Percy Bysshe Shelley

unequal length; the first spent at Pisa, the baths of San Giuliano, and Leghorn; the second at Lerici, on the Bay of Spezia. Without entering into minute particulars of date

ogg's account of the Oxford period, and marked by signs of more unmistakable accuracy. Not less important members of this private circle were Mr. and Mrs. Edward Elleker Williams, with whom Shelley and his wife lived on terms of the closest friendship. Among Italians, the physician Vacca, the improvisatore Sgricci, and Rosini, the author of "La Monaca di Monza", have to be recorded. It will be seen from this enumera

m to English literature. In the winter he wrote the "Sensitive Plant", prompted thereto, we are told, by the flowers which crowded Mrs. Shelley's drawing room, and exhaled their sweetness to the temperate Italian sunlight. Whether we consider the number of these poems or their diverse character, ranging from verse separated by an exquisitely subtle line from simple prose to the most impassioned eloquence and the most ethereal im

ar

great sea, who

f and loud, an

ks, and still h

h what treasure

Godwin,-great

nd fallen on ev

irits of our

read tribuna

ile Rebuke cower

oleridge-he wh

ding lustre

radiation

own internal l

through darkne

rcled meteor

gle among b

unt; one of th

lt of the earth,

d smell like wh

thers seem. Hi

ed by many a c

lowers tasteful

of bay from

reaths in neat

e most learn'd

ds, sisters-in-

he with his

ullest brain for

or money at

o use to say,

ver mood, whe

than were eve

kespere's wis

Hogg; and I c

ough I know tha

ks, then barri

they inhabi

u'll cry out w

l within an

chest of the

cock, with his

a Flamingo,

he Indian air. H

ries, dies, or

s hear no more

and will like

-white Snowdo

his camelopard

ound, the knif

learned for a

selfish bigot

he chosen spir

up for the s

ome, and find

expectation.

an knowledge,

world a busin

ed in Horace S

ptions, which

by descantin

I know i

h Hunt, dated January 25, 1822, he says: "My faculties are shaken to atoms and torpid. I can write nothing; and if "Adonais" had no success, and excited no interest, what incentive can I have to write?" Again: "I write little now. It is impossible to compose except under the strong excitement of an assurance of finding sympathy in what you write." Lord Byron's company proved now, as before, a check rather than an incentive to production: "I do not write; I have lived too long near Lord Byron, and the sun has extinguished the glow-worm; for I cannot hope, with St. John, that THE LIGHT CAME INTO THE WORLD AND THE WORLD KNEW IT NOT." "I despair of rivalling Lord Byron, as well I may, and there is no other with whom it is worth contending." To Ollier, in 1820, he wrote: "I doubt whether I shall write more. I could be content either with the hell or the paradise of poetry; but the torments of its purgatory vex me, without exciting my powers sufficiently to put an end to the vexation." It was not that his spirit was cowed by the Reviews, or that he mistook the sort of audience he had to address. He more than once acknowledged that, while Byron wrote for the many, his poems were intended for the understanding few. Yet the sunetoi, as he called them, gave him but scanty encouragement. The cold phrases of kindly Horace Smith show that he had not comprehended "Prometheus Unbound"; and Shelley whimsically complains that even intelligent and sympathetic critics confounded the ideal passion described in "Epipsychidion" with the love affairs of "a servant-gir

already quoted from his "Defence of Poetry" shows the high ideal he had conceived of the poet's duty toward his art; and it may be confidently asserted that his whole literary career was one long struggle to emerge from the incoherence of his earlier efforts, into the clearness of expression and precision of form that are the index of mastery over style. At the same time it was inconsistent with his most firmly rooted aesthetic principles to attempt composition exce

him and Medwin to the convent-parlour, where they found her more lovely than even the most glowing descriptions had led them to expect. Nor was she only beautiful. Shelley soon discovered that she had "cultivated her mind beyond what I have ever met in Italian women;" and a rhapsody composed by her upon the subject of Uranian Love-Il Vero Amore-justifies the belief that she possessed an intellect of more than ordinary elevation. He took Mrs. Shelley to see her, and both did all they could to make her convent-prison less irksome, by f

ven! too gent

h that radiant

insupporta

d love, and

emed to find it under many earthly shapes, yet has he ever been deluded. At last Emily appears, and in her he recognizes the truth of the vision veiled from him so many years. She and Mary shall henceforth, like sun and moon, rule the world of love within him. Then he calls on her to fly.

le under Io

s a wreck o

arbours are no

ld have remai

astoral people

lysian, clear,

spirit of th

irited, innoc

an girds this

ging sound and

fted sands and

nds wandering

th the undu

woods where sy

untain, rivul

s elementa

rning air. A

ks made by the

shepherd treads

es, caverns, and

th ivy, which

ith sound tha

he noonday

ce is peopled w

r element whic

the scent of

e mist laden wit

the eyelids l

oss violets an

rrowy odour th

faint with that

ion, odour, b

eep music i

ul within a s

of an ante

wixt heaven, air

hung in clear

t wandering E

soft blue ocea

red place. Fa

r, and Earthqu

in-peaks; blind

far upon the

ms, chanting th

, leave azure

, or weep them

fields and wo

and golden

a there rise, a

ar exhalations,

l, each hiding

moon or zephy

s beauty, like

ce with love

rembles at it

uried lamp, a

eart of this d

e Eternal, wh

f, and may be

ks, blue waves, a

bare and voi

in any mortal tie." In the letter of June 18, 1822, again he says:-"The 'Epipsychidion' I cannot look at; the person whom it celebrates was a cloud instead of a Juno; and poor Ixion starts from the Centaur that was the offspring of his own embrace. If you are curious, however, to hear what I am and have been, it will tell you something thereof. It is an idealized history of my life and feelings. I think one is always in love with something or other; the error, and I confess it is not easy for spirits cased in flesh and blood to avoid it, consists in seeking in a mortal image the likeness of what is, perhaps, eternal." This paragraph contain

lley "sought through the world the One whom he may love." Thus, while his doctrine in "Epipsychidion" seems Platonic, it will not square with the "Symposium." Plato treats the love of a beautiful person as a mere initiation into divine mysteries, the first step in the ladder that ascends to heaven. When a man has formed a just conception of the universal beauty, he looks back with a smile upon those who find their soul's sphere in the love of some mere mortal object. Tested by this standard, Shelley's identification of Intellectual Beauty with so man

the induction to a poem conceived and written in a different key, and at a lower level of inspiration. It has, however, this extraordinary interest, that it deals with a love which is both love

ired. No criticisms upon Shelley's works are half so good as his own. It is, therefore, interesting to collect the passages in which he speaks of an elegy only equalled in our language by "Lycidas", and in the point of passionate eloquence even superior to Milton's youthful lament for his friend. "The 'Adonais', in spite of its mysticism," he writes to Ollier, "is the least imperfect of my compositions." "I confess I should be surprised if that poem were born to an immortality of oblivion." "It is a highly wrou

e the most pathetic products of Greek idyllic poetry; and the transmutation of their material into the substance of highly spiritualized modern thought, reveals the potency of a Prospero's wand. It is a metamorphosis whereby the art of excellent but positive poets has been translated into the sphere of metaphysical imagination. Urania takes the place of Aphrodite; the thoughts and fancies and desires of the dead singer are substituted for Bion's cupids; and instead of mountain shepherds, the living bards of England are summo

s dead. There is both pathos and unconscious irony in his making these two poets the chief mourners, when we remember what Byron wrote about Keats in "Don Juan", and what Moore a

less note, cam

mong men, c

loud of an ex

is its knell.

Nature's nake

, and now he

ps o'er the wor

oughts, along

g hounds their fat

pirit beautif

esolation m

weakness; it c

f the superi

g lamp, a fa

llow;-even wh

ken? On the w

n smiles brigh

n blood, even while

ound with pans

ets, white and

ar topped with

de shaft dark

ith the forest

s the ever-

and that grasped

last, neglec

deer, struck by t

more imperial command of language than in these stanzas. If it were possible to identify that philosophy with any recognized system of thought, it might be call

rrupted by three stanzas, in which Shelley lashes the reviewer of

is not dead, he

ned from the

lost in storm

s an unprofi

e strike with ou

le nothing

in a charnel;

and consume

rm like worms with

red the shado

umny, and ha

t which men mi

not and tort

gion of the wo

, and now ca

old, a head gro

pirit's self ha

ashes load an

kes-'tis Death

Adonais.-Tho

ew to splendou

hou lamentes

d ye forests,

lowers and founta

rning veil thy s

oned Earth, no

s stars which smi

with Nature:

all her music

the song of nig

ence to be f

in light, from

f where'er that

hdrawn his be

e world with ne

m beneath, and

tion of the

made more love

the One Spirit

e dull dense worl

sions to the f

illing dross that

eness, as each

in its beauty

sts and men into t

beauty, is not enough to satisfy man's yearning after immortality. Therefore in the next three stanzas the indestructibility of the pers

s of the firm

d, but are ext

eir appointed he

a low mist wh

it may veil. Wh

heart above it

life contend

rthly doom, the

ds of light on da

rs of unfulf

hrones, built bey

Unapparent.

his solemn

m him; Sidney

, and as he li

ld, a Spirit

can, by his d

rose shrank like

whose names on

smitted efflue

e outlives the

in dazzling

ome as one of

e yon kingless

in unascen

amid an Hea

throne, thou Ves

; and those who mourn him must seek his grave. He has escaped: to follow him is to die; and where should we learn to dote on death unterrified, if not

or Adonais?

d show thyself

anting soul the

tre, dart thy

lds, until its

id circumferen

nt within our

art light, let

led hope, and lure

e, which is

, but of our j

pires, and re

the ravage the

e can lend,-t

e who made the

ered to the ki

ntion with thei

are all that c

ome,-at once

e city, and t

cks like shattere

eeds and fragra

Desolation'

Spirit of the

to a slope o

infant's smil

g flowers along th

oulder round, on

low fire upon

pyramid with

he dust of hi

for his memo

sformed to marb

read, on whic

eaven's smile the

ose with scarce ex

e graves are all

wn the sorrow

each; and if t

fountain of a

ou! too surely

full, if thou

ll. From the wo

in the shadow

is, why fear

greeted the passage of Adonais into the eternal world, is here subdued to a graver key, as befits the mood of one whom mystery and mourning still oppress on earth. Yet even in the somewhat less than jubilant conclusion we feel that highest

s, the many ch

r ever shines, Ea

dome of many-

hite radianc

amples it to f

be with that whi

ll is fled!-Ro

statues, music

ansfuse with fitt

turn back, why s

one before: fro

ted; thou shoul

st from the r

oman; and wha

sh, repels to m

les, the low win

calls! oh, ha

divide what Death

se smile kindl

which all thing

on which the e

ench not, that

the web of bei

st and earth a

r dim, as each

ich all thirst,

last clouds of

e might I have

; my spirit's

re, far from the

re never to th

h and sphered

darkly, fea

hrough the inmos

Adonais, l

e abode where t

mind, may be gathered from an incident related by Trelawny. They were bathing in the Arno, when Shelley, who could not swim, plunged into deep water, and "lay stretched out at the bottom like a conger eel, not making the least effort or struggle to save himself." Trelawny fished him out, and when he had taken breath he said: "I always find the bottom of the well, and they say Truth lies there. In another minute I should have found it, and you would have found an empty shell. Death is the veil which those who live call life; they sleep, and it is lifted." Yet being pressed by his friend, he refused to acknowledge a formal and precise belief in the imperishability of the human soul. "We know nothing; we have no evidence; we cannot express our inmost thoughts. They are incomprehensible e

Sensitive Pl

ts boughs like

ard form had

is change,

guess; but

ignorance,

g is, but al

shadows o

odest cre

if one con

death itse

the rest,

sweet, tha

t shapes and

ave never

ours, are chan

nd beauty,

eath nor chan

r organs,

eing themse

rate its author's mood of feeling about the life beyond the grave. The last lines of "Adonais" might be read as a prophecy of his

mpulse urged

eath on the dre

new that migh

erns of the p

erty" closes on

r fades with

nsect dies w

pinions disar

it closed the

ce which did its

lately paved

er's head in their

ion, near Naples", echo the th

spair itse

winds and

down like a

way the li

borne, and ye

ke sleep migh

t feel in

w cold, and

dying brain it

th a joyful and resolute voice, "Now let us together solve the great mystery!" Too much value must not be attached to what might have been a mere caprice of utterance. Yet the proposal not unreasonably frightened Mrs. Williams, for Shelley's friends were accustomed to expect the realisation of his wilde

by it. "It was written," he says, "without much care, and in one of those few moments of enthusiasm which now seldom visit me, and which make me pay dear for their visits." The preface might, if space permitted, be cited as a specimen of his sound and weighty judgment upon one of the greatest political questions of this century. What he says about the debt of the modern world to ancient Hellas, is no less pregnant than his severe strictures upon the part played by Russia in dealing with Eastern questions. For the rest, the poem is distinguished by passages of great lyrical beauty, rising at time

of Greek captive women, whose creed does not prevent their feeling a regret for the "mightier forms of an older, austerer worship." Shelley's note reminds the reader, with characteristic caution and frankness, that "the popular n

orlds are r

eation

bubbles o

bursting,

are still

h birth's o

rk chasm hurry

eir uncea

ief dust

d their chario

they stil

new laws

re they, as the

bare ribs

rom the u

an conque

iumphal p

of death

l shape

e the v

nt planet anim

, and Sla

hounds mil

l their Lord ha

on of

nd it sh

as on heaven'

leads gene

radiant sha

ose dreams

fond wretch

forth with h

so faint

s of eart

folding star

Pan, a

n Olymp

illing Truth had

and seas, a

d of thei

ned to blood, th

r the gol

ace. The prospect gave Shelley great pleasure, for he was sincerely attached to Hunt; and though he would not promise contributions to the journal, partly lest his name should bring discredit on it, and partly because he did not choose to appear before the world as a hanger-on of Byron's, he thoroughly approved of a plan which would be profitable

ciety of his two friends, the Williamses. Some of his saddest and most touching lyrics of this year are addressed to Jane-for so Mrs. Williams was called; and attentive students may perceive that the thought of Emilia was already blending by subtle transitions with the new thought of Jane. One poem, almost terrible in its intensity of melancholy, is hardly explicable on the supposition that Shelley was quite happy in his home. ("The Serpent is shut out from Paradise.") These words must be taken as implying no reflection either upon Mary's love for him, or upon his own power to bear the slighter troubles of domestic life. He was not a spoiled child of fortune, a weak egotist, or a querulous complainer. But he

stion pure and honourable. All the verses he addressed to her passed through her husband's hands without the slightest interruption to their intercourse; and Mrs. Shelley, who was not unpardonably jealous of her Ariel, continued to be Mrs. Williams's warm friend. A passage from Shelley's letter of June 18, 1822, expresses the plain prose of

beauty, and partly because they illustrate the fecundity of Shelley's genius during the m

k over the

t of

misty eas

e long and l

dreams of

thee terrib

be thy

orm in a m

inwro

hine hair th

til she be

'er city, and

l with thin

long-s

se and saw

ed for

e high, and th

heavy on fl

y Day turned

like an un

ed for

Death came

st tho

ild Sleep, t

ike a noon

estle near

ou me?"-an

not t

come when t

too

come when t

would I a

thee, bel

ine approac

soon,

nts of the poetic art will find it not uninteresting to compare the three versions of this Brid

gates of

h and beauty,

ir image l

of glassy

all thy star

weep thy h

ed the inc

air so

t see their

t Hour, and

re

tes, and ange

s, permit

to wake t

re it b

ear! what

bsence o

e a

nderful profusion in this season of his happiest fertility. A glance at the last section of Mr. Palgra

ons best illustrated his writings." "The cynic Byron acknowledged him to be the best and ablest man he had ever known. The truth was, Shelley loved everything better than himself." "I have seen Shelley and Byron in society, and the contrast was as marked as their characters. The former, not thinking of himself, was as much at ease in his own home, omitting no occasion of obliging those whom he came in contact with, readily conversing with all or any who addressed him, irrespective of age or rank, dress or address." "All who heard him felt the charm of his simple, earnest manner: while Byron knew him to be exempt from the egotism, pedantry, coxcombry, and more than all the rivalry of authorship." "Shelley's mental activity was infectious; he kept your brain in constant action." "He was always in earnest." "He never laid aside his book and magic mantle; he waved his wand, and Byron,

oing to the doorway she laughingly said, 'Come in, Shelley, its only our friend Tre just arrived.' Swiftly gliding in, blushing like a girl, a tall, thin stripling held out both his hands; and although I could hardly believe, as I looked at his flushed, feminine, and artless face, that it could be the poet, I returned his warm pressure. After the ordinary greetings and courtesies he sat down and listened. I was silent from astonishment: was it possible this mild-looking, beardless boy, could be the veritable monster at war with all the world?-excommunicated by the Fathe

odigioso"-I am translat

ead it

e masterly manner in which he analysed the genius of the author, his lucid interpretation of the story, and the ease with which he translated into our language the most subtle and imaginative pa

re is

? Oh, he comes and goes like a spi

that the man's sentence had been commuted to the galleys. The other affair brought them less agreeably into contact with the Tuscan police. The party were riding home one afternoon in March, when a mounted dragoon came rushing by, breaking their ranks and nearly unhorsing Mr. Taafe. Byron and Shelley rode after him to remonstrate; but the man struck Shelley from his saddle with a sabre blow. The English then pursued him into Pisa, making such a clatter that one of Byron's servants issued wi

returned home, and talked and read until midnight." The great wood of stone pines on the Pisan Maremma was his favourite study. Trelawny tells us how he found him there alone one day, and in what state was the manuscript of that prettiest lyric, "Ariel, to Miranda take". "It was a frightful scrawl; words smeared out with his finger, and one upon the other, over and over in tiers, and all run together in most 'admired disorder;' it might have b

: firing was called tiring; hitting, colping; missing, mancating, etc. It was in fact a kind of pigeon Italian. Shelley acquired two nick-names in the circle of his Pisan friends, both highly descriptive. He was Ariel and the Snake. The latter suited him because of his noiseless gliding movement, bright eyes, and ethereal diet. It was first giv

which cost the lives of Shelley and Willliams, and of the "Bolivar", which carried Byron off to Genoa before he finally set sail for Greece. Captain Roberts was allowed to have his own way about the latter; but Shelley and Williams had set their hearts upon a model for their little yacht, which did not suit the Captain's notions of sea-worthiness. Williams overruled his objections, and the "Don Juan" was built according to his cherished fancy. "When it was finished," says Trelawny, "it took two tons of iron ballast to bring her down to her bearings, and then she was very crank in a breeze, though not deficient in beam. She was fast, strongly built, and Torbay rigged." She was ch