The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Part 118

FRAGMENT: THE VINE-SHROUD.

[Published by W.M. Rossetti, 1870.]

Flouris.h.i.+ng vine, whose kindling cl.u.s.ters glow Beneath the autumnal sun, none taste of thee; For thou dost shroud a ruin, and below The rotting bones of dead antiquity.

NOTE ON POEMS OF 1818, BY MRS. Sh.e.l.lEY.

We often hear of persons disappointed by a first visit to Italy. This was not Sh.e.l.ley's case. The aspect of its nature, its sunny sky, its majestic storms, of the luxuriant vegetation of the country, and the n.o.ble marble-built cities, enchanted him. The sight of the works of art was full enjoyment and wonder. He had not studied pictures or statues before; he now did so with the eye of taste, that referred not to the rules of schools, but to those of Nature and truth. The first entrance to Rome opened to him a scene of remains of antique grandeur that far surpa.s.sed his expectations; and the unspeakable beauty of Naples and its environs added to the impression he received of the transcendent and glorious beauty of Italy.

Our winter was spent at Naples. Here he wrote the fragments of "Marenghi" and "The Woodman and the Nightingale", which he afterwards threw aside. At this time, Sh.e.l.ley suffered greatly in health. He put himself under the care of a medical man, who promised great things, and made him endure severe bodily pain, without any good results. Constant and poignant physical suffering exhausted him; and though he preserved the appearance of cheerfulness, and often greatly enjoyed our wanderings in the environs of Naples, and our excursions on its sunny sea, yet many hours were pa.s.sed when his thoughts, shadowed by illness, became gloomy,--and then he escaped to solitude, and in verses, which he hid from fear of wounding me, poured forth morbid but too natural bursts of discontent and sadness. One looks back with unspeakable regret and gnawing remorse to such periods; fancying that, had one been more alive to the nature of his feelings, and more attentive to soothe them, such would not have existed. And yet, enjoying as he appeared to do every sight or influence of earth or sky, it was difficult to imagine that any melancholy he showed was aught but the effect of the constant pain to which he was a martyr.

We lived in utter solitude. And such is often not the nurse of cheerfulness; for then, at least with those who have been exposed to adversity, the mind broods over its sorrows too intently; while the society of the enlightened, the witty, and the wise, enables us to forget ourselves by making us the sharers of the thoughts of others, which is a portion of the philosophy of happiness. Sh.e.l.ley never liked society in numbers,--it hara.s.sed and wearied him; but neither did he like loneliness, and usually, when alone, sheltered himself against memory and reflection in a book. But, with one or two whom he loved, he gave way to wild and joyous spirits, or in more serious conversation expounded his opinions with vivacity and eloquence. If an argument arose, no man ever argued better. He was clear, logical, and earnest, in supporting his own views; attentive, patient, and impartial, while listening to those on the adverse side. Had not a wall of prejudice been raised at this time between him and his countrymen, how many would have sought the acquaintance of one whom to know was to love and to revere! How many of the more enlightened of his contemporaries have since regretted that they did not seek him! how very few knew his worth while he lived! and, of those few, several were withheld by timidity or envy from declaring their sense of it. But no man was ever more enthusiastically loved--more looked up to, as one superior to his fellows in intellectual endowments and moral worth, by the few who knew him well, and had sufficient n.o.bleness of soul to appreciate his superiority. His excellence is now acknowledged; but, even while admitted, not duly appreciated. For who, except those who were acquainted with him, can imagine his unwearied benevolence, his generosity, his systematic forbearance? And still less is his vast superiority in intellectual attainments sufficiently understood--his sagacity, his clear understanding, his learning, his prodigious memory.

All these as displayed in conversation, were known to few while he lived, and are now silent in the tomb:

'Ahi orbo mondo ingrato!

Gran cagion hai di dever pianger meco; Che quel ben ch' era in te, perdut' hai seco.'

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1819.

LINES WRITTEN DURING THE CASTLEREAGH ADMINISTRATION.

[Published by Medwin, "The Athenaeum", December 8, 1832; reprinted, "Poetical Works", 1839. There is a transcript amongst the Harvard ma.n.u.scripts, and another in the possession of Mr. C.W. Frederickson of Brooklyn. Variants from these two sources are given by Professor Woodberry, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.", Centenary Edition, 1893, volume 3 pages 225, 226. The transcripts are referred to in our footnotes as Harvard and Fred. respectively.]

1.

Corpses are cold in the tomb; Stones on the pavement are dumb; Abortions are dead in the womb, And their mothers look pale--like the death-white sh.o.r.e Of Albion, free no more. _5

2.

Her sons are as stones in the way-- They are ma.s.ses of senseless clay-- They are trodden, and move not away,-- The abortion with which SHE travaileth Is Liberty, smitten to death. _10

3.

Then trample and dance, thou Oppressor!

For thy victim is no redresser; Thou art sole lord and possessor Of her corpses, and clods, and abortions--they pave Thy path to the grave. _15

4.

Hearest thou the festival din Of Death, and Destruction, and Sin, And Wealth crying "Havoc!" within?

'Tis the baccha.n.a.l triumph that makes Truth dumb, Thine Epithalamium. _20

5.

Ay, marry thy ghastly wife!

Let Fear and Disquiet and Strife Spread thy couch in the chamber of Life!

Marry Ruin, thou Tyrant! and h.e.l.l be thy guide To the bed of the bride! _25

NOTES: _4 death-white Harvard, Fred.; white 1832, 1839.

_16 festival Harvard, Fred., 1839; festal 1832.

_19 that Fred.; which Harvard 1832.

_22 Disquiet Harvard, Fred., 1839; Disgust 1832.

_24 h.e.l.l Fred.; G.o.d Harvard, 1832, 1839.

_25 the bride Harvard, Fred., 1839; thy bride 1832.

SONG TO THE MEN OF ENGLAND.

[Published by Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition.]

1.

Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low?

Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear?

2.

Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save, _5 From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who would Drain your sweat--nay, drink your blood?

3.

Wherefore, Bees of England, forge Many a weapon, chain, and scourge, _10 That these stingless drones may spoil The forced produce of your toil?

4.

Have ye leisure, comfort, calm, Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?

Or what is it ye buy so dear _15 With your pain and with your fear?

5.

The seed ye sow, another reaps; The wealth ye find, another keeps; The robes ye weave, another wears; The arms ye forge; another bears. _20

6.

Sow seed,--but let no tyrant reap; Find wealth,--let no impostor heap; Weave robes,--let not the idle wear; Forge arms,--in your defence to bear.

7.

Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells; _25 In halls ye deck another dwells.

Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see The steel ye tempered glance on ye.

8.

With plough and spade, and hoe and loom, Trace your grave, and build your tomb, _30 And weave your winding-sheet, till fair England be your sepulchre.

SIMILES FOR TWO POLITICAL CHARACTERS OF 1819.