Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublimeThe image of Eternity-the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear; For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here. [An Italian Evening on the Banks of the Brenta.] [From Childe Harold."] The moon is up, and yet it is not nightSunset divides the sky with her a sea Of glory streams along the alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains: heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be Melted to one vast Iris of the west, Where the day joins the past eternity; While on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest. A single star is at her side, and reigns Filled with the face of heaven, which, from afar, And now they change; a paler shadow strews The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone and all is gray. [Midnight Scene in Rome-the Coliseum.] The stars are forth, the moon above the tops I learned the language of another world. And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, [The Shipwreck.] [From 'Don Juan."] Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the braveThen some leaped overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawned around her like a hell, And down she sucked with her the whirling ware, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die. And first one universal shriek there rushed, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry There were two fathers in this ghastly crew, And with them their two sons, of whom the one Was more robust and hardy to the view; But he died early; and when he was gone, I can do nothing;' and he saw him thrown The other father had a weaklier child, His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam And when the wished-for shower at length was come, And the boy's eyes, which the dull film half glazed, Brightened, and for a moment seemed to roam, He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain Into his dying child's mouth; but in vain! " The boy expired--the father held the clay, 'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast; Then he himself sunk down all dumb and shivering, And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering. [Description of Haidee.] [From the same.] Her brow was overhung with coins of gold They nearly reached her heels; and in her air Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes Were black as death, their lashes the same hue, Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies Deepest attraction; for when to the view Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies, Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew: 'Tis as the snake late coiled, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength. Her brow was white and low; her cheek's pure dye, Like twilight, rosy still with the set sun; Short upper lip-sweet lips! that make us sigh Ever to have seen such; for she was one Fit for the model of a statuary (A race of mere impostors when all's doneI've seen much finer women, ripe and real, Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal). [Haidee Visits the Shipwrecked Don Juan.] And down the cliff the island virgin came, Mistake you would have made on seeing the two, And when into the cavern Haidee stepped And wrapt him closer, lest the air, too raw, And thus, like to an angel o'er the dying Who die in righteousness, she leaned; and there All tranquilly the shipwrecked boy was lying, As o'er him lay the calm and stirless air: But Zoe the meantime some eggs was frying, Since, after all, no doubt the youthful pair Must breakfast, and betimes-lest they should ask it, She drew out her provision from the basket. And now, by dint of fingers and of eyes, Turns oftener to the stars than to his book: 'Tis pleasing to be schooled in a strange tongue [Haidee and Juan at the Feast.] Haidee and Juan carpeted their feet On crimson satin, bordered with pale blue; Their sofa occupied three parts complete Of the apartment-and appeared quite new; The velvet cushions-for a throne more meetWere scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew A sun embossed in gold, whose rays of tissue, Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue. Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain, Had done their work of splendour; Indian mats And Persian carpets, which the heart bled to stain, Over the floors were spread; gazelles and cats, And dwarfs and blacks, and such-like things, that gain Their bread as ministers and favourites-that's To say, by degradation-mingled there As plentiful as in a court or fair. There was no want of lofty mirrors, and The tables, most of ebony inlaid The greater part of these were ready spread Of all the dresses, I select Haidee's: She wore two jelicks-one was of pale yellow; Of azure, pink, and white, was her chemise'Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow; With buttons formed of pearls as large as peas, All gold and crimson shone her jelick's fellow, That the hand stretched and shut it without harm, A light gold bar above her instep rolled Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told; Her hair's long auburn waves, down to her heel The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun Her overpowering presence made you feel It would not be idolatry to kneel. Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were tinged Her nails were touched with henna; but again The henna should be deeply dyed, to make On mountain-tops more heavenly white than her; The eye might doubt if it were well awake, She was so like a vision; I might err, But Shakspeare also says, 'tis very silly 'To gild refined gold, or paint the lily.' Juan had on a shawl of black and gold, But a white baracan, and so transparent The sparkling gems beneath you might behold. Like small stars through the milky-way apparent; His turban, furled in many a graceful fold, An emerald aigrette with Haidee's hair in't Surmounted as its clasp-a glowing crescent, Whose rays shone ever trembling, but incessant. And now they were diverted by their suite, Dwarfs, dancing-girls, black eunuchs, and a poet; Which made their new establishment complete; The last was of great fame, and liked to show it: His verses rarely wanted their due feet And for his theme-he seldom sung below it, He being paid to satirise or flatter, As the Psalms say, 'inditing a good matter.' [The Death of Haidee.] Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth, Her human clay is kindled; full of power For good or evil, burning from its birth, The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, And, like the soil beneath it, will bring forth: Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower; But her large dark eye showed deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source. Her daughter, tempered with a milder ray, Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till slowly charged with thunder, they display But, overwrought with passion and despair, Where late he trod her beautiful, her own; A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes And her head drooped as when the lily lies O'ercharged with rain: her summoned handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes; Of herbs and cordials they produced their store : But she defied all means they could employ, Like one life could not hold nor death destroy. Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill- All hope to look upon her sweet face bred New thoughts of life, for it seemed full of soulShe had so much, earth could not claim the whole. The ruling passion, such as marble shows When exquisitely chiselled, still lay there, And ever-dying gladiator's air, Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat still true For, for a while, the furies made a pause. Brought back the sense of pain without the cause She looked on many a face with vacant eye, And recked not who around her pillow sat: Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave No sign, save breath, of having left the grave. Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not; Her father watched, she turned her eyes away; She recognised no being, and no spot, However dear or cherished in their day; They changed from room to room, but all forgot; Gentle, but without memory, she lay ; At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning Back to old thoughts, waxed full of fearful meaning. And then a slave bethought her of a harp : The harper came and tuned his instrument. At the first notes, irregular and sharp, On him her flashing eyes a moment bent; Then to the wall she turned, as if to warp Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re-sent; And he began a long low island song Of ancient days ere tyranny grew strong. Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of Love; the fierce name struck through all Her recollection; on her flashed the dream Of what she was, and is, if ye could call To be so being in a gushing stream The tears rushed forth from her o'erclouded brain, Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain. Short solace, vain relief! thought came too quick, And whirled her brain to madness; she arose As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick, And flew at all she met, as on her foes; But no one ever heard her speak or shriek, Although her paroxysm drew towards its close; Hers was a frenzy which disdained to rave, Even when they smote her, in the hope to save. Twelve days and nights she withered thus; at last, Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show A parting pang, the spirit from her passed; And they who watched her nearest could not know The very instant, till the change that cast Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes the beautiful, the blackOh to possess such lustre, and then lack ! 394 She died, but not alone; she held within Blossom and bough lie withered with one blight; That isle is now all desolate and bare, Its dwellings down, its tenants passed away; None but her own and father's grave is there, And nothing outward tells of human clay; Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair; No one is there to show, no tongue to say What was; no dirge except the hollow seas Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. With these feelings and predilections Shelley went to Oxford. He studied hard, but irregularly, and spent much of his leisure in chemical experiments. He incessantly speculated, thought, and read, as he himself has stated. At the age of fifteen he wrote two short prose romances. He had also great facility in versification, and threw off various effusions. The 'forbidden mines of lore' which had captivated his boyish mind at Eton were also diligently explored, and he was soon an avowed republican and sceptic. He published a volume of political rhymes, entitled Margaret Nicholson's Remains, the said Margaret being the unhappy maniac who attempted to stab George III.; and he issued a syllabus from Hume's Essays, at the same time challenging the authorities of Oxford to a public controversy on the subject. Shelley was at this time just seventeen years of age! The consequence of his conduct was, that he was expelled the university, and his friends being disgusted with him, he was cast on the world, a prey to the undisciplined ardour of youth and passion. His subsequent life was truly a warfare upon earth. Mrs Shelley, widow of the poet, has thus traced the early bias of his mind, and its predisposing causes :— Refusing to fag at Eton, he was treated with revolting cruelty by masters and boys; this roused instead of taming his spirit, and he rejected the duty of obedience when it was enforced PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY was the son and heir of by menaces and punishment. To aversion to the a wealthy English baronet, Sir Timothy Shelley of society of his fellow-creatures-such as he found Castle Goring, in Sussex, and was born at Field them when collected together into societies, where Place, in that county, on the 4th of August 1792. one egged on the other to acts of tyranny-was In worldly prospects and distinction the poet there-joined the deepest sympathy and compassion; while fore surpassed most of his tuneful brethren; yet the attachment he felt for individuals, and the adthis only served to render his unhappy and strange miration with which he regarded their powers and destiny the more conspicuously wretched. He was their virtues, led him to entertain a high opinion of first educated at Eton, and afterwards at Oxford. the perfectibility of human nature; and he believed His resistance to all established authority and that all could reach the highest grade of moral imopinion displayed itself while at school, and in the provement, did not the customs and prejudices of introduction to his Revolt of Islam, he has portrayed society foster evil passions and excuse evil actions. his early impressions in some sweet and touching The oppression which, trembling at every nerve, yet resolute to heroism, it was his ill fortune to encounter at school and at college, led him to dissent in many things from those whose arguments were blows, cration. "During my existence," he wrote to a whose faith appeared to engender blame and exefriend in 1812, "I have incessantly speculated, thought, and read." His readings were not always well chosen; among them were the works of the French philosophers: as far as metaphysical argument went, he temporarily became a convert. At the same time it was the cardinal article of his faith, that, if men were but taught and induced to treat their fellows with love, charity, and equal rights, this earth would realise Paradise. He looked upon religion as it was professed, and, above all, practised, as hostile, instead of friendly, to the cultivation of those virtues which would make men brothers.' Mrs Shelley conceives that, in the peculiar circumstances, this was not to be wondered at. At the age of seventeen, fragile in health and frame, of the purest habits in morals, full of devoted generosity and universal kindness, glowing with ardour to attain wisdom, resolved, at every personal sacrifice, to do right, burning with a desire for affection and sympathy, he was treated as a reprobate, cast forth as a criminal. The cause was, that he was sincere, that he believed the opinions which he entertained to be true, and he loved truth with a martyr's love: he was ready to sacrifice station, and fortune, and his dearest affections, at its shrine. The sacrifice was demanded from, and made by, a youth of seventeen.' stanzas Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, when first The clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. I do remember well the hour which burst So, without shame, I spake 'I will be wise, bold. And from that hour did I with earnest thought It appears that in his youth Shelley was equally inclined to poetry and metaphysics, and hesitated to which he should devote himself. He ended in unit with which it drenches the spirits even to intoxication, were the inspiration of this drama. No change of scene, however, could permanently affect the nature of Shelley's speculations, and his 'Prometheus is as mystical and metaphysical, and as daringly sceptical, as any of his previous works. The cardinal point of his system is described by Mrs Shelley as a belief that man could be so perfectionised as to be able to expel evil from his own nature, and from the greater part of the creation; and the subject he Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest fears! loved best to dwell on, was the image of one warring Shelley contracted a second marriage with the with the evil principle, oppressed not only by it, but daughter of Mr Godwin, author of Caleb Williams, by all, even the good, who were deluded into conand established himself at Marlow, in Buckingham-sidering evil a necessary portion of humanity. His shire. Here he composed the 'Revolt of Islam,' a poem more energetic than Alastor,' yet containing the same allegorical features and peculiarities of thought and style, and rendered more tedious by the want of human interest. It is honourable to Shelley that, during his residence at Marlow, he was indefatigable in his attentions to the poor; his widow relates that, in the winter, while bringing out his poem, he had a severe attack of ophthalmia, caught while visiting the poor cottages. This certainly stamps with reality his pleadings for the human race, though the nature of his philosophy and opinions would have deprived them of the highest of earthly consolations. The poet now prepared to go abroad. A strong sense of injury, and a burning desire to redress what he termed the wrongs of society, rendered him miserable in England, and he hoped also that his health would be improved by a milder climate. Accordingly, on the 12th of March 1818, he quitted this country, never to return. He went direct to Italy, and whilst residing at Rome, composed his classic drama of Prometheus Unbound. "This poem,' he says, 'was chiefly written upon the mountainous ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, among the flowery glades and thickets of odoriferous blos next work was The Cenci, a tragedy, published in 1819, and dedicated to Mr Leigh Hunt. Those writings,' he remarks in the dedication, which I have hitherto published, have been little else than visions which impersonate my own apprehensions of the beautiful and the just. I can also perceive in them the literary defects incidental to youth and impatience; they are dreams of what ought to be, or may be. The drama which I now present to you is a sad reality. I lay aside the presumptuous attitude of an instructor, and am content to paint, with such colours as my own heart furnishes, that which has been.' The painting is dark and gloomy; but, in spite of a revolting plot, and the insane unnatural character of the Cenci, Shelley's tragedy is one of the best of modern times. As an effort of intellectual strength, and an embodiment of human passion, it may challenge a comparison with any dramatic work since Otway; and it is incomparably the best of the poet's productions. His remaining works are Hellas; The Witch of Atlas; Adonais; Rosalind and Helen; and a variety of shorter productions, with scenes translated from Calderon and the Faust of Goëthe. In Italy Shelley renewed his acquaintance with Lord Byron, who thought his philosophy too |