and trembling sensibility, and preserved putian ties that shackle at the time, alfreshness of mind after a life of consider though it is difficult to account afterwards able adversity. As a favourite friend of for their influence over our destiny. my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and the most open and cordial friendship was established between us.

Our 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.

We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter. The 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 inspiring 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 lilli

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821

DIRGE FOR THE YEAR

ORPHAN hours, the year is dead,
Come and sigh, come and weep!
Merry hours, smile instead,

For the year is but asleep.
See, it smiles as it is sleeping,
Mocking your untimely weeping.

II

As an earthquake rocks a corse

In its coffin in the clay,
So White Winter, that rough nurse,

Rocks the death-cold year to-day;
Solemn hours! wail aloud
For your mother in her shroud.

III

As the wild air stirs and sways

So the breath of these rude days
The tree-swung cradle of a child,

Rocks the year :-be calm and mild,
Trembling hours, she will arise
With new love within her eyes.

IV

January gray is here,

Like a sexton by her grave;
February bears the bier,

March with grief doth howl and rave,
Follow with May's fairest flowers.
And April weeps-but, O, ye hours,

TO NIGHT

I

SWIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight,

Are brackish with the salt of human Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or

As to oblivion their blind millions fleet, "Who has known me of old," replied Staining that Heaven with obscene