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The mutinous air and seal they round thee, even

As sleep round Love, are driven! Metropolis of a ruined Paradise

Long lost, late won, and yet but half regained ! Bright Altar of the bloodless sacrifice,

Which armèd Victory offers up unstained

To Love, the flower-enchained ! Thou which wert once, and then didst cease to be, Now art, and henceforth ever shalt be, free, If Hope, and Truth, and Justice can avail, —

Hail, hail, all hail!

STROPHE B 2

Thou youngest giant birth,

Which from the groaning earth Leap’st, clothed in armor of impenetrable scale !

Last of the intercessors

Who 'gainst the Crowned Transgressors Pleadest before God's love! Arrayed in Wisdom's

mail,
Wave thy lightning lance in mirth,

Nor let thy high heart fail,
Though from their hundred gates the leagued

Oppressors,
With hurried legions move!

Hail, hail, all hail !

ANTISTROPHE a 1

What though Cimmerian anarchs dare blaspheme

Freedom and thee? thy shield is as a mirror To make their blind slaves see, and with fierce gleam To turn his hungry sword upon the wearer;

A new Actæon's error

Shall theirs have been - devoured by their own

hounds! Be thou like the imperial Basilisk, Killing thy foe with unapparent wounds !

Gaze on oppression, till, at that dread risk

Aghast, she pass from the Earth's disk;
Fear not, but gaze -- for freemen mightier grow,
And slaves more feeble, gazing on their foe.

If Hope, and Truth, and Justice may avail,
Thou shalt be great. — All hail !

ANTISTROPHE B 2
From Freedom's form divine,

From Nature's inmost shrine,
Strip every impious gaud, rend Error veil by veil;

O'er Ruin desolate,

O'er Falsehood's fallen state, Sit thou sublime, unawed; be the Destroyer pale!

And equal laws be thine,

And winged words let sail,
Freighted with truth even from the throne of God;

That wealth, surviving fate,
Be thine. — All hail !

ANTISTROPHE αγ
Didst thou not start to hear Spain's thrilling pæan

From land to land reëchoed solemnly,
Till silence became music? From the Ææan

To the cold Alps, eternal Italy

Starts to hear thine! The Sea Which paves the desert streets of Venice laughs

In light and music ; widowed Genoa wan By moonlight spells ancestral epitaphs,

Murmuring, Where is Doria ? Fair Milan,

Within whose veins long ran
The viper's palsying venom, lifts her heel
To bruise his head. The signal and the seal

(If Hope, and Truth, and Justice can avail)
Art thou of all these hopes. - hail!

ANTISTROPHE βγ
Florence! beneath the sun,

Of cities fairest one,
Blushes within her bower for Freedom's expec-

tation; From

eyes of quenchless hope Rome tears the priestly cope, As ruling once by power, so now by admiration, —

An athlete stripped to run

From a remoter station
For the high prize lost on Philippi's shore :-

As then Hope, Truth, and Justice did avail,
So now may Fraud and Wrong! Ohail!

EPODE I B
Hear ye the march as of the Earth-born Forms

Arrayed against the ever-living Gods ?
The crash and darkness of a thousand storms
Bursting their inaccessible abodes

Of crags and thunder-clouds ?
See ye the banners blazoned to the day,

Inwrought with emblems of barbaric pride ? Dissonant threats kill Silence far away, The serene Heaven which wraps our Eden wide

With iron light is dyed, The Anarchs of the North lead forth their legions

Like Chaos o'er creation, uncreating ; An hundred tribes nourished on strange religions And lawless slaveries, — down the aërial regions

Of the white Alps, desolating,

Famished wolves that bide no waiting, Blotting the glowing footsteps of old glory, Trampling our columned cities into dust,

Their dull and savage lust On Beauty's corse to sickness satiating They come! The fields they tread look black and

hoary With fire from their red feet the streams run

gory !

EPODE II B
Great Spirit, deepest Love !

Which rulest and dost move
All things which live and are, within the Italian

shore;
Who spreadest heaven around it,

Whose woods, rocks, waves, surround it; Who sittest in thy star, o'er Ocean's western floor;

Spirit of beauty! at whose soft command The sunbeams and the showers distil its foison

From the Earth's bosom chill;
Oh, bid those beams be each a blinding brand
Of lightning! bid those showers be dews of poison !

Bid the Earth's plenty kill !
Bid thy bright Heaven above,
Whilst light and darkness bound it,
Be their tomb who planned

To make it ours and thine !
Or with thine harmonizing ardors fill

And raise thy sons, as o'er the prone horizon
Thy lamp feeds every twilight wave with fire !
Be man's high hope and unextinct desire
The instrument to work thy will divine !
Then clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from

leopards,
And frowns and fears from Thee,

Would not more swiftly flee,
Than Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shep-

herds.
Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine
Thou yieldest or withholdest, oh, let be
This city of thy worship, ever free!

AUTUMN;

A DIRGE

THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,

And the year On the earth, her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,

Is lying
Come, Months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest array ;
Follow the bier

Of the dead cold year,
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.

Autumn. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

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