saw the sun ? We will walk here To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me.”
That night the youth and lady mingled lay
year by year lived on ; in truth I think
pale ; Her hands were thin, and through their wandering
veins And weak articulations might be seen Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day, Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!
“Inheritor of more than earth can give, Passionless calm and silence unreproved, Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep, but rest, And are the uncomplaining things they seem,
22 sunrise? We will wake, Forman conj. 37 Hunt, 1823 || omit, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.