No More Learning

Singing of us, and our lazy motions,
If I can guess a boat's emotions. '--editions 1824, 1839.
_61-_67 Rossetti places these lines conjecturally between lines 51 and 52.
_61-_65 'are evidently an alternative version of 48-51' (A. C. Bradley).
_95, _96 and stems The tempest of the wanting in editions 1824, 1839.
_112 then Boscombe manuscript; until editions 1824, 1839
_114 superfluous Boscombe manuscript; clear editions 1824, 1839.
_117 pine Boscombe manuscript; fir editions 1824, 1839.

***


MUSIC.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

1.
I pant for the music which is divine,
My heart in its thirst is a dying flower;
Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine,
Loosen the notes in a silver shower;
Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain, _5
I gasp, I faint, till they wake again.

2.
Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound,
More, oh more,--I am thirsting yet;
It loosens the serpent which care has bound
Upon my heart to stifle it; _10
The dissolving strain, through every vein,
Passes into my heart and brain.

3.
As the scent of a violet withered up,
Which grew by the brink of a silver lake,
When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup, _15
And mist there was none its thirst to slake--
And the violet lay dead while the odour flew
On the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue--

4.
As one who drinks from a charmed cup
Of foaming, and sparkling, and murmuring wine, _20
Whom, a mighty Enchantress filling up,
Invites to love with her kiss divine. . .

NOTES:
_16 mist 1824; tank 1839, 2nd edition.

***


SONNET TO BYRON.

[Published by Medwin, "The Shelley Papers", 1832 (lines 1-7), and "Life
of Shelley", 1847 (lines 1-9, 12-14). Revised and completed from the
Boscombe manuscript by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ",
1870. ]

[I am afraid these verses will not please you, but]
If I esteemed you less, Envy would kill
Pleasure, and leave to Wonder and Despair
The ministration of the thoughts that fill
The mind which, like a worm whose life may share
A portion of the unapproachable, _5
Marks your creations rise as fast and fair
As perfect worlds at the Creator's will.

But such is my regard that nor your power
To soar above the heights where others [climb],
Nor fame, that shadow of the unborn hour _10
Cast from the envious future on the time,
Move one regret for his unhonoured name
Who dares these words:--the worm beneath the sod
May lift itself in homage of the God.

NOTES:
_1 you edition 1870; him 1832; thee 1847.
_4 So edition 1870; My soul which as a worm may haply share 1832;
My soul which even as a worm may share 1847.
_6 your edition 1870; his 1832; thy 1847.
_8, _9 So edition 1870 wanting 1832 -
But not the blessings of thy happier lot,
Nor thy well-won prosperity, and fame 1847.
_10, _11 So edition 1870; wanting 1832, 1847.
_12-_14 So 1847, edition 1870; wanting 1832.


***

FRAGMENT ON KEATS.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition--ED. ]

ON KEATS, WHO DESIRED THAT ON HIS TOMB SHOULD BE INSCRIBED--

'Here lieth One whose name was writ on water.
But, ere the breath that could erase it blew,
Death, in remorse for that fell slaughter,
Death, the immortalizing winter, flew
Athwart the stream,--and time's printless torrent grew _5
A scroll of crystal, blazoning the name
Of Adonais!

***


FRAGMENT: 'METHOUGHT I WAS A BILLOW IN THE CROWD'.

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Methought I was a billow in the crowd
Of common men, that stream without a shore,
That ocean which at once is deaf and loud;
That I, a man, stood amid many more
By a wayside. . . , which the aspect bore _5
Of some imperial metropolis,
Where mighty shapes--pyramid, dome, and tower--
Gleamed like a pile of crags--

***


TO-MORROW.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]

Where art thou, beloved To-morrow?
When young and old, and strong and weak,
Rich and poor, through joy and sorrow,
Thy sweet smiles we ever seek,--
In thy place--ah! well-a-day! _5
We find the thing we fled--To-day.

***


STANZA.

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870.
Connected by Dowden with the preceding. ]

If I walk in Autumn's even
While the dead leaves pass,
If I look on Spring's soft heaven,--
Something is not there which was
Winter's wondrous frost and snow, _5
Summer's clouds, where are they now?

***


FRAGMENT: A WANDERER.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

He wanders, like a day-appearing dream,
Through the dim wildernesses of the mind;
Through desert woods and tracts, which seem
Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.

***


FRAGMENT: LIFE ROUNDED WITH SLEEP.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

The babe is at peace within the womb;
The corpse is at rest within the tomb:
We begin in what we end.

***


FRAGMENT: 'I FAINT, I PERISH WITH MY LOVE! '.

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

I faint, I perish with my love! I grow
Frail as a cloud whose [splendours] pale
Under the evening's ever-changing glow:
I die like mist upon the gale,
And like a wave under the calm I fail. _5

***


FRAGMENT: THE LADY OF THE SOUTH.

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Faint with love, the Lady of the South
Lay in the paradise of Lebanon
Under a heaven of cedar boughs: the drouth
Of love was on her lips; the light was gone
Out of her eyes-- _5

***


FRAGMENT: ZEPHYRUS THE AWAKENER.

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Come, thou awakener of the spirit's ocean,
Zephyr, whom to thy cloud or cave
No thought can trace! speed with thy gentle motion!

***


FRAGMENT: RAIN.

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

The gentleness of rain was in the wind.

***


FRAGMENT: 'WHEN SOFT WINDS AND SUNNY SKIES'.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

When soft winds and sunny skies
With the green earth harmonize,
And the young and dewy dawn,
Bold as an unhunted fawn,
Up the windless heaven is gone,-- _5
Laugh--for ambushed in the day,--
Clouds and whirlwinds watch their prey.

***


FRAGMENT: 'AND THAT I WALK THUS PROUDLY CROWNED'.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

And that I walk thus proudly crowned withal
Is that 'tis my distinction; if I fall,
I shall not weep out of the vital day,
To-morrow dust, nor wear a dull decay.

NOTE:
_2 'Tis that is or In that is cj. A. C. Bradley.

***


FRAGMENT: 'THE RUDE WIND IS SINGING'.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

The rude wind is singing
The dirge of the music dead;
The cold worms are clinging
Where kisses were lately fed.

***


FRAGMENT: 'GREAT SPIRIT'.

[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870. ]

Great Spirit whom the sea of boundless thought
Nurtures within its unimagined caves,
In which thou sittest sole, as in my mind,
Giving a voice to its mysterious waves--

***


FRAGMENT: 'O THOU IMMORTAL DEITY'.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. ]

O thou immortal deity
Whose throne is in the depth of human thought,
I do adjure thy power and thee
By all that man may be, by all that he is not,
By all that he has been and yet must be! _5

***


FRAGMENT: THE FALSE LAUREL AND THE TRUE.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]

'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest
The wreath to mighty poets only due,
Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?
Touch not those leaves which for the eternal few
Who wander o'er the Paradise of fame, _5
In sacred dedication ever grew:
One of the crowd thou art without a name. '
'Ah, friend, 'tis the false laurel that I wear;
Bright though it seem, it is not the same
As that which bound Milton's immortal hair; _10
Its dew is poison; and the hopes that quicken
Under its chilling shade, though seeming fair,
Are flowers which die almost before they sicken. '

***


FRAGMENT: MAY THE LIMNER.

[This and the three following Fragments were edited from manuscript
Shelley D1 at the Bodleian Library and published by Mr. C. D. Locock,
"Examination", etc. , Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1903. They are printed
here as belonging probably to the year 1821. ]

When May is painting with her colours gay
The landscape sketched by April her sweet twin. . .

***


FRAGMENT: BEAUTY'S HALO.

[Published by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination", etc, 1903. ]

Thy beauty hangs around thee like
Splendour around the moon--
Thy voice, as silver bells that strike
Upon

***


FRAGMENT: 'THE DEATH KNELL IS RINGING'.

('This reads like a study for "Autumn, A Dirge"' (Locock). Might it not
be part of a projected Fit v. of "The Fugitives"? --ED. )

[Published by Mr. C. D. Locock, "Examination", etc. , 1903. ]

The death knell is ringing
The raven is singing
The earth worm is creeping
The mourners are weeping
Ding dong, bell-- _5

***


FRAGMENT: 'I STOOD UPON A HEAVEN-CLEAVING TURRET'.

I stood upon a heaven-cleaving turret
Which overlooked a wide Metropolis--
And in the temple of my heart my Spirit
Lay prostrate, and with parted lips did kiss
The dust of Desolations [altar] hearth-- _5
And with a voice too faint to falter
It shook that trembling fane with its weak prayer
'Twas noon,--the sleeping skies were blue
The city

***


NOTE ON POEMS OF 1821, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

My task becomes inexpressibly painful as the year draws near that which
sealed our earthly fate, and each poem, and each event it records, has
a real or mysterious connection with the fatal catastrophe. I feel that
I am incapable of putting on paper the history of those times. The
heart of the man, abhorred of the poet, who could

'peep and botanize
Upon his mother's grave,'

does not appear to me more inexplicably framed than that of one who can
dissect and probe past woes, and repeat to the public ear the groans
drawn from them in the throes of their agony.

The year 1821 was spent in Pisa, or at the Baths of San Giuliano. We
were not, as our wont had been, alone; friends had gathered round us.
Nearly all are dead, and, when Memory recurs to the past, she wanders
among tombs. The genius, with all his blighting errors and mighty
powers; the companion of Shelley's ocean-wanderings, and the sharer of
his fate, than whom no man ever existed more gentle, generous, and
fearless; and others, who found in Shelley's society, and in his great
knowledge and warm sympathy, delight, instruction, and solace; have
joined him beyond the grave. A few survive who have felt life a desert
since he left it. What misfortune can equal death? Change can convert
every other into a blessing, or heal its sting--death alone has no
cure. It shakes the foundations of the earth on which we tread; it
destroys its beauty; it casts down our shelter; it exposes us bare to
desolation. When those we love have passed into eternity, 'life is the
desert and the solitude' in which we are forced to linger--but never
find comfort more.

There is much in the "Adonais" which seems now more applicable to
Shelley himself than to the young and gifted poet whom he mourned. The
poetic view he takes of death, and the lofty scorn he displays towards
his calumniators, are as a prophecy on his own destiny when received
among immortal names, and the poisonous breath of critics has vanished
into emptiness before the fame he inherits.

Shelley's favourite taste was boating; when living near the Thames or
by the Lake of Geneva, much of his life was spent on the water. On the
shore of every lake or stream or sea near which he dwelt, he had a boat
moored. He had latterly enjoyed this pleasure again. There are no
pleasure-boats on the Arno; and the shallowness of its waters (except
in winter-time, when the stream is too turbid and impetuous for
boating) rendered it difficult to get any skiff light enough to float.
Shelley, however, overcame the difficulty; he, together with a friend,
contrived a boat such as the huntsmen carry about with them in the
Maremma, to cross the sluggish but deep streams that intersect the
forests,--a boat of laths and pitched canvas. It held three persons;
and he was often seen on the Arno in it, to the horror of the Italians,
who remonstrated on the danger, and could not understand how anyone
could take pleasure in an exercise that risked life. 'Ma va per la
vita! ' they exclaimed. I little thought how true their words would
prove. He once ventured, with a friend, on the glassy sea of a calm
day, down the Arno and round the coast to Leghorn, which, by keeping
close in shore, was very practicable. They returned to Pisa by the
canal, when, missing the direct cut, they got entangled among weeds,
and the boat upset; a wetting was all the harm done, except that the
intense cold of his drenched clothes made Shelley faint. Once I went
down with him to the mouth of the Arno, where the stream, then high and
swift, met the tideless sea, and disturbed its sluggish waters. It was
a waste and dreary scene; the desert sand stretched into a point
surrounded by waves that broke idly though perpetually around; it was a
scene very similar to Lido, of which he had said--

'I love all waste
And solitary places; where we taste
The pleasure of believing what we see
Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be:
And such was this wide ocean, and this shore
More barren than its billows. '

Our little boat was of greater use, unaccompanied by any danger, when
we removed to the Baths. Some friends lived at the village of Pugnano,
four miles off, and we went to and fro to see them, in our boat, by the
canal; which, fed by the Serchio, was, though an artificial, a full and
picturesque stream, making its way under verdant banks, sheltered by
trees that dipped their boughs into the murmuring waters. By day,
multitudes of Ephemera darted to and fro on the surface; at night, the
fireflies came out among the shrubs on the banks; the cicale at
noon-day kept up their hum; the aziola cooed in the quiet evening. It
was a pleasant summer, bright in all but Shelley's health and
inconstant spirits; yet he enjoyed himself greatly, and became more and
more attached to the part of the country were chance appeared to cast
us. Sometimes he projected taking a farm situated on the height of one
of the near hills, surrounded by chestnut and pine woods, and
overlooking a wide extent of country: or settling still farther in the
maritime Apennines, at Massa. Several of his slighter and unfinished
poems were inspired by these scenes, and by the companions around us.
It is the nature of that poetry, however, which overflows from the soul
oftener to express sorrow and regret than joy; for it is when oppressed
by the weight of life, and away from those he loves, that the poet has
recourse to the solace of expression in verse.

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 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 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.

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, 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 it 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 to be compromised. By those opinions, carried even to their
outermost 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 this evil he resolved to avoid.

***


POEMS WRITTEN IN 1822.


THE ZUCCA.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and dated
'January, 1822. ' There is a copy amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. ]

1.
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 understand,
Wept o'er the beauty, which, like sea retiring, _5
Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand
Of my lorn heart, and o'er the grass and flowers
Pale for the falsehood of the flattering Hours.

2.
Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep
The instability of all but weeping; _10
And on the Earth lulled in her winter sleep
I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.
Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creep
The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping
From unremembered dreams, shalt . . . see _15
No death divide thy immortality.

3.
I loved--oh, no, I mean not one of ye,
Or any earthly one, though ye are dear
As human heart to human heart may be;--
I loved, I know not what--but this low sphere _20
And all that it contains, contains not thee,
Thou, whom, seen nowhere, I feel everywhere.
From Heaven and Earth, and all that in them are,
Veiled art thou, like a . . . star.

4.
By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou flowest, _25
Neither to be contained, delayed, nor hidden;
Making divine the loftiest and the lowest,
When for a moment thou art not forbidden
To live within the life which thou bestowest;
And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden, _30
Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flight
Blank as the sun after the birth of night.

5.
In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,
In music and the sweet unconscious tone
Of animals, and voices which are human, _35
Meant to express some feelings of their own;
In the soft motions and rare smile of woman,
In flowers and leaves, and in the grass fresh-shown,
Or dying in the autumn, I the most
Adore thee present or lament thee lost. _40

6.
And thus I went lamenting, when I saw
A plant upon the river's margin lie
Like one who loved beyond his nature's law,
And in despair had cast him down to die;
Its leaves, which had outlived the frost, the thaw _45
Had blighted; like a heart which hatred's eye
Can blast not, but which pity kills; the dew
Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.

7.
The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth
Had crushed it on her maternal breast _50

. . .

8.
I bore it to my chamber, and I planted
It in a vase full of the lightest mould;
The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted
Fell through the window-panes, disrobed of cold,
Upon its leaves and flowers; the stars which panted _55
In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled
Over the horizon's wave, with looks of light
Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.

9.
The mitigated influences of air
And light revived the plant, and from it grew _60
Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,
Full as a cup with the vine's burning dew,
O'erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere
Of vital warmth enfolded it anew,
And every impulse sent to every part
The unbeheld pulsations of its heart. _65

10.
Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,
Even if the air and sun had smiled not on it;
For one wept o'er it all the winter long
Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon it _70
Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song
Mixed with the stringed melodies that won it
To leave the gentle lips on which it slept,
Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.

11.
Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers _75
On which he wept, the while the savage storm
Waked by the darkest of December's hours
Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm;
The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers,
The fish were frozen in the pools, the form _80
Of every summer plant was dead
Whilst this. . . .

. . .

NOTES:
_7 lorn Boscombe manuscript; poor edition 1824.
_23 So Boscombe manuscript; Dim object of soul's idolatry edition 1824.
_24 star Boscombe manuscript; wanting edition 1824.
_38 grass fresh Boscombe manuscript; fresh grass edition 1824.
_46 like Boscombe manuscript; as edition 1824.
_68 air and sun Boscombe manuscript; sun and air edition 1824.

***


THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER PATIENT.

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", August 11, 1832.
There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]

1.
'Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain;
My hand is on thy brow,
My spirit on thy brain;
My pity on thy heart, poor friend;
And from my fingers flow _5
The powers of life, and like a sign,
Seal thee from thine hour of woe;
And brood on thee, but may not blend
With thine.

2.
'Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not; _10
But when I think that he
Who made and makes my lot
As full of flowers as thine of weeds,
Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine _15
Might then have charmed his agony
As I another's--my heart bleeds
For thine.

3.
'Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of
The dead and the unborn _20
Forget thy life and love;
Forget that thou must wake forever;
Forget the world's dull scorn;
Forget lost health, and the divine
Feelings which died in youth's brief morn; _25
And forget me, for I can never
Be thine.

4.
'Like a cloud big with a May shower,
My soul weeps healing rain
On thee, thou withered flower! _30
It breathes mute music on thy sleep
Its odour calms thy brain!
Its light within thy gloomy breast
Spreads like a second youth again.
By mine thy being is to its deep _35
Possessed.

5.
'The spell is done. How feel you now? '
'Better--Quite well,' replied
The sleeper. --'What would do _39
You good when suffering and awake?
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. ' _45

NOTES;
_1, _10 Sleep Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition;
Sleep on 1832, 1839, 1st edition.
_16 charmed Trelawny manuscript;
chased 1832, editions 1839.
_21 love]woe 1832.
_42 so Trelawny manuscript
'Twould kill me what would cure my pain 1832, editions 1839.
_44 Awhile yet, cj. A. C. Bradley.

***


LINES: 'WHEN THE LAMP IS SHATTERED'.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]

1.
When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead--
When the cloud is scattered
The rainbow's glory is shed.
When the lute is broken, _5
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

2.
As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute, _10
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 _15
That ring the dead seaman's knell.

3.
When hearts have once mingled
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed. _20
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

4.
Its passions will rock thee _25
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 _30
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.

NOTES:
_6 tones edition 1824; notes Trelawny manuscript.
_14 through edition 1824; in Trelawny manuscript.
_16 dead edition 1824; lost Trelawny manuscript.
_23 choose edition 1824; chose Trelawny manuscript.
_25-_32 wanting Trelawny manuscript.

***


TO JANE: THE INVITATION.

[This and the following poem were published together in their original
form as one piece under the title, "The Pine Forest of the Cascine near
Pisa", by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824; reprinted in the same
shape, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition; republished separately in
their present form, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition. There is a
copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts. ]

Best and brightest, come away!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake _5
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn
To hoar February born, _10
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the Earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music all their fountains, _15
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. _20

Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs--
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music lest it should not find _25
An echo in another's mind,
While the touch of Nature's art
Harmonizes heart to heart.
I leave this notice on my door
For each accustomed visitor:-- _30
'I am gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields;--
Reflection, you may come to-morrow,
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. --
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,--
You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care,-- _35
I will pay you in the grave,--
Death will listen to your stave.
Expectation too, be off!
To-day is for itself enough; _40
Hope, in pity mock not Woe
With smiles, nor follow where I go;
Long having lived on thy sweet food,
At length I find one moment's good
After long pain--with all your love, _45
This you never told me of. '

Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
And the pools where winter rains _50.
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun;
Where the lawns and pastures be, _55
And the sandhills of the sea;--
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers, and violets,
Which yet join not scent to hue, _60
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous _65
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.

NOTES:
_34 with Trelawny manuscript; of 1839, 2nd edition.
_44 moment's Trelawny manuscript; moment 1839, 2nd edition.
_50 And Trelawny manuscript; To 1839, 2nd edition.
_53 dun Trelawny manuscript; dim 1839, 2nd edition.

***


TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition.
See the Editor's prefatory note to the preceding. ]

1.
Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,
The loveliest and the last, is dead,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise!
Up,--to thy wonted work! come, trace _5
The epitaph of glory fled,--
For now the Earth has changed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

2.
We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam, _10
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep _15
The smile of Heaven lay;
It seemed as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun
A light of Paradise. _20

3.
We paused amid the pines that stood
The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude
As serpents interlaced;
And, soothed by every azure breath, _25
That under Heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,
As tender as its own,
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep,
Like green waves on the sea, _30
As still as in the silent deep
The ocean woods may be.

4.
How calm it was! --the silence there
By such a chain was bound
That even the busy woodpecker _35
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. _40
There seemed from the remotest seat
Of the white mountain waste,
To the soft flower beneath our feet,
A magic circle traced,--
A spirit interfused around _45
A thrilling, silent life,--
To momentary peace it bound
Our mortal nature's strife;
And still I felt the centre of
The magic circle there _50
Was one fair form that filled with love
The lifeless atmosphere.

5.
We paused beside the pools that lie
Under the forest bough,--
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky _55
Gulfed 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-- _60
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 lawn, _65
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, _70
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, _75
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 expressed; _80
Until an envious wind crept by,
Like an unwelcome thought,
Which from the mind's too faithful eye
Blots one dear image out.
Though thou art ever fair and kind, _85
The forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind,
Than calm in waters, seen.

NOTES:
_6 fled edition. 1824; dead Trelawny manuscript, 1839, 2nd edition.
_10 Ocean's]Ocean 1839, 2nd edition.
_24 Interlaced, 1839; interlaced; cj. A. C. Bradley.
_28 own; 1839 own, cj. A. C. Bradley.
_42 white Trelawny manuscript; wide 1839, 2nd edition
_87 Shelley's Trelawny manuscript; S--'s 1839, 2nd edition. ]

***


THE PINE FOREST OF THE CASCINE NEAR PISA.

[This, the first draft of "To Jane: The Invitation, The Recollection",
was published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and reprinted,
"Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. See Editor's Prefatory Note to
"The Invitation", above. ]

Dearest, best and brightest,
Come away,
To the woods and to the fields!
Dearer than this fairest day
Which, like thee to those in sorrow, _5
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle in the brake.
The eldest of the Hours of Spring,
Into the Winter wandering, _10
Looks upon the leafless wood,
And the banks all bare and rude;
Found, it seems, this halcyon Morn
In February's bosom born,
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, _15
Kissed the cold forehead of the Earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free;
And waked to music all the fountains,
And breathed upon the rigid mountains, _20
And made the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, Dear.

Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains, _25
To the pools where winter rains
Image all the roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Sapless, gray, and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun-- _30
To the sandhills of the sea,
Where the earliest violets be.

Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,
The loveliest and the last, is dead, _35
Rise, Memory, and write its praise!
And do thy wonted work and trace
The epitaph of glory fled;
For now the Earth has changed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow. _40

We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,
The tempest in its home.

The whispering waves were half asleep, _45
The clouds were gone to play,
And on the woods, and on the deep
The smile of Heaven lay.

It seemed as if the day were one
Sent from beyond the skies, _50
Which shed to earth above the sun
A light of Paradise.

We paused amid the pines that stood,
The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude _55
With stems like serpents interlaced.

How calm it was--the silence there
By such a chain was bound,
That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound _60

The inviolable quietness;
The breath of peace we drew
With its soft motion made not less
The calm that round us grew.

It seemed that from the remotest seat _65
Of the white mountain's waste
To the bright flower beneath our feet,
A magic circle traced;--

A spirit interfused around,
A thinking, silent life; _70
To momentary peace it bound
Our mortal nature's strife;--

And still, it seemed, the centre of
The magic circle there,
Was one whose being filled with love _75
The breathless atmosphere.

Were not the crocuses that grew
Under that ilex-tree
As beautiful in scent and hue
As ever fed the bee? _80

We stood beneath the pools that lie
Under the forest bough,
And each seemed like a sky
Gulfed in a world below;

A purple firmament of light _85
Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,
And clearer than the day--

In which the massy forests grew
As in the upper air, _90
More perfect both in shape and hue
Than any waving there.

Like one beloved the scene had lent
To the dark water's breast
Its every leaf and lineament _95
With that clear truth expressed;

There lay far glades and neighbouring lawn,
And through the dark green crowd
The white sun twinkling like the dawn
Under a speckled cloud. _100

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 _105
With an Elysian air,
An atmosphere without a breath,
A silence sleeping there.

Until a wandering wind crept by,
Like an unwelcome thought, _110
Which from my mind's too faithful eye
Blots thy bright image out.

For thou art good and dear and kind,
The forest ever green,
But less of peace in S--'s mind,
Than calm in waters, seen. _116.

***


WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE.

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", October 20, 1832; "Frazer's
Magazine", January 1833. There is a copy amongst the Trelawny
manuscripts. ]

Ariel to Miranda:--Take
This slave of Music, for the sake
Of him who is the slave of thee,
And teach it all the harmony
In which thou canst, and only thou, _5
Make the delighted spirit glow,
Till joy denies itself again,
And, too intense, is turned to pain;
For by permission and command
Of thine own Prince Ferdinand, _10
Poor Ariel sends this silent token
Of more than ever can be spoken;
Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who,
From life to life, must still pursue
Your happiness;--for thus alone _15
Can Ariel ever find his own.
From Prospero's enchanted cell,
As the mighty verses tell,
To the throne of Naples, he
Lit you o'er the trackless sea, _20
Flitting on, your prow before,
Like a living meteor.
When you die, the silent Moon,
In her interlunar swoon,
Is not sadder in her cell
Than deserted Ariel.
When you live again on earth,
Like an unseen star of birth,
Ariel guides you o'er the sea
Of life from your nativity. _30
Many changes have been run
Since Ferdinand and you begun
Your course of love, and Ariel still
Has tracked your steps, and served your will;
Now, in humbler, happier lot, _35
This is all remembered not;
And now, alas! the poor sprite is
Imprisoned, for some fault of his,
In a body like a grave;--
From you he only dares to crave, _40
For his service and his sorrow,
A smile today, a song tomorrow.

The artist who this idol wrought,
To echo all harmonious thought,
Felled a tree, while on the steep _45
The woods were in their winter sleep,
Rocked in that repose divine
On the wind-swept Apennine;
And dreaming, some of Autumn past,
And some of Spring approaching fast, _50
And some of April buds and showers,
And some of songs in July bowers,
And all of love; and so this tree,--
O that such our death may be! --
Died in sleep, and felt no pain, _55
To live in happier form again:
From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star,
The artist wrought this loved Guitar,
And taught it justly to reply,
To all who question skilfully, _60
In language gentle as thine own;
Whispering in enamoured tone
Sweet oracles of woods and dells,
And summer winds in sylvan cells;
For it had learned all harmonies _65
Of the plains and of the skies,
Of the forests and the mountains,
And the many-voiced fountains;
The clearest echoes of the hills,
The softest notes of falling rills, _70
The melodies of birds and bees,
The murmuring of summer seas,
And pattering rain, and breathing dew,
And airs of evening; and it knew
That seldom-heard mysterious sound, _75
Which, driven on its diurnal round,
As it floats through boundless day,
Our world enkindles on its way.