The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 198

Why does he doff his clothes joyfully, _110 As he skips, and prances, and flaps his wing, As he sidles, leers, and twirls his sting, And dares, as he is, to appear?

24.

A statesman pa.s.sed--alone to him, The Devil dare his whole shape uncover, _115 To show each feature, every limb, Secure of an unchanging lover.

25.

At this known sign, a welcome sight, The watchful demons sought their King, And every Fiend of the Stygian night, _120 Was in an instant on the wing.

26.

Pale Loyalty, his guilt-steeled brow, With wreaths of gory laurel crowned: The h.e.l.l-hounds, Murder, Want and Woe, Forever hungering, flocked around; _125 From Spain had Satan sought their food, 'Twas human woe and human blood!

27.

Hark! the earthquake's crash I hear,-- Kings turn pale, and Conquerors start, Ruffians tremble in their fear, _130 For their Satan doth depart.

28.

This day Fiends give to revelry To celebrate their King's return, And with delight its Sire to see h.e.l.l's adamantine limits burn. _135

29.

But were the Devil's sight as keen As Reason's penetrating eye, His sulphurous Majesty I ween, Would find but little cause for joy.

30.

For the sons of Reason see _140 That, ere fate consume the Pole, The false Tyrant's cheek shall be Bloodless as his coward soul.

NOTE: _55 Where cj. Rossetti; When 1812.

FRAGMENT OF A SONNET.

FAREWELL TO NORTH DEVON.

[Published (from the Esdaile ma.n.u.script book) by Dowden, "Life of Sh.e.l.ley", 1887; dated August, 1812.]

Where man's profane and tainting hand Nature's primaeval loveliness has marred, And some few souls of the high bliss debarred Which else obey her powerful command; ...mountain piles _5 That load in grandeur Cambria's emerald vales.

ON LEAVING LONDON FOR WALES.

[Published (from the Esdaile ma.n.u.script book) by Dowden, "Life of Sh.e.l.ley", 1887; dated November, 1812.]

Hail to thee, Cambria! for the unfettered wind Which from thy wilds even now methinks I feel, Chasing the clouds that roll in wrath behind, And tightening the soul's laxest nerves to steel; True mountain Liberty alone may heal _5 The pain which Custom's obduracies bring, And he who dares in fancy even to steal One draught from Snowdon's ever sacred spring Blots out the unholiest rede of worldly witnessing.

And shall that soul, to selfish peace resigned, _10 So soon forget the woe its fellows share?

Can Snowdon's Lethe from the free-born mind So soon the page of injured penury tear?

Does this fine ma.s.s of human pa.s.sion dare To sleep, unhonouring the patriot's fall, _15 Or life's sweet load in quietude to bear While millions famish even in Luxury's hall, And Tyranny, high raised, stern lowers on all?

No, Cambria! never may thy matchless vales A heart so false to hope and virtue s.h.i.+eld; _20 Nor ever may thy spirit-breathing gales Waft freshness to the slaves who dare to yield.

For me!...the weapon that I burn to wield I seek amid thy rocks to ruin hurled, That Reason's flag may over Freedom's field, _25 Symbol of bloodless victory, wave unfurled, A meteor-sign of love effulgent o'er the world.

Do thou, wild Cambria, calm each struggling thought; Cast thy sweet veil of rocks and woods between, That by the soul to indignation wrought _30 Mountains and dells be mingled with the scene; Let me forever be what I have been, But not forever at my needy door Let Misery linger speechless, pale and lean; I am the friend of the unfriended poor,-- _35 Let me not madly stain their righteous cause in gore.

THE WANDERING JEW'S SOLILOQUY.

[Published (from the Esdaile ma.n.u.script book) by Bertram Dobell, 1887.]

Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He Who dares arrest the wheels of destiny And plunge me in the lowest h.e.l.l of h.e.l.ls?

Will not the lightning's blast destroy my frame?

Will not steel drink the blood-life where it swells? _5 No--let me hie where dark Destruction dwells, To rouse her from her deeply caverned lair, And, taunting her cursed sluggishness to ire, Light long Oblivion's death-torch at its flame And calmly mount Annihilation's pyre. _10 Tyrant of Earth! pale Misery's jackal Thou!

Are there no stores of vengeful violent fate Within the magazines of Thy fierce hate?

No poison in the clouds to bathe a brow That lowers on Thee with desperate contempt? _15 Where is the noonday Pestilence that slew The myriad sons of Israel's favoured nation?

Where the destroying Minister that flew Pouring the fiery tide of desolation Upon the leagued a.s.syrian's attempt? _20 Where the dark Earthquake-daemon who engorged At the dread word Korah's unconscious crew?

Or the Angel's two-edged sword of fire that urged Our primal parents from their bower of bliss (Reared by Thine hand) for errors not their own _25 By Thine omniscient mind foredoomed, foreknown?

Yes! I would court a ruin such as this, Almighty Tyrant! and give thanks to Thee-- Drink deeply--drain the cup of hate; remit this--I may die.

EVENING.

TO HARRIET.

[Published by Dowden, "Life of Sh.e.l.ley", 1887. Composed July 31, 1813.]

O thou bright Sun! beneath the dark blue line Of western distance that sublime descendest, And, gleaming lovelier as thy beams decline, Thy million hues to every vapour lendest, And, over cobweb lawn and grove and stream _5 Sheddest the liquid magic of thy light, Till calm Earth, with the parting splendour bright, Shows like the vision of a beauteous dream; What gazer now with astronomic eye Could coldly count the spots within thy sphere? _10 Such were thy lover, Harriet, could he fly The thoughts of all that makes his pa.s.sion dear, And, turning senseless from thy warm caress,-- Pick flaws in our close-woven happiness.

TO IANTHE.

[Published by Dowden, "Life of Sh.e.l.ley", 1887. Composed September, 1813.]

I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake; Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek, Thy tender frame, so eloquently weak, Love in the sternest heart of hate might wake; But more when o'er thy fitful slumber bending _5 Thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart, Whilst love and pity, in her glances blending, All that thy pa.s.sive eyes can feel impart: More, when some feeble lineaments of her, Who bore thy weight beneath her spotless bosom, _10 As with deep love I read thy face, recur,-- More dear art thou, O fair and fragile blossom; Dearest when most thy tender traits express The image of thy mother's loveliness.

SONG FROM THE WANDERING JEW.

[Published as Sh.e.l.ley's by Medwin, "Life of Sh.e.l.ley", 1847, 1 page 58.]

See yon opening flower Spreads its fragrance to the blast; It fades within an hour, Its decay is pale--is fast.