The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 138

On the topmost watch-turret, As a death-boding spirit Stands the gray tyrant father, To his voice the mad weather Seems tame; _55

And with curses as wild As e'er clung to child, He devotes to the blast, The best, loveliest and last Of his name! _60

NOTES: _28 And though]Though editions 1839.

_57 clung]cling editions 1839.

TO --.

[Published by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.]

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory-- Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, _5 Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

SONG.

[Published by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.

There is a transcript in the Harvard ma.n.u.script book.]

1.

Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight!

Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night?

Many a weary night and day _5 'Tis since thou art fled away.

2.

How shall ever one like me Win thee back again?

With the joyous and the free Thou wilt scoff at pain. _10 Spirit false! thou hast forgot All but those who need thee not.

3.

As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf, Thou with sorrow art dismayed; _15 Even the sighs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art not near, And reproach thou wilt not hear.

4.

Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure; _20 Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

5.

I love all that thou lovest, _25 Spirit of Delight!

The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed, And the starry night; Autumn evening, and the morn When the golden mists are born. _30

6.

I love snow, and all the forms Of the radiant frost; I love waves, and winds, and storms, Everything almost Which is Nature's, and may be _35 Untainted by man's misery.

7.

I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good Between thee and me _40 What difference? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less.

8.

I love Love--though he has wings, And like light can flee, But above all other things, _45 Spirit, I love thee-- Thou art love and life! Oh, come, Make once more my heart thy home.

MUTABILITY.

[Published by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.

There is a fair draft amongst the Bos...o...b.. ma.n.u.scripts.]

1.

The flower that smiles to-day To-morrow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies.

What is this world's delight? _5 Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright.

2.

Virtue, how frail it is!

Friends.h.i.+p how rare!

Love, how it sells poor bliss _10 For proud despair!

But we, though soon they fall, Survive their joy, and all Which ours we call.

3.

Whilst skies are blue and bright, _15 Whilst flowers are gay, Whilst eyes that change ere night Make glad the day; Whilst yet the calm hours creep, Dream thou--and from thy sleep _20 Then wake to weep.

NOTES: _9 how Bos...o...b.. ma.n.u.script; too editions 1824, 1839.

_12 though soon they fall]though soon we or so soon they cj. Rossetti.

LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.

[Published with "h.e.l.las", 1821.]

What! alive and so bold, O Earth?

Art thou not overbold?

What! leapest thou forth as of old In the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starry fold? _5 Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?

Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled, And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?

How! is not thy quick heart cold?

What spark is alive on thy hearth? _10 How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?

And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?

Thou wert warming thy fingers old O'er the embers covered and cold Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled-- _15 What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?

'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth, 'Or who has my story told?

It is thou who art overbold.'

And the lightning of scorn laughed forth _20 As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold All my sons when their knell is knolled, And so with living motion all are fed, And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.