The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 145

FRAGMENT: BEAUTY'S HALO.

[Published by Mr. C.D. Loc.o.c.k, "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"' (Loc.o.c.k). Might it not be part of a projected Fit v. of "The Fugitives"?--ED.)

[Published by Mr. C.D. Loc.o.c.k, "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. Sh.e.l.lEY.

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 Sh.e.l.ley'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 Sh.e.l.ley'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 pa.s.sed 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 Sh.e.l.ley 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.

Sh.e.l.ley'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 sh.o.r.e 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.

Sh.e.l.ley, 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 gla.s.sy sea of a calm day, down the Arno and round the coast to Leghorn, which, by keeping close in sh.o.r.e, was very practicable. They returned to Pisa by the ca.n.a.l, 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 Sh.e.l.ley 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 sh.o.r.e 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 ca.n.a.l; 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, mult.i.tudes 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 Sh.e.l.ley'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 Ma.s.sa. 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, Sh.e.l.ley's pa.s.sion was the ocean; and he wished that our summers, instead of being pa.s.sed among the hills near Pisa, should be spent on the sh.o.r.es 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 sh.o.r.es of the Mediterranean, till broken by the rocks and hills of Spezia. It was a vague idea, but Sh.e.l.ley 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 Sh.e.l.ley 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. Sh.e.l.ley 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 wis.h.i.+ng to have the air of acquiring readers for his poetry by a.s.sociating 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. Sh.e.l.ley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and dated 'January, 1822.' There is a copy amongst the Bos...o...b.. ma.n.u.scripts.]

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 gra.s.s 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 n.o.blest 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 gra.s.s 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 s.h.i.+vering in their leafless bowers, The fish were frozen in the pools, the form _80 Of every summer plant was dead Whilst this....