The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 76

When thou risest, dividing possessions; When thou risest, uprooting oppressions, _55 In the pride of thy ghastly mirth; Over palaces, temples, and graves, We will rush as thy minister-slaves, Trampling behind in thy train, Till all be made level again! _60

MAMMON: I hear a crackling of the giant bones Of the dread image, and in the black pits Which once were eyes, I see two livid flames.

These prodigies are oracular, and show The presence of the unseen Deity. _65 Mighty events are hastening to their doom!

SWELLFOOT: I only hear the lean and mutinous Swine Grunting about the temple.

DAKRY: In a crisis Of such exceeding delicacy, I think We ought to put her Majesty, the QUEEN, _70 Upon her trial without delay.

MAMMON: THE BAG Is here.

PURGANAX: I have rehea.r.s.ed the entire scene With an ox-bladder and some ditchwater, On Lady P--; it cannot fail.

[TAKING UP THE BAG.]

Your Majesty [TO SWELLFOOT.]

In such a filthy business had better _75 Stand on one side, lest it should sprinkle you.

A spot or two on me would do no harm, Nay, it might hide the blood, which the sad Genius Of the Green Isle has fixed, as by a spell, Upon my brow--which would stain all its seas, _80 But which those seas could never wash away!

IONA TAURINA: My Lord, I am ready--nay, I am impatient To undergo the test.

[A GRACEFUL FIGURE IN A SEMI-TRANSPARENT VEIL Pa.s.sES UNNOTICED THROUGH THE TEMPLE; THE WORD "LIBERTY" IS SEEN THROUGH THE VEIL, AS IF IT WERE WRITTEN IN FIRE UPON ITS FOREHEAD. ITS WORDS ARE ALMOST DROWNED IN THE FURIOUS GRUNTING OF THE PIGS, AND THE BUSINESS OF THE TRIAL. SHE KNEELS ON THE STEPS OF THE ALTAR, AND SPEAKS IN TONES AT FIRST FAINT AND LOW, BUT WHICH EVER BECOME LOUDER AND LOUDER.]

Mighty Empress! Death's white wife!

Ghastly mother-in-law of Life! _85 By the G.o.d who made thee such, By the magic of thy touch, By the starving and the cramming Of fasts and feasts! by thy dread self, O Famine!

I charge thee! when thou wake the mult.i.tude, _90 Thou lead them not upon the paths of blood.

The earth did never mean her foison For those who crown life's cup with poison Of fanatic rage and meaningless revenge-- But for those radiant spirits, who are still _95 The standard-bearers in the van of Change.

Be they th' appointed stewards, to fill The lap of Pain, and Toil, and Age!-- Remit, O Queen! thy accustomed rage!

Be what thou art not! In voice faint and low _100 FREEDOM calls "Famine",--her eternal foe, To brief alliance, hollow truce.--Rise now!

[WHILST THE VEILED FIGURE HAS BEEN CHANTING THIS STROPHE, MAMMON, DAKRY, LAOCTONOS, AND SWELLFOOT, HAVE SURROUNDED IONA TAURINA, WHO, WITH HER HANDS FOLDED ON HER BREAST, AND HER EYES LIFTED TO HEAVEN, STANDS, AS WITH SAINT-LIKE RESIGNATION, TO WAIT THE ISSUE OF THE BUSINESS, IN PERFECT CONFIDENCE OF HER INNOCENCE.]

[PURGANAX, AFTER UNSEALING THE GREEN BAG, IS GRAVELY ABOUT TO POUR THE LIQUOR UPON HER HEAD, WHEN SUDDENLY THE WHOLE EXPRESSION OF HER FIGURE AND COUNTENANCE CHANGES; SHE s.n.a.t.c.hES IT FROM HIS HAND WITH A LOUD LAUGH OF TRIUMPH, AND EMPTIES IT OVER SWELLFOOT AND HIS WHOLE COURT, WHO ARE INSTANTLY CHANGED INTO A NUMBER OF FILTHY AND UGLY ANIMALS, AND RUSH OUT OF THE TEMPLE. THE IMAGE OF FAMINE THEN ARISES WITH A TREMENDOUS SOUND, THE PIGS BEGIN SCRAMBLING FOR THE LOAVES, AND ARE TRJPPED UP BY THE SKULLS; ALL THOSE WHO EAT THE LOAVES ARE TURNED INTO BULLS, AND ARRANGE THEMSELVES QUIETLY BEHIND THE ALTAR. THE IMAGE OF FAMINE SINKS THROUGH A CHASM IN THE EARTH, AND A MINOTAUR RISES.]

MINOTAUR: I am the Ionian Minotaur, the mightiest Of all Europa's taurine progeny-- I am the old traditional Man-Bull; _105 And from my ancestors having been Ionian, I am called Ion, which, by interpretation, Is JOHN; in plain Theban, that is to say, My name's JOHN BULL; I am a famous hunter, And can leaf any gate in all Boeotia, _110 Even the palings of the royal park, Or double ditch about the new enclosures; And if your Majesty will deign to mount me, At least till you have hunted down your game, I will not throw you. _115

IONA TAURINA [DURING THIS SPEECH SHE HAS BEEN PUTTING ON BOOTS AND SPURS, AND A HUNTING-CAP, BUCKISHLY c.o.c.kED ON ONE SIDE, AND TUCKING UP HER HAIR, SHE LEAPS NIMBLY ON HIS BACK]: Hoa! hoa! tallyho! tallyho! ho! ho!

Come, let us hunt these ugly badgers down, These stinking foxes, these devouring otters, These hares, these wolves, these anything but men.

Hey, for a whipper-in! my loyal Pigs Now let your noses be as keen as beagles', _120 Your steps as swift as greyhounds', and your cries More dulcet and symphonious than the bells Of village-towers, on suns.h.i.+ne holiday; Wake all the dewy woods with jangling music.

Give them no law (are they not beasts of blood?) _125 But such as they gave you. Tallyho! ho!

Through forest, furze, and bog, and den, and desert, Pursue the ugly beasts! tallyho! ho!

FULL CHORUS OF I0NA AND THE SWINE: Tallyho! tallyho!

Through rain, hail, and snow, _130 Through brake, gorse, and briar, Through fen, flood, and mire, We go! we go!

Tallyho! tallyho!

Through pond, ditch, and slough, _135 Wind them, and find them, Like the Devil behind them, Tallyho! tallyho!

[EXEUNT, IN FULL CRY; IONA DRIVING ON THE SWINE, WITH THE EMPTY GEEEN BAG.]

THE END.

NOTE ON OEDIPUS TYRANNUS, BY MRS. Sh.e.l.lEY.

In the brief journal I kept in those days, I find recorded, in August, 1820, Sh.e.l.ley 'begins "Swellfoot the Tyrant", suggested by the pigs at the fair of San Giuliano.' This was the period of Queen Caroline's landing in England, and the struggles made by George IV to get rid of her claims; which failing, Lord Castlereagh placed the "Green Bag" on the table of the House of Commons, demanding in the King's name that an enquiry should be inst.i.tuted into his wife's conduct. These circ.u.mstances were the theme of all conversation among the English. We were then at the Baths of San Giuliano. A friend came to visit us on the day when a fair was held in the square, beneath our windows: Sh.e.l.ley read to us his "Ode to Liberty"; and was riotously accompanied by the grunting of a quant.i.ty of pigs brought for sale to the fair. He compared it to the 'chorus of frogs' in the satiric drama of Aristophanes; and, it being an hour of merriment, and one ludicrous a.s.sociation suggesting another, he imagined a political-satirical drama on the circ.u.mstances of the day, to which the pigs would serve as chorus--and "Swellfoot" was begun. When finished, it was transmitted to England, printed, and published anonymously; but stifled at the very dawn of its existence by the Society for the Suppression of Vice, who threatened to prosecute it, if not immediately withdrawn. The friend who had taken the trouble of bringing it out, of course did not think it worth the annoyance and expense of a contest, and it was laid aside.

Hesitation of whether it would do honour to Sh.e.l.ley prevented my publis.h.i.+ng it at first. But I cannot bring myself to keep back anything he ever wrote; for each word is fraught with the peculiar views and sentiments which he believed to be beneficial to the human race, and the bright light of poetry irradiates every thought. The world has a right to the entire compositions of such a man; for it does not live and thrive by the outworn lesson of the dullard or the hypocrite, but by the original free thoughts of men of genius, who aspire to pluck bright truth

'from the pale-faced moon; Or dive into the bottom of the deep Where fathom-line would never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned'

truth. Even those who may dissent from his opinions will consider that he was a man of genius, and that the world will take more interest in his slightest word than in the waters of Lethe which are so eagerly prescribed as medicinal for all its wrongs and woe. This drama, however, must not be judged for more than was meant. It is a mere plaything of the imagination; which even may not excite smiles among many, who will not see wit in those combinations of thought which were full of the ridiculous to the author. But, like everything he wrote, it breathes that deep sympathy for the sorrows of humanity, and indignation against its oppressors, which make it worthy of his name.

EPIPSYCHIDION.

VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE n.o.bLE AND UNFORTUNATE LADY, EMILIA V--,

NOW IMPRISONED IN THE CONVENT OF --.

L'anima amante si slancia fuori del creato, e si crea nell' infinito un Mondo tutto per essa, diverso a.s.sai da questo oscuro e pauroso baratro.

HER OWN WORDS.

["Epipsychidion" was composed at Pisa, January, February, 1821, and published without the author's name, in the following summer, by C. & J. Ollier, London. The poem was included by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley in the "Poetical Works", 1839, both editions. Amongst the Sh.e.l.ley ma.n.u.scripts in the Bodleian is a first draft of "Epipsychidion", 'consisting of three versions, more or less complete, of the "Preface [Advertis.e.m.e.nt]", a version in ink and pencil, much cancelled, of the last eighty lines of the poem, and some additional lines which did not appear in print' ("Examination of the Sh.e.l.ley ma.n.u.scripts in the Bodleian Library, by C.D. Loc.o.c.k". Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1903, page 3). This draft, the writing of which is 'extraordinarily confused and illegible,' has been carefully deciphered and printed by Mr. Loc.o.c.k in the volume named above. Our text follows that of the editio princeps, 1821.]

ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT.

The Writer of the following lines died at Florence, as he was preparing for a voyage to one of the wildest of the Sporades, which he had bought, and where he had fitted up the ruins of an old building, and where it was his hope to have realised a scheme of life, suited perhaps to that happier and better world of which he is now an inhabitant, but hardly practicable in this. His life was singular; less on account of the romantic vicissitudes which diversified it, than the ideal tinge which it received from his own character and feelings. The present Poem, like the "Vita Nuova" of Dante, is sufficiently intelligible to a certain cla.s.s of readers without a matter-of-fact history of the circ.u.mstances to which it relates and to a certain other cla.s.s it must ever remain incomprehensible, from a defect of a common organ of perception for the ideas of which it treats. Not but that gran vergogna sarebbe a colui, che rima.s.se cosa sotto veste di figura, o di colore rettorico: e domandato non sapesse denudare le sue parole da cotal veste, in guisa che avessero verace intendimento.

The present poem appears to have been intended by the Writer as the dedication to some longer one. The stanza on the opposite page [1] is almost a literal translation from Dante's famous Canzone

Voi, ch' intendendo, il terzo ciel movete, etc.

The presumptuous application of the concluding lines to his own composition will raise a smile at the expense of my unfortunate friend: be it a smile not of contempt, but pity. S.

[1] i.e. the nine lines which follow, beginning, 'My Song, I fear,'

etc.--ED.

My Song, I fear that thou wilt find but few Who fitly shalt conceive thy reasoning, Of such hard matter dost thou entertain; Whence, if by misadventure, chance should bring Thee to base company (as chance may do), _5 Quite unaware of what thou dost contain, I prithee, comfort thy sweet self again, My last delight! tell them that they are dull, And bid them own that thou art beautiful.

EPIPSYCHIDION.

Sweet Spirit! Sister of that orphan one, Whose empire is the name thou weepest on, In my heart's temple I suspend to thee These votive wreaths of withered memory.

Poor captive bird! who, from thy narrow cage, _5 Pourest such music, that it might a.s.suage The rugged hearts of those who prisoned thee, Were they not deaf to all sweet melody; This song shall be thy rose: its petals pale Are dead, indeed, my adored Nightingale! _10 But soft and fragrant is the faded blossom, And it has no thorn left to wound thy bosom.

High, spirit-winged Heart! who dost for ever Beat thine unfeeling bars with vain endeavour, Till those bright plumes of thought, in which arrayed _15 It over-soared this low and worldly shade, Lie shattered; and thy panting, wounded breast Stains with dear blood its unmaternal nest!

I weep vain tears: blood would less bitter be, Yet poured forth gladlier, could it profit thee. _20

Seraph of Heaven! too gentle to be human, Veiling beneath that radiant form of Woman All that is insupportable in thee Of light, and love, and immortality!

Sweet Benediction in the eternal Curse! _25 Veiled Glory of this lampless Universe!