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its blossoms fade, And blighted are the leaves that cast its shade; Whilst the cold hand gathers its scanty fruit, Whose dullness struck a canker to its root. February 1812.
How eloquent are eyes!
Can speak so well as they.
How eloquent are eyes!
Like them bids rapture rise.
Love, look thus again,—
Through the cold shower of tears.
Love, look thus again!
THE D.EMON OF THE WORLD.
AWHIle the Spirit paused in ecstasy.
Yet soon she saw, as the vast spheres swept by,
Strange things within their belted orbs appear.
Like animated frenzies, dimly moved
Shadows and skeletons and fiendly shapes,
Thronging round human graves, and o'er the dead
Sculpturing records for each memory
In verse, such as malignant gods pronounce,
Blasting the hopes of men, when heaven and hell
Confounded burst in ruin o'er the world.
And they did build vast trophies, instruments
Of murder, human bones, barbaric gold,
Skins torn from living men, and towers of skulls
With sightless holes gazing on blinder heaven,
Mitres, and crowns, and brazen chariots stained
(A CANCELLED PASSAGE OF THE POEM).
There is a voice, not understood by all,
Sent from these desert caves. It is the roar Of the rent ice-cliffs which the sunbeams call, Plunging into the vale; it is the blast Descending on the pines. The torrents pour Jtm€ 1816.
My spirit like a charmed barque doth swim,
Far away into the regions dim
A HATER he came and sat by a ditch,
And he took out an old cracked lute;
And he sang a song which was more of a screech
TO WILLIAM SHELLEY.
(CANCELLED PASSAGES OF THAT POEM, p 167).
The world is now our dwelling-place:
Of what was great and free does keep,
Mild thoughts of man's ungentle race
Shall our contented exile reap:
In cynic smiles ?—Child! we shall weep.
But genius is omnipotent
JULIAN AND MADDALO.
(FRAGMENTS SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN ORIGINALLY INTENDED FOR THaT POEM).
"what think you the dead are?"
"Why, dust and clay :— What should they be?"
"'Tis the last hour of day.
"Ay, beautiful! But, when our . . .
"Perhaps the only comfort which remains Is the unheeded clanking of my chains, The which I make, and call it melody." 1818.
(VARIaTION OF THE LYRIC OF THE MOON, Vol. i. p. 375).
As a violet's gentle eye,
Gazes on the azure sky
As a grey and empty mist
Lies like solid amethyst
When the sunset sleeps
As a strain of sweetest sound
Wraps itself the wind around
Until the voiceless wind be music too;
ODE TO LIBERTY.
(A CANCelLED PASSAGE OF THE POEM).
Within a cavern of man's trackless spirit
Is throned an image so intensely fair
Worship, and, as they kneel, tremble, and wear
Penetrates their dreamlike frame,
(CANCELLED PASSAGES OF THAT POEM).
It floats with rainbow pinions o'er the stream
What is that joy which serene infancy