And the sand-hills of the sea ;-
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers, and violets,
Which yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new ;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous

Billows murmur at our feet,

Where the earth and ocean meet,

And all things seem only one

In the universal sun.

February, 1822.

TO JANE-THE RECOLLECTION.

I.

Now the last day of many days,
All beautiful and bright as thou,

The loveliest and the last, is dead,
Rise, Memory, and write its praise !
Up to thy wonted work! come, trace

The epitaph of glory fled,—
For now the Earth has changed its face,
A frown is on the Heaven's brow.

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65

5

II.

We wandered to the Pine Forest
That skirts the Ocean's foam,
The lightest wind was in its nest,

The tempest in its home.

10

The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play,

And on the bosom of the deep,

The smile of Heaven lay;

It seemed as if the hour were one
Sent from beyond the skies,

Which scattered from above the sun
A light of Paradise.

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30

To the soft flower beneath our feet,
A magic circle traced, -
A spirit interfused around,

A thrilling silent life,
To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife;

And still I felt the centre of

The magic circle there

Was one fair form that filled with love

The lifeless atmosphere.

V.

We paused beside the pools that lie
Under the forest bough;

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50

More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.

There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,

And through the dark green wood

The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.

Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen,

Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green.

And all was interfused beneath

With an elysian glow,

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70

An atmosphere without a breath,

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A softer day below.

Like one beloved the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast

Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth expressed;

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Until an envious wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thought,

Which from the mind's too faithful eye
Blots one dear image out.

Though thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,

Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind,
Than calm in waters seen.

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February, 1822.

WITH A GUITAR, TO JANE.

ARIEL to Miranda. - Take

This slave of Music, for the sake
Of him who is the slave of thee,
And teach it all the harmony

In which thou canst, and only thou,
Make the delighted spirit glow,
Till joy denies itself again,

And, too intense, is turned to pain;
For by permission and command
Of thine own Prince Ferdinand,
Poor Ariel sends this silent token
Of more than ever can be spoken;
Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who,
From life to life, must still pursue
Your happiness;
for thus alone

5

IO

15

Can Ariel ever find his own.
From Prospero's enchanted cell,
As the mighty verses tell,
To the throne of Naples, he

Lit you o'er the trackless sea,
Flitting on, your prow before,
Like a living meteor.

When you die, the silent Moon,
In her interlunar swoon,

Is not sadder in her cell
Than deserted Ariel.

When you live again on earth,
Like an unseen star of birth,
Ariel guides you o'er the sea
Of life from your nativity.

Many changes have been run,

Since Ferdinand and you begun

Your course of love, and Ariel still

Has tracked your steps, and served your

Now, in humbler, happier lot,

This is all remembered not;

And now, alas! the poor sprite is
Imprisoned, for some fault of his,
In a body like a grave;

From you he only dares to crave,
For his service and his sorrow,
A smile to-day, a song to-morrow.

The artist who this idol wrought,
To echo all harmonious thought,
Felled a tree, while on the steep

will;

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45

The woods were in their winter sleep,

Rocked in that repose divine

On the wind-swept Apennine;