No More Learning

_5 The. . . light Boscombe manuscript, 1839, Medwin 1847;
omitted, 1824. moist earth Boscombe manuscript;
moist air 1839; west wind Medwin 1847.
_17 measured 1824; mingled 1847.
_18 did any heart now 1824; if any heart could Medwin 1847.
_31 the 1824; this Medwin 1847.
_36 dying 1824; outworn Medwin 1847.

***


THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

[Published in part (1-67) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824;
the remainder (68-70) by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

A woodman whose rough heart was out of tune
(I think such hearts yet never came to good)
Hated to hear, under the stars or moon,

One nightingale in an interfluous wood
Satiate the hungry dark with melody;-- _5
And as a vale is watered by a flood,

Or as the moonlight fills the open sky
Struggling with darkness--as a tuberose
Peoples some Indian dell with scents which lie

Like clouds above the flower from which they rose, _10
The singing of that happy nightingale
In this sweet forest, from the golden close

Of evening till the star of dawn may fail,
Was interfused upon the silentness;
The folded roses and the violets pale _15

Heard her within their slumbers, the abyss
Of heaven with all its planets; the dull ear
Of the night-cradled earth; the loneliness

Of the circumfluous waters,--every sphere
And every flower and beam and cloud and wave, _20
And every wind of the mute atmosphere,

And every beast stretched in its rugged cave,
And every bird lulled on its mossy bough,
And every silver moth fresh from the grave

Which is its cradle--ever from below _25
Aspiring like one who loves too fair, too far,
To be consumed within the purest glow

Of one serene and unapproached star,
As if it were a lamp of earthly light,
Unconscious, as some human lovers are, _30

Itself how low, how high beyond all height
The heaven where it would perish! --and every form
That worshipped in the temple of the night

Was awed into delight, and by the charm
Girt as with an interminable zone, _35
Whilst that sweet bird, whose music was a storm

Of sound, shook forth the dull oblivion
Out of their dreams; harmony became love
In every soul but one.

. . .

And so this man returned with axe and saw _40
At evening close from killing the tall treen,
The soul of whom by Nature's gentle law

Was each a wood-nymph, and kept ever green
The pavement and the roof of the wild copse,
Chequering the sunlight of the blue serene _45

With jagged leaves,--and from the forest tops
Singing the winds to sleep--or weeping oft
Fast showers of aereal water-drops

Into their mother's bosom, sweet and soft,
Nature's pure tears which have no bitterness;-- _50
Around the cradles of the birds aloft

They spread themselves into the loveliness
Of fan-like leaves, and over pallid flowers
Hang like moist clouds:--or, where high branches kiss,

Make a green space among the silent bowers, _55
Like a vast fane in a metropolis,
Surrounded by the columns and the towers

All overwrought with branch-like traceries
In which there is religion--and the mute
Persuasion of unkindled melodies, _60

Odours and gleams and murmurs, which the lute
Of the blind pilot-spirit of the blast
Stirs as it sails, now grave and now acute,

Wakening the leaves and waves, ere it has passed
To such brief unison as on the brain _65
One tone, which never can recur, has cast,
One accent never to return again.

. . .

The world is full of Woodmen who expel
Love's gentle Dryads from the haunts of life,
And vex the nightingales in every dell. _70

NOTE:
_8 --or as a tuberose cj. A. C. Bradley.

***


MARENGHI. (This fragment refers to an event told in Sismondi's
"Histoire des Republiques Italiennes", which occurred during the war
when Florence finally subdued Pisa, and reduced it to a
province. --[MRS. SHELLEY'S NOTE, 1824. ])

[Published in part (stanzas 7-15. ) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems",
1824; stanzas 1-28 by W. M. Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B.
S. ", 1870. The Boscombe manuscript--evidently a first draft--from which
(through Dr. Garnett) Rossetti derived the text of 1870 is now at the
Bodleian, and has recently been collated by Mr. C. D. Locock, to whom
the enlarged and amended text here printed is owing. The substitution,
in title and text, of "Marenghi" for "Mazenghi" (1824) is due to
Rossetti. Here as elsewhere in the footnotes B. = the Bodleian
manuscript. ]

1.
Let those who pine in pride or in revenge,
Or think that ill for ill should be repaid,
Who barter wrong for wrong, until the exchange
Ruins the merchants of such thriftless trade,
Visit the tower of Vado, and unlearn _5
Such bitter faith beside Marenghi's urn.

2.
A massy tower yet overhangs the town,
A scattered group of ruined dwellings now. . .

. . .

3.
Another scene are wise Etruria knew
Its second ruin through internal strife _10
And tyrants through the breach of discord threw
The chain which binds and kills. As death to life,
As winter to fair flowers (though some be poison)
So Monarchy succeeds to Freedom's foison.

4.
In Pisa's church a cup of sculptured gold _15
Was brimming with the blood of feuds forsworn:
A Sacrament more holy ne'er of old
Etrurians mingled mid the shades forlorn
Of moon-illumined forests, when. . .

5.
And reconciling factions wet their lips _20
With that dread wine, and swear to keep each spirit
Undarkened by their country's last eclipse. . .

. . .

6.
Was Florence the liberticide? that band
Of free and glorious brothers who had planted,
Like a green isle mid Aethiopian sand, _25
A nation amid slaveries, disenchanted
Of many impious faiths--wise, just--do they,
Does Florence, gorge the sated tyrants' prey?

7.
O foster-nurse of man's abandoned glory,
Since Athens, its great mother, sunk in splendour; _30
Thou shadowest forth that mighty shape in story,
As ocean its wrecked fanes, severe yet tender:--
The light-invested angel Poesy
Was drawn from the dim world to welcome thee.

8.
And thou in painting didst transcribe all taught _35
By loftiest meditations; marble knew
The sculptor's fearless soul--and as he wrought,
The grace of his own power and freedom grew.
And more than all, heroic, just, sublime,
Thou wart among the false. . . was this thy crime? _40

9.
Yes; and on Pisa's marble walls the twine
Of direst weeds hangs garlanded--the snake
Inhabits its wrecked palaces;--in thine
A beast of subtler venom now doth make
Its lair, and sits amid their glories overthrown, _45
And thus thy victim's fate is as thine own.

10.
The sweetest flowers are ever frail and rare,
And love and freedom blossom but to wither;
And good and ill like vines entangled are,
So that their grapes may oft be plucked together;-- _50
Divide the vintage ere thou drink, then make
Thy heart rejoice for dead Marenghi's sake.

10a.
[Albert] Marenghi was a Florentine;
If he had wealth, or children, or a wife
Or friends, [or farm] or cherished thoughts which twine _55
The sights and sounds of home with life's own life
Of these he was despoiled and Florence sent. . .

. . .

11.
No record of his crime remains in story,
But if the morning bright as evening shone, _60
It was some high and holy deed, by glory
Pursued into forgetfulness, which won
From the blind crowd he made secure and free
The patriot's meed, toil, death, and infamy.

12.
For when by sound of trumpet was declared
A price upon his life, and there was set _65
A penalty of blood on all who shared
So much of water with him as might wet
His lips, which speech divided not--he went
Alone, as you may guess, to banishment.

13.
Amid the mountains, like a hunted beast,
He hid himself, and hunger, toil, and cold, _70
Month after month endured; it was a feast
Whene'er he found those globes of deep-red gold
Which in the woods the strawberry-tree doth bear,
Suspended in their emerald atmosphere. _75

14.
And in the roofless huts of vast morasses,
Deserted by the fever-stricken serf,
All overgrown with reeds and long rank grasses,
And hillocks heaped of moss-inwoven turf,
And where the huge and speckled aloe made, _80
Rooted in stones, a broad and pointed shade,--

15.
He housed himself. There is a point of strand
Near Vado's tower and town; and on one side
The treacherous marsh divides it from the land,
Shadowed by pine and ilex forests wide, _85
And on the other, creeps eternally,
Through muddy weeds, the shallow sullen sea.

16.
Here the earth's breath is pestilence, and few
But things whose nature is at war with life--
Snakes and ill worms--endure its mortal dew.
The trophies of the clime's victorious strife-- _90
And ringed horns which the buffalo did wear,
And the wolf's dark gray scalp who tracked him there.

17.
And at the utmost point. . . stood there
The relics of a reed-inwoven cot, _95
Thatched with broad flags. An outlawed murderer
Had lived seven days there: the pursuit was hot
When he was cold. The birds that were his grave
Fell dead after their feast in Vado's wave.

18.
There must have burned within Marenghi's breast _100
That fire, more warm and bright than life and hope,
(Which to the martyr makes his dungeon. . .
More joyous than free heaven's majestic cope
To his oppressor), warring with decay,--
Or he could ne'er have lived years, day by day. _105

19.
Nor was his state so lone as you might think.
He had tamed every newt and snake and toad,
And every seagull which sailed down to drink
Those freshes ere the death-mist went abroad.
And each one, with peculiar talk and play, _110
Wiled, not untaught, his silent time away.

20.
And the marsh-meteors, like tame beasts, at night
Came licking with blue tongues his veined feet;
And he would watch them, as, like spirits bright,
In many entangled figures quaint and sweet _115
To some enchanted music they would dance--
Until they vanished at the first moon-glance.

21.
He mocked the stars by grouping on each weed
The summer dew-globes in the golden dawn;
And, ere the hoar-frost languished, he could read _120
Its pictured path, as on bare spots of lawn
Its delicate brief touch in silver weaves
The likeness of the wood's remembered leaves.

22.
And many a fresh Spring morn would he awaken--
While yet the unrisen sun made glow, like iron _125
Quivering in crimson fire, the peaks unshaken
Of mountains and blue isles which did environ
With air-clad crags that plain of land and sea,--
And feel . . . liberty.

23.
And in the moonless nights when the dun ocean _130
Heaved underneath wide heaven, star-impearled,
Starting from dreams. . .
Communed with the immeasurable world;
And felt his life beyond his limbs dilated,
Till his mind grew like that it contemplated. _135

24.
His food was the wild fig and strawberry;
The milky pine-nuts which the autumn-blast
Shakes into the tall grass; or such small fry
As from the sea by winter-storms are cast;
And the coarse bulbs of iris-flowers he found _140
Knotted in clumps under the spongy ground.

25.
And so were kindled powers and thoughts which made
His solitude less dark. When memory came
(For years gone by leave each a deepening shade),
His spirit basked in its internal flame,-- _145
As, when the black storm hurries round at night,
The fisher basks beside his red firelight.

26.
Yet human hopes and cares and faiths and errors,
Like billows unawakened by the wind,
Slept in Marenghi still; but that all terrors, _150
Weakness, and doubt, had withered in his mind.
His couch. . .

. . .

27.
And, when he saw beneath the sunset's planet
A black ship walk over the crimson ocean,--
Its pennon streaming on the blasts that fan it, _155
Its sails and ropes all tense and without motion,
Like the dark ghost of the unburied even
Striding athwart the orange-coloured heaven,--

28.
The thought of his own kind who made the soul
Which sped that winged shape through night and day,-- _160
The thought of his own country. . .

. . .

NOTES:
_3 Who B. ; Or 1870.
_6 Marenghi's 1870; Mazenghi's B.
_7 town 1870; sea B.
_8 ruined 1870; squalid B. ('the whole line is cancelled,' Locock).
_11 threw 1870; cancelled, B.
_17 A Sacrament more B. ; At Sacrament: more 1870.
_18 mid B. ; with 1870.
_19 forests when. . . B. ; forests. 1870.
_23, _24 that band Of free and glorious brothers who had 1870; omitted, B.
_25 a 1870; one B.
_27 wise, just--do they 1870; omitted, B.
_28 Does 1870; Doth B. prey 1870; spoil B.
_33 angel 1824; Herald [? ] B.
_34 to welcome thee 1824; cancelled for. . . by thee B.
_42 direst 1824; Desert B.
_45 sits amid 1824 amid cancelled for soils (? ) B.
_53-_57 Albert. . . sent B. ; omitted 1824, 1870. Albert cancelled B. :
Pietro is the correct name.
_53 Marenghi]Mazenghi B.
_55 farm doubtful: perh. fame (Locock).
_62 he 1824; thus B.
_70 Amid the mountains 1824; Mid desert mountains [? ] B.
_71 toil, and cold]cold and toil editions 1824, 1839.
_92, _93 And. . . there B. (see Editor's Note); White bones, and locks of
dun and yellow hair, And ringed horns which buffaloes did wear-- 1870.
_94 at the utmost point 1870; cancelled for when (where? ) B.
_95 reed B. ; weed 1870.
_99 after B. ; upon 1870.
_100 burned within Marenghi's breast B. ;
lived within Marenghi's heart 1870.
_101 and B. ; or 1870.
_103 free B. ; the 1870.
_109 freshes B. ; omitted, 1870.
_118 by 1870; with B.
_119 dew-globes B. ; dewdrops 1870.
_120 languished B. ; vanished 1870.
_121 path, as on [bare] B. ; footprints, as on 1870.
_122 silver B. ; silence 1870.
_130 And in the moonless nights 1870; cancelled, B. dun B. ;
dim 1870.
_131 Heaved 1870; cancelled, B. wide B. ;
the 1870. star-impearled B. ; omitted, 1870.
_132 Starting from dreams 1870; cancelled for He B.
_137 autumn B. ; autumnal 1870.
_138 or B. ; and 1870.
_155 pennon B. ; pennons 1870.
_158 athwart B. ; across 1870.

***


SONNET.

[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
Our text is that of the "Poetical Works", 1839. ]

Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread,--behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave _5
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it--he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve. _10
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.

NOTES:
_6 Their. . . drear 1839;
The shadows, which the world calls substance, there 1824.
_7 who had lifted 1839; who lifted 1824.

***


FRAGMENT: TO BYRON.

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. ]

O mighty mind, in whose deep stream this age
Shakes like a reed in the unheeding storm,
Why dost thou curb not thine own sacred rage?

***


FRAGMENT: APOSTROPHE TO SILENCE.

[Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862. A transcript by
Mrs. Shelley, given to Charles Cowden Clarke, presents one or two
variants. ]

Silence! Oh, well are Death and Sleep and Thou
Three brethren named, the guardians gloomy-winged
Of one abyss, where life, and truth, and joy
Are swallowed up--yet spare me, Spirit, pity me,
Until the sounds I hear become my soul, _5
And it has left these faint and weary limbs,
To track along the lapses of the air
This wandering melody until it rests
Among lone mountains in some. . .

NOTES:
_4 Spirit 1862; O Spirit C. C. C. manuscript.
_8 This wandering melody 1862;
These wandering melodies. . . C. C. C. manuscript.

***


FRAGMENT: THE LAKE'S MARGIN.

[Published by W. M. Rossetti, 1870. ]

The fierce beasts of the woods and wildernesses
Track not the steps of him who drinks of it;
For the light breezes, which for ever fleet
Around its margin, heap the sand thereon.

***


FRAGMENT: 'MY HEAD IS WILD WITH WEEPING'.

[Published by W. M. Rossetti, 1870. ]

My head is wild with weeping for a grief
Which is the shadow of a gentle mind.
I walk into the air (but no relief
To seek,--or haply, if I sought, to find;
It came unsought);--to wonder that a chief _5
Among men's spirits should be cold and blind.

NOTE:
_4 find cj. A. C. Bradley.

***


FRAGMENT: THE VINE-SHROUD.

[Published by W. M. Rossetti, 1870. ]

Flourishing vine, whose kindling clusters glow
Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee;
For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below
The rotting bones of dead antiquity.

***


NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

We often hear of persons disappointed by a first visit to Italy. This
was not Shelley's case. The aspect of its nature, its sunny sky, its
majestic storms, of the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and the
noble marble-built cities, enchanted him. The sight of the works of art
was full enjoyment and wonder. He had not studied pictures or statues
before; he now did so with the eye of taste, that referred not to the
rules of schools, but to those of Nature and truth. The first entrance
to Rome opened to him a scene of remains of antique grandeur that far
surpassed his expectations; and the unspeakable beauty of Naples and
its environs added to the impression he received of the transcendent
and glorious beauty of Italy.

Our winter was spent at Naples. Here he wrote the fragments of
"Marenghi" and "The Woodman and the Nightingale", which he afterwards
threw aside. At this time, Shelley suffered greatly in health. He put
himself under the care of a medical man, who promised great things, and
made him endure severe bodily pain, without any good results. Constant
and poignant physical suffering exhausted him; and though he preserved
the appearance of cheerfulness, and often greatly enjoyed our
wanderings in the environs of Naples, and our excursions on its sunny
sea, yet many hours were passed when his thoughts, shadowed by illness,
became gloomy,--and then he escaped to solitude, and in verses, which
he hid from fear of wounding me, poured forth morbid but too natural
bursts of discontent and sadness. One looks back with unspeakable
regret and gnawing remorse to such periods; fancying that, had one been
more alive to the nature of his feelings, and more attentive to soothe
them, such would not have existed. And yet, enjoying as he appeared to
do every sight or influence of earth or sky, it was difficult to
imagine that any melancholy he showed was aught but the effect of the
constant pain to which he was a martyr.

We lived in utter solitude. And such is often not the nurse of
cheerfulness; for then, at least with those who have been exposed to
adversity, the mind broods over its sorrows too intently; while the
society of the enlightened, the witty, and the wise, enables us to
forget ourselves by making us the sharers of the thoughts of others,
which is a portion of the philosophy of happiness. Shelley never liked
society in numbers,--it harassed and wearied him; but neither did he
like loneliness, and usually, when alone, sheltered himself against
memory and reflection in a book. But, with one or two whom he loved, he
gave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversation
expounded his opinions with vivacity and eloquence. If an argument
arose, no man ever argued better. He was clear, logical, and earnest,
in supporting his own views; attentive, patient, and impartial, while
listening to those on the adverse side. Had not a wall of prejudice
been raised at this time between him and his countrymen, how many would
have sought the acquaintance of one whom to know was to love and to
revere! How many of the more enlightened of his contemporaries have
since regretted that they did not seek him! how very few knew his worth
while he lived! and, of those few, several were withheld by timidity or
envy from declaring their sense of it. But no man was ever more
enthusiastically loved--more looked up to, as one superior to his
fellows in intellectual endowments and moral worth, by the few who knew
him well, and had sufficient nobleness of soul to appreciate his
superiority. His excellence is now acknowledged; but, even while
admitted, not duly appreciated. For who, except those who were
acquainted with him, can imagine his unwearied benevolence, his
generosity, his systematic forbearance? And still less is his vast
superiority in intellectual attainments sufficiently understood--his
sagacity, his clear understanding, his learning, his prodigious memory.
All these as displayed in conversation, were known to few while he
lived, and are now silent in the tomb:

'Ahi orbo mondo ingrato!
Gran cagion hai di dever pianger meco;
Che quel ben ch' era in te, perdut' hai seco. '

***


POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819.


LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION.

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", December 8, 1832; reprinted,
"Poetical Works", 1839. There is a transcript amongst the Harvard
manuscripts, and another in the possession of Mr. C. W. Frederickson of
Brooklyn. Variants from these two sources are given by Professor
Woodberry, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", Centenary Edition,
1893, volume 3 pages 225, 226. The transcripts are referred to in our
footnotes as Harvard and Fred. respectively. ]

1.
Corpses are cold in the tomb;
Stones on the pavement are dumb;
Abortions are dead in the womb,
And their mothers look pale--like the death-white shore
Of Albion, free no more. _5

2.
Her sons are as stones in the way--
They are masses of senseless clay--
They are trodden, and move not away,--
The abortion with which SHE travaileth
Is Liberty, smitten to death. _10

3.
Then trample and dance, thou Oppressor!
For thy victim is no redresser;
Thou art sole lord and possessor
Of her corpses, and clods, and abortions--they pave
Thy path to the grave. _15

4.
Hearest thou the festival din
Of Death, and Destruction, and Sin,
And Wealth crying "Havoc! " within?
'Tis the bacchanal triumph that makes Truth dumb,
Thine Epithalamium. _20

5.
Ay, marry thy ghastly wife!
Let Fear and Disquiet and Strife
Spread thy couch in the chamber of Life!
Marry Ruin, thou Tyrant! and Hell be thy guide
To the bed of the bride! _25

NOTES:
_4 death-white Harvard, Fred. ; white 1832, 1839.
_16 festival Harvard, Fred. , 1839; festal 1832.
_19 that Fred. ; which Harvard 1832.
_22 Disquiet Harvard, Fred. , 1839; Disgust 1832.
_24 Hell Fred. ; God Harvard, 1832, 1839.
_25 the bride Harvard, Fred. , 1839; thy bride 1832.

***


SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND.

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

1.
Men of England, wherefore plough
For the lords who lay ye low?
Wherefore weave with toil and care
The rich robes your tyrants wear?

2.
Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, _5
From the cradle to the grave,
Those ungrateful drones who would
Drain your sweat--nay, drink your blood?

3.
Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge, _10
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?

4.
Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?
Or what is it ye buy so dear _15
With your pain and with your fear?

5.
The seed ye sow, another reaps;
The wealth ye find, another keeps;
The robes ye weave, another wears;
The arms ye forge; another bears. _20

6.
Sow seed,--but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth,--let no impostor heap;
Weave robes,--let not the idle wear;
Forge arms,--in your defence to bear.

7.
Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells; _25
In halls ye deck another dwells.
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

8.
With plough and spade, and hoe and loom,
Trace your grave, and build your tomb, _30
And weave your winding-sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre.

***


SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819.

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", August 25, 1832; reprinted by
Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839.