Still, Shelley's passion was the ocean; and he wished that our summers, instead of being passed among the hills near Pisa, should be spent on the shores of the sea. It was very difficult to find a spot. We shrank from Naples from a fear that the heats would disagree with Percy: Leghorn had lost its only attraction, since our friends who had resided there were returned to England; and, Monte Nero being the resort of many English, we did not wish to find ourselves in the midst of a colony POEMS WRITTEN IN 1822 THE ZUCCA I SUMMER was dead and Autumn was expiring, And infant Winter laughed upon the land All cloudlessly and cold;-when I, desiring More in this world than any under stand, Wept o'er the beauty, which like sea retiring, Had left the earth bare as the waveworn sand of chance travellers. No one then thought it possible to reside at Via Reggio, which latterly has become a summer resort. The low lands and bad air of Maremma stretch the whole length of the western shores of the Mediterranean, till broken by the rocks and hills of Spezia. It was a vague idea, but Shelley suggested an excursion to Of my lorn heart, and o'er the grass and Spezia, to see whether it would be feasible to spend a summer there. The beauty of the bay enchanted him. We saw no house to suit us; but the notion took root, and many circumstances, enchained as by fatality, occurred to urge him to execute it. flowers Pale for the falsehood of the flattering II Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep The instability of all but weeping; And on the Earth lulled in her winter sleep I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping. He looked forward this autumn with great pleasure to the prospect of a visit from Leigh Hunt. When Shelley visited Lord Byron at Ravenna, the latter had suggested his coming out, together with the plan of a periodical work in which they should all join. Shelley saw a prospect of good for the fortunes of his friend, Too and pleasure in his society; and instantly exerted himself to have the plan executed. He did not intend himself joining in the work partly from pride, not wishing to have the air of acquiring readers for his poetry by associating with the compositions of more popular writers; and also because he might feel shackled in the free expression of his opinions, if any friends were happy Earth! over thy face shall creep The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping From unremembered dreams, shalt see No death divide thy immortality. III I loved-oh no, I mean not one of ye, Or any earthly one, though ye are dear As to be compromised. By those opinions, carried even to their utmost extent, he wished to live and die, as being in his conviction not only true, but such as alone would conduce to the moral improvement and happiness of mankind. The sale of the work might meanwhile, either really or supposedly, be injured by the free expression of his thoughts; and And this evil he resolved to avoid. human heart to human heart may be ; I loved, I know not what-but this low sphere all that it contains, contains not thee, Thou, whom seen nowhere, I feel Can blast not, but which pity kills; the From heaven and earth, and all that in Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too "The spell is done. How feel you now?" "Better-Quite well," replied The sleeper."What would do THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER You good when suffering and awake? PATIENT What cure your head and side?_" "What would cure, that would kill me, Jane: And as I must on earth abide Awhile, yet tempt me not to break My chain." LINES: "WHEN THE LAMP IS SHATTERED" I WHEN the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies deadWhen the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute: No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell. III When hearts have once mingled Love first leaves the well-built nest, The weak one is singled The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your Reflection, you may come to-morrow, bier? IV Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high: Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come. TO JANE: THE INVITATION BEST and brightest, come away! And like a prophetess of May Strewed flowers upon the barren way, Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.— Radiant Sister of the Day, Billows murmur at our feet, That even the busy woodpecker Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness; 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, A thrilling silent life, Our mortal nature's strife;And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there, Was one fair form that filled with love The lifeless atmosphere. V We paused beside the pools that lie Each seemed as 'twere a little sky A firmament of purple light, Which in the dark earth lay, In which the lovely forests grew More perfect both in shape and hue There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, 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 And all was interfused beneath An atmosphere without a breath, Like one beloved the scene had lent Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest; |