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Still, Shelley's passion was the ocean; and he wished that our summers, instead

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1822 of being passed among the hills near Pisa, should be spent on the shores of the sea.

THE ZUCCA It was very difficult to find a spot. We shrank from Naples from a fear that the heats would disagree with Percy: Leghorn SUMMER was dead and Autumn was exhad lost its only attraction, since our

piring, friends who had resided there were returned

And infant Winter laughed upon the to England; and, Monte Nero being the

land resort of many English, we did not wish to find ourselves in the midst of a colony All cloudlessly and cold;—when I, deof chance travellers. No one then thought

siring it possible to reside at Via Reggio, which More in this world than any underlatterly has become a summer resort. The

stand, low lands and bad air of Maremma stretch | Wept o’er the beauty, which like sea the whole length of the western shores of retiring, the Mediterranean, till broken by the rocks Had left the earth bare as the waveand hills of Spezia. It was a vague idea,

worn sand but Shelley suggested an excursion to of my lorn heart, and o'er the grass and Spezia, to see whether it would be feasible

flowers to spend a summer there. The beauty of Pale for the falsehood of the flattering the bay enchanted him. We saw no

Hours. house to suit us; but the notion took root, and many circumstances, enchained as by fatality, occurred to urge him to execute it.

He looked forward this autumn with Summer was dead, but I yet lived to great pleasure to the prospect of a visit

weep from Leigh Hunt. When Shelley visited The instability of all but weeping; Lord Byron at Ravenna, the latter had And on the Earth lulled in her winter suggested his coming out, together with sleep the plan of a periodical work in which I woke, and envied her as she was they should all join. Shelley saw a pros- sleeping. pect of good for the fortunes of his friend, Too happy Earth ! over thy face shall and pleasure in his society; and instantly exerted himself to have the plan executed,

creep He did not intend himself joining in the

The wakening vernal airs, until thou, work: partly from pride, not wishing to

leaping have the air of acquiring readers for his From unremembered dreams, shalt poetry by associating it with the compositions of more popular writers; and also No death divide thy immortality. because he might feel shackled in the free expression of his opinions, if any friends

INT be compromised. By those

I loved-oh no, I mean not one of ye, opinions, carried even to their utmost

Or any earthly one, though ye are extent, he wished to live and die, as being

dear in his conviction not only true, but such as alone would conduce to the moral im- As human heart to human heart may

be ;provement and happiness of mankind. The sale of the work might meanwhile,

I loved, I know not what--but this either really or supposedly, be injured by

low sphere the free expression of his thoughts; and And all that it contains, contains not this evil he resolved to avoid.





them are,



Thou, whom seen nowhere, I feel Can blast not, but which pity kills; the everywhere.

dew From heaven and earth, and all that in Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too

true. Veiled art thou, like a

The Heavens had wept upon it, but the

Earth By Ileaven and Earth, from all whose Had crushed it on her unmaternal shapes thou flowest,

breast. Neither to be contained, delayed, nor

hidden, Making divine the lostiest and the

VIII lowest,

I bore it to my chamber, and I planted When for a moment thou art not

It in a vase full of the lightest mould; forbidden

The winter beams which out of Heaven To live within the life which thou

slanted bestowest;

Fell through the window panes, disAnd leaving noblest things vacant robed of cold, and chidden,

Upon its leaves and flowers; the star Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flight, which panted Blank as the sun after the birth of night.

In evening for the Day, whose car

has rolled

Over the horizon's wave, with looks of In winds, and trees, and streams, and light all things common,

Smiled on it from the threshold of the In music and the sweet unconscious night.




it grew

Of animals, and voices which are human, The mitigated influences of air
Meant to express some feelings of

And light revived the plant, and from their own; In the soft motions and rare smile of Strong leaves and tendrils, and its woman,

flowers fair, In flowers and leaves, and in the

Full as a cup with the vine's burning grass fresh-shown,

dew, Or dying in the autumn, I the most

O’erflowed with golden colours; an Adore thee present or lament thee lost.

atmosphere Of vital warmth infolded it anew,

And every impulse sent to every part And thus I went lamenting, when I saw The unbeheld pulsations of its heart.

A plant upon the river's margin lie, Like one who loved beyond his Nature's law,

Well might the plant grow beautiful and And in despair had cast him down to strong,

Even if the air and sun had smiled Its leaves which had outlived the frost, not on it; the thaw

For one wept o'er it all the winter long Ilad blighted; like a heart which Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which hatred's eye

fell upon it





and wept.



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Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song Mixed with the stringéd melodies “Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of that won it

The dead and the unborn To leave the gentle lips on which it Forget thy life and love; slept,

Forget that thou must wake for ever; Had loosed the heart of him who sat

Forget the world's dull scorn;
Forget lost health, and the divine

Feelings which died in youth's brief llad loosed his heart, and shook the

morn; leaves and flowers

And forget me, for I can never

Be thine. On which he wept, the while the

savage storm Waked by the darkest of December's “Like a cloud big with a May shower, hours

My soul weeps healing rain, Was raving round the chamber hushed On thee, thou withered flower; and warm ;

It breathes mute music on thy sleep; The birds were shivering in their leafless Its odour calms thy brain; bowers,

Its light within thy gloomy breast The fish were frozen in the pools, the Spreads like a second youth again. form

By mine thy being is to its deep Of every summer plant was dead . .

Possest. Whilst this ..

“Thespellis done. How feel you now?"

“Better-Quite well,” replied THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER You good when suffering and awake?

The sleeper. -“What would do

What cure your head and side ?—”
“What would cure, that would kill me,

Jane : “SLEEP, sleep on! forget thy pain;

And as I must on earth abide
My hand is on thy brow,

Awhile, yet tempt me not to break
My spirit on thy brain ;
My pity on thy heart, poor friend;

My chain.”
And from my fingers flow

The powers of lise, and like a sign,
Seal thee from thine hour of woe;

And brood on thee, but may not blend
With thine.

When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead-

When the cloud is scattered “Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not;

The rainbow's glory is shed. But when I think that he

When the lute is broken, Who made and makes my lot

Sweet tones are remembered not; As full of flowers as thine of weeds, When the lips have spoken, Might have been lost like thee;

Loved accents are soon forgot. And that a hand which was not mine,

Might then have charmed his agony
As I another's--my heart bleeds

As music and splendour
For thine.

Survive not the lamp and the lute,



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The heart's echoes render

Making the wintry world appear
No song when the spirit is mute:- Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell, Away,

i, away, from men and towns, Or the mournful surges

To the wild wood and the downs That ring the dead seaman's knell. To the silent wilderness

Where the soul need not repress

Its music lest it should not find When hearts have once mingled An echo in another's mind, Love first leaves the well-built nest,

While the touch of Nature's art The weak one singled

Harmonises heart to heart. To endure what it once possest.

I leave this notice on my door O Love ! who bewailest

For each accustomed visitor :The frailty of all things here,

“I am gone into the fields Why choose you the frailest

To take what this sweet hour yields; For your cradle, your home, and your Reflection, you may come to-morrow, bier ?

Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.-
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,--

You tiresome verse-reciter, Care,Its passions will rock thee

I will pay you in the grave, As the storms rock the ravens on high : Death will listen to your stave. Bright reason will mock thee,

Expectation too, be off! Like the sun from a wintry sky. To-day is for itself enough; From thy nest every rafter

Hope in pity mock not Woe Will rot, and thine eagle home

With smiles, nor follow where I go; Leave thee naked to laughter, Long having lived on thy sweet food, When leaves fall and cold winds come.

At length I find one moment's good

After long pain- with all your love, TO JANE : THE INVITATION

This you never told me of.” Best and brightest, come away!

Radiant Sister of the Day, Fairer far than this fair Day,

Awake! arise! and come away! Which, like thee to those in sorrow, To the wild woods and the plains, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow And the pools where winter rains To the rough Year just awake

Image all their roof of leaves, In its cradle on the brake.

Where the pine its garland weaves The brightest hour of unborn Spring, Of sapless green and ivy dun Through the winter wandering,

Round stems that never kiss the sun; Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn Where the lawns and pastures be, To hoar February born;

And the sandhills of the sea;-Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, Where the melting hoar-frost wets It kissed the forehead of the Earth, The daisy-star that never sets, And smiled upon the silent sea,

And wind-flowers, and violets, And bade the frozen streams be free, Which yet join not scent to hue, And waked to music all their fountains, Crown the pale year weak and new; And breathed upon the frozen mount. When the night is left behind ains,

In the deep east, dun and blind, And like a prophetess of May

And the blue noon is over us, Strewed flowers upon the barren way, And the multitudinous

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Billows murmur at our feet,

That even the busy woodpecker Where the earth and ocean meet,

Made stiller by her sound And all things seem only one

The inviolable quietness;
In the universal sun.

The breath of peace we drew
With its soft motion made not less

The calm that round us grew. TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION There seemed from the remotest seat

Of the white mountain waste,

To the soft flower beneath our feet, Now the last day of many days,

A magic circle traced, -
All beautiful and bright as thou,

A spirit interfused around,
The loveliest and the last, is dead,

A thrilling silent life,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise !

To momentary peace it bound
Up to thy wonted work! come, trace

Our mortal nature's strife;-
The epitaph of glory fled, - And still I felt the centre of
For now the Earth has changed its face,

The magic circle there,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

Was one fair form that filled with love

The lifeless atmosphere.


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We paused beside the pools that lie

Under the forest bough,
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky

Gulphed in a world below;
A firmament of purple light,

Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,

And purer than the day-
In which the lovely forests grew

As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.
There lay the glade and neighbouring


And through the dark green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen,
Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green.
And all was interfused beneath

With an elysian glow,
An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.
Like one beloved the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast,
Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth exprest;


llow calm it was !—the silence there

By such a chain was bound

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