The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain – SECOND SPIRIT I see the light, and I hear the sound; And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark, Some say there is a precipice Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin And that the languid storm pursuing Some say when nights are dry and clear, And a silver shape like his early love doth pass, 31 moon-like, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || moonlight, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. LETTER TO MARIA GISBORNE LEGHORN, July 1, 1820. THE spider spreads her webs whether she be But a soft cell, where when that fades away Whoever should behold me now, I wist, Of some machine portentous, or strange gin, For round the walls are hung dread engines, such Letter to Maria Gisborne. Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || Letter to Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 2 cellar, or barn, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || cellar, barn, Mrs. Shelley, transcript. 13 must, Boscombe MS. || most, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824. Wit of that man of God, St. Dominic, Who thought to pay some interest for the debt Which fishers found under the utmost crag Or heap himself in such a horrid mass And forms of unimaginable wood 27 philanthropic, Boscombe MS. || philosophic, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824. 29 Mrs. Shelley, 18392 || They owed Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 36 Which fishers, Boscombe MS., Mrs. Shelley, transcript || Which fishes, Mrs. Shelley, 1824, With fishes, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. 38 rarely, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || seldom, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 49 and, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || or, Mrs. Shelley, transcript. To puzzle Tubal Cain and all his brood; Great screws, and cones, and wheels, and groovèd blocks, The elements of what will stand the shocks Of wave and wind and time. Upon the table More knacks and quips there be than I am able To catalogize in this verse of mine : A pretty bowl of wood - not full of wine, But quicksilver; that dew which the gnomes drink When at their subterranean toil they swink, Pledging the demons of the earthquake, who Reply to them in lava- cry halloo ! And call out to the cities o'er their head, Roofs, towers and shrines, the dying and the dead, Crash through the chinks of earth quaff and then all Another rouse, and hold their sides and laugh. In color like the wake of light that stains The Tuscan deep, when from the moist moon rains The inmost shower of its white fire the breeze Is still blue heaven smiles over the pale seas. And in this bowl of quicksilver - for I Outlasting manhood—I have made to float A hollow screw with cogs Henry will know The thing I mean and laugh at me, if so He fears not I should do more mischief. Next Lie bills and calculations much perplexed, With steamboats, frigates, and machinery quaint 63 towers, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || towns, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Traced over them in blue and yellow paint. A thing from which sweet lips were wont to drink Will quaff in spite of them and when we die And here like some weird Archimage sit I, Plotting dark spells, and devilish enginery, 84 queer, Boscombe MS. || green, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824. 92 odd hooks, Mrs. Shelley transcript || old hooks, Mrs. Shelley, 1824, old books, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. 100 those Mrs. Shelley, transcript || them, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 101 lead, Boscombe MS. || least, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824. |