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Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one !
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
WRITTEN OCTOBER, 1819, BEFORE THE SPANIARDS HAD
RECOVERED THEIR LIBERTY
ARISE, arise, arise !
bread! Be your wounds like eyes To weep for the dead, the dead, the dead. What other grief were it just to pay ? Your sons, your wives, your brethren, were they ! Who said they were slain on the battle-day?
Awaken, awaken, awaken!
An Ode written October, 1819, before the Spaniards had recovered their Liberty, Shelley, 1820 || An Ode to the Assertors of Liberty, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. Published with Prometheus Unbound, 1820.
Be the cold chains shaken
Wave, Wave high the banner,
Though the slaves that fan her
hands in the banded war But in her defence whose children ye are.
Glory, glory, glory, To those who have greatly suffered and done!
Never name in story Was greater than that which ye shall have won. Conquerors have conquered their foes alone, Whose revenge, pride, and power, they have over
thrown. Ride ye, more victorious, over your own.
Bind, bind every brow
Hide the blood-stains now
ON THE MEDUSA OF LEONARDO DA VINCI
IN THE FLORENTINE GALLERY
Upon the cloudy mountain peak supine;
Its horror and its beauty are divine. Upon its lips and eyelids seems to lie
Loveliness like a shadow, from which shine, Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath, The agonies of anguish and of death.
Yet it is less the horror than the grace
Which turns the gazer's spirit into stone, Whereon the lineaments of that dead face
Are graven, till the characters be grown Into itself, and thought no more can trace ;
'Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain, Which humanize and harmonize the strain.
grass out of a watery rock, Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flow
And their long tangles in each other lock,
On the Medusa of Leonardo Da Vinci in the Florentine Gallery. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Composed at Florence.
ii. 6 hues, Rossetti.
And with unending involutions show
Their mailed radiance, as it were to mock The torture and the death within, and saw The solid air with many a ragged jaw.
And, from a stone beside, a poisonous eft
Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes ; Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereft
Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise Out of the cave this hideous light had cleft,
And he comes hastening like a moth that hies After a taper; and the midnight sky Flares, a light more dread than obscurity.
V 'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror;
For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare Kindled by that inextricable error,
Which makes a thrilling vapor of the air Become a
and ever-shifting mirror Of all the beauty and the terror there A woman's countenance, with serpent locks, Gazing in death on heaven from those wet
THE INDIAN SERENADE
I I ARISE from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me - who knows how ? To thy chamber window, sweet!
The wandering airs, they faint
The Indian Serenade, Browning MS., Harvard MS. || Song written for an Indian Air, The Liberal, ii., 1822. Lines to an Indian Air, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Published in The Liberal, i., 1822. i. 2 In || From, Copy of Browning MS.
3 When, omit, Harvard MS.
7 Hath led, Browning MS., The Liberal, 1822 || Has borne, Harvard MS.; has led, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
ii. 3 The champak odors fail, Harvard MS., The Liberal, 1822, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || And the champak's, Browning MS. And the champak, Dowden. And the champak odors pine, Allingham. odors of my chaplet, Boscombe MS.