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to us


Wrapt in the of that which is Whence thou hast ned, whither thou

must return The health of life's own life.

Charged with the load that makes thee



CALM THOUGHTS I AM as a spirit who has dwelt Within his heart of hearts, and I have Ye gentle visitations of calm thoughtfelt

Moods like the memories of happier His feelings, and have thought his

earth, thoughts, and known

Which come arrayed in thoughts of The inmost converse of his soul, the

little worth, tone

Like stars in clouds by the weak winds Unheard but in the silence of his blood, en wrought, When all the pulses in their multitude But that the clouds depart and stars Image the trembling calm of summer remain,

While they remain, and ye, alas, depart ! I have unlocked the golden melodies Of his deep soul, as with a master-key, FRAGMENT: POETRY AND And loosened them and bathed myself

MUSIC therein

How sweet it is to sit and read the tales Even as an eagle in a thunder-mist Clothing his wings with lightning.

Of mighty poets and to hear the while Sweet music, which when the attention


Fills the dim pause-

FRAGMENT: THE TOMB OF Is it that in some brighter sphere

MEMORY We part from friends we meet with here?

AND where is truth? On tombs ? for Or do we see the Future pass

such to thee Over the Present's dusky glass?

Has been my heart — and thy dead Or what is that that makes us seem

memory To patch up fragments of a dream, Has lain from childhood, many a changePart of which comes true, and part Beats and trembles in the heart? Unchangingly preserved and buried


FRAGMENT : SONG OF THE Is not to-day enough? Why do I peer

Into the darkness of the day to come ?
Is not to-morrow even as yesterday?
And will the day that follows change When a lover clasps his fairest,
thy doom?

Then be our dread sport the rarest. Few flowers grow upon thy wintry way; Their caresses were like the chaff And who waits for thee in that cheer- In the tempest, and be our laugh less home

His despair-her epitaph !

ful year


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When the sunset sleeps

Upon its snow;
As a strain of sweetest sound
Wraps itself the wind around

Until the voiceless wind be music too;
As aught dark, vain, and dull,

Basking in what is beautiful,

A SENSITIVE Plant in a garden grew, Is full of light and love. 1819.

And the young winds fed it with silver


And it opened its san-like leaves to the MASK OF ANARCHY


And closed them beneath the kisses of (ior WinCH STANZAS LXVIII, LXIX

night. HAVE BEEN SUBSTITUTED) From the cities where from caves,

And the Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the dead from putrid graves,

Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;

And each flower and herb on Earth's Troops of starvelings gliding come,

dark breast Living Tenants of a tomb.

Rose from the dreams of its wintry rest. NOTE BY MRS. SHELLEY

But none ever trembled and panted with Shelley loved the People; and re

bliss spected them as often more virtuous, as in the garden, the field, or the wilderalways more suffering, and therefore more

ness, deserving of sympathy, than the great. Like a doe in the noontide with love's He believed that a clash between the two

sweet want, classes of society was inevitable, and he eagerly ranged himself on the people's

As the companionless Sensitive Plant. side. He had an idea of publishing a series of poems adapted expressly to

The snowdrop, and then the violet, commemorate their circumstances and Arose from the ground with warm rain wrongs. He wrote a few; but, in those

wet, days of prosecution for libel, they could And their breath was mixed with fresh not be printed. They are not among the oclour, sent best of his productions, a writer being From the turf, like the voice and the always shackled when he endeavours to

instrument. write down to the comprehension of those who could not understand or feel a highly Then the pied wind-flowers and the imaginative style; but they show his ear- tulip tall, nestness, and with what heartfelt compas. And narcissi, the fairest among them all, sion he went home to the direct point of Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's injury—that oppression is detestable as

recess, being the parent of starvation, nakedness, Till they die of their own dear loveliness ; and ignorance. Besides these outpourings of compassion and indignation, he had meant io adorn the cause he loved with And the Naiad-like lily of the vale, loftier poetry of glory and triumph: such Whom youth makes so fair and passion is the scope of the Ode to the Assertors of so pale, Liberty. He sketched also a new version That the light of its tremulous bells is of our national anthem, as addressed to Liberty.

Through their pavilions of tender green;




And the hyacinth purple, and white, Were all paved with daisies and delicate and blue,

bells Which flung from its bells a sweet peal. As fair as the fabulous asphodels,

And flowrets which drooping as day Of music so delicate, soft, and intense,

drooped too It was felt like an odour within the Fell into pavilions, white, purple, and sense;


To roof the glow-worm from the evenAnd the rose like a nymph to the bath

ing dew. addrest, Which unveiled the depth of her glowing And from this undefiled Paradise breast,

The flowers (as an infant's awakening Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air

eyes The soul of her beauty and love lay Smile on its mother, whose singing bare:

sweet And the wand-like lily, which listed up, Can first lull

, and at last must awaken As a Mänad, its moonlight-coloured

it), сир,

When Heaven's blithe winds had unTill the fiery star, which is its eye,

folded them, Gazed through clear dew on the tender As mine-lamps enkindle a hidden gem,

Shone smiling to Heaven, and every one And the jessamine saint, and the sweet Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun;

tuberose, The sweetest flower for scent that blows; For each one was interpenetrated And all rare blossoms from every clime

With the light and the odour its neigh

bour shed, Grew in that garden in perfect prime.

Like young lovers whom youth and love And on the stream whose inconstant

make dear bosom

Wrapped and filled by their mutual Was prankt under boughs of embower- atmosphere. ing blossom,

But the Sensitive Plant which could With golden and green light, slanting through

give small fruit

Of the love which it felt from the leaf Their heaven of many a tangled hue,

to the root, Broad water lilies lay tremulously, Received more than all, it loved more And starry river-buds glimmered by, And around them the soft stream did | Where none wanted but it, could belong glide and dance

to the giver, With a motion of sweet sound and radiance.

For the Sensitive Plant has no bright

flower; And the sinuous paths of lawn and of Radiance and odour are not its dower;

It loves, even like Love, its deep heart Which led through the garden along and

is full, across,

It desires what it has not, the beautiful! Some open at once to the sun and the breeze,

The light winds which from unsustainSome lost among bowers of blossoming ing wings trees,

Shed the music of many murmurings ;

than ever,

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The beams which dart from many a And snatches of its Elysian chant

Were mixed with the dreams of the Of the flowers whose hues they bear Sensitive Plant.) asar;

The Sensitive Plant was the earliest The plumed insects swift and free, Up-gathered into the bosom of rest; Like golden boats on a sunny sea, A sweet child weary of its delight, Laden with light and odour, which pass The feeblest and yet the favourite, Over the gleam of the living grass;

Cradled within the embrace of night. The unseen clouds of the dew, which lie

PART SECOND Like fire in the flowers till the sun rides high,

There was a Power in this sweet place, Then wander like spirits among the An Eve in this Eden; a ruling grace spheres,

Which to the flowers did they waken Each cloud faint with the fragrance it

or dream, bears;

Was as God is to the starry scheme. The quivering vapours of dim noontide, A Lady, the wonder of her kind, Which like a sea o'er the warm earth Whose form was upborne by a lovely glide,

mind In which every sound, and odour, and Which, dilating, had moulded her mien beam,

and motion Move, as reeds in a single stream ;

Like a sea-flower unsolded beneath the

ocean, Each and all like ministering angels were For the Sensitive Plant sweet joy to Tended the garden from morn to even : bear,

And the meteors of that sublunar heaven, Whilst the lagging hours of the day Like the lamps of the air when night went by

walks sorth, Like windless clouds o'er a tender sky. Laughed round her footsteps up from

the Earth! And when evening descended from heaven above,

She had no companion of mortal race, And the Earth was all rest, and the air But her tremulous breath and her flushwas all love,

ing face And delight, tho' less bright, was far Told, whilst the morn kissed the sleep

more deep, And the day's veil sell from the world That her dreams were less slumber than of sleep,

Paradise : And the beasts, and the birds, and the As if some bright Spirit for her sweet insects were drowned

sake In an ocean of dreams without a sound; Had deserted heaven while the stars Whose waves never mark, tho' they

were awake, ever impress

As if yet around her he lingering were, The light sand which paves it, conscious- Tho' the veil of daylight concealed him ness;

from her. (Only overhead the sweet nightingale Her step seemed to pity the grass it prest; Ever sang more sweet as the day might You might hear by the heaving of her fail,


from her eyes

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