The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone And make her grave green with tear on tear. LIBERTY. I. THE fiery mountains answer each other, Their thunderings are echoed from zone to zone; The tempestuous oceans awake one another, And the ice-rocks are shaken round Winter's throne, When the clarion of the Typhoon is blown. II. From a single cloud the lightning flashes, Whilst a thousand isles are illumined around; Earthquake is trampling one city to ashes, An hundred are shuddering and tottering,—the sound Is bellowing underground. III. But keener thy gaze than the lightning's glare, IV. From billow and mountain and exhalation The sunlight is darted through vapour and blast; THE TOWER OF FAMINE. AMID the desolation of a city Which was the cradle and is now the grave Of an extinguished people, so that Pity Weeps o'er the shipwrecks of oblivion's wave, There stands the Tower of Famine. It is built Upon some prison-homes, whose dwellers rave For bread and gold and blood: Pain, linked to Guilt, Agitates the light flame of their hours, Until its vital oil is spent or spilt. There stands the pile, a tower amid the towers Are by its presence dimmed-they stand aloof, And are withdrawn-so that the world is bare : As if a spectre, wrapped in shapeless terror, Should glide and glow, till it became a mirror GOOD-NIGHT. “GOOD-NIGHT?"-No, love! the night is ill Then it will be good night. How were the night without thee good, The hearts that on each other beat From evening close to morning light TIME LONG PAST. LIKE the ghost of a dear friend dead A tone which is now forever fled, There were sweet dreams in the night And, was it sadness or delight, Each day a shadow onward cast Which made us wish it yet might last- There is regret, almost remorse, 'Tis like a child's beloved corse A father watches, till at last Beauty is like remembrance cast SONNET. YE hasten to the grave: what seek ye there, Thou vainly curious mind which wouldest guess Whence thou didst come and whither thou mayst go, And all that never yet was known wouldst know— Oh whither hasten ye, that thus ye press With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path, Seeking alike from happiness and woe A refuge in the cavern of grey Death? O heart and mind and thoughts! what thing do you Hope to inherit in the grave below? NOTES, BY SHELLEY AND MRS. SHELLEY, ON POEMS OF 1820. This and the former poem were written at the request of a friend, to be inserted in a drama on the subject of Midas. before Tmolus for the prize in music. [Mrs. S.] P. 77. Ode to Naples. Apollo and Pan contended The author has connected many recollections of his visit to Pompeii and Baiæ with the enthusiasm excited by the intelligence of the proclamation of a constitutional government at Naples. This has given a tinge of picturesque and descriptive imagery to the introductory epodes, which depicture these scenes, and some of the majestic feelings permanently connected with the scene of this animating event. P. 77. I stood within the city disinterred. Pompeii. P. 78. Of the dead kings of melody. Homer and Virgil. P. 79. From the can. Ææa, the Island of Circe. P. 79. The viper's palsying venom. The viper was the armorial device of the Visconti, tyrants of Milan. P. 84. The Tower of Famine. At Pisa there still exists the prison of Ugolino, which goes by the name of "La Torre della Fame": in the adjoining building the galley-slaves are confined. It is situated near the Ponte al Mare on the Arno. [Mrs. S.] NOTE ON POEMS OF 1820, BY MRS. SHELLEY. WE spent the latter part of the year 1819 in Florence, where Shelley passed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes on its ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up also by the project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to ply between Leghorn and Marseilles, for which he supplied a sum of money. This was a sort of plan to delight Shelley, and he was greatly disappointed when it was thrown aside. There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with his health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vaccà as to the cause of Shelley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man, could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave his complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this advice. Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence at Pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence we remained. In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house of some friends who were absent on a journey to England.-It was on a beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fireflies, that we heard the carolling of the sky-lark which inspired one of the most beautiful of his poems. He addressed the letter to Mrs. Gisborne from this house, which was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, who was an engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in her younger days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming from her frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love of knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved freshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a favourite friend of my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and the most open and cordial friendship was established between us. Our subsequent stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. At the foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between the Serchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking its bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country is below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, in the lower part of which our house was situated. The canal overflowed in the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet. It was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving the cattle from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire was kept up to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the animals showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which was reflected again in the waters that filled the Square. The We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter. extreme mildness of the climate suited Shelley, and his solitude was enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chance cast us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its very peace suited Shelley. Its river, the near mountains, and not distant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many delightful excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter climate, on account of our child; our former bereavement inspir ing us with terror. We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards; often, indeed, entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy, but still delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, I believe we should have wandered over the world, both being passionately fond of travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable necessities, is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at the time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for their influence over our destiny. |