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INDIAN.

And the plant died not in the frost?

LADY.

It grew;

And went out of the lattice which I left
Half open for it, trailing its quaint spires
Along the garden and across the lawn,

And down the slope of moss and through the tufts

Of wild-flower roots, and stumps of trees o'ergrown

With simple lichens, and old hoary stones, 200
On to the margin of the glassy pool,
Even to a nook of unblown violets
And lilies-of-the-valley yet unborn,
Under a pine with ivy overgrown.

And there its fruit lay like a sleeping lizard
Under the shadows; but when Spring indeed
Came to unswathe her infants, and the lilies
Peeped from their bright green masks to
wonder at

This shape of autumn couched in their recess,
Then it dilated, and it grew until

One half lay floating on the fountain wave,
Whose pulse, elapsed in unlike sympathies,
Kept time

Among the snowy water-lily buds.

Its shape was such as summer melody

210

Of the south wind in spicy vales might give To some light cloud bound from the golden dawn

To fairy isles of evening, and it seemed

In hue and form that it had been a mirror
Of all the hues and forms around it and 220
Upon it pictured by the sunny beams.

Which, from the bright vibrations of the pool,

Were thrown upon the rafters and the roof
Of boughs and leaves, and on the pillared

stems

Of the dark sylvan temple, and reflexions
Of every infant flower and star of moss
And veined leaf in the azure odorous air.
And thus it lay in the Elysian calm
Of its own beauty, floating on the line
Which, like a film in purest space, divided 230
The heaven beneath the water from the heaven
Above the clouds; and every day I went
Watching its growth and wondering;
And as the day grew hot, methought I saw
A glassy vapour dancing on the pool,
And on it little quaint and filmy shapes,
With dizzy motion, wheel and rise and fall,
Like clouds of gnats with perfect lineaments.

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O friend, sleep was a veil uplift from heavenAs if heaven dawned upon the world of dreamWhen darkness rose on the extinguished day Out of the eastern wilderness.

INDIAN.

I too

Have found a moment's paradise in sleep
Half compensate a hell of waking sorrow.

242

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Gentlemen of the Inns of Court, Citizens, Pursuivants, Marshalsmen, Law Students, Judges, Clerk.

SCENE I. The Mask of the Inns of Court.

A PURSUIVANT.

PLACE, for the Marshal of the Mask!

1 References to the projected play on the subject of Charles I. are to be found in

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Shelley's letters, from February 1821 to April 1822. Mrs. Shelley says he proceeded slowly with it, and at last threw it aside for The Triumph of Life. In my opinion," said Alfieri, in dedicating his Agis to Charles, one can in no way make a tragedy of your tragical death, the cause of it not being sublime." Perhaps that was what Shelley felt. See, however, page lviii of vol, i, -ED,

FIRST CITIZEN.

What thinkest thou of this quaint mask which turns,

Like morning from the shadow of the night, The night to day, and London to a place

Of peace and joy?

SECOND CITIZEN.

And Hell to Heaven.

Eight years are gone,

And they seem hours, since in this populous

street

I trod on grass made green by summer's rain,
For the red plague kept state within that palace
Where now reigns vanity-in nine years more
The roots will be refreshed with civil blood; 11
And thank the mercy of insulted Heaven
That sin and wrongs wound as an orphan's cry
The patience of the great avenger's ear.

A YOUTH.

Yet, father, 'tis a happy sight to see,
Beautiful, innocent, and unforbidden

By God or man ;-'tis like the bright procession
Of skiey visions in a solemn dream

From which men wake as from a paradise, And draw new strength to tread the thorns of

life.

20

If God be good, wherefore should this be evil?
And if this be not evil, dost thou not draw
Unseasonable poison from the flowers
Which bloom so rarely in this barren world?
O, kill these bitter thoughts which make the

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And open-eyed Conspiracy lie sleeping

As on Hell's threshold; and all gentle thoughts
Waken to worship him who giveth joys
With his own gift.

SECOND CITIZEN.

30

How young art thou in this old age of time! How green in this grey world! Canst thou discern

The signs of seasons, yet perceive no hint
Of change in that stage-scene in which thou art
Not a spectator but an actor? or

Art thou a puppet moved by [enginery]?
The day that dawns in fire will die in storms,
Even though the noon be calm.

done,

My travel's

Before the whirlwind wakes I shall have found
My inn of lasting rest; but thou must still 41
Be journeying on in this inclement air.
Wrap thy old cloke about thy back;

Nor leave the broad and plain and beaten road,
Although no flowers smile on the trodden dust,
For the violet paths of pleasure. This Charles
the First

...

Rose like the equinoctial sun,
By vapours, through whose threatening omi-

nous veil

Darting his altered influence he has gained This height of noon-from which he must

decline

50

Amid the darkness of conflicting storms,
To dank extinction and to latest night..
There goes the apostate Strafford; he whose
titles...

whispered aphorisms

From Machiavel and Bacon: and, if Judas
Had been as brazen and as bold as he...

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