POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821
633
And she cried: 'Ply the oar!
Put off gaily from shore!'—
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail, specked their path
O'er the sea. 25
Put off gaily from shore!'—
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail, specked their path
O'er the sea. 25
And from isle, tower and rock,
The blue beacon-cloud broke,
And though[1] dumb in the blast,
(The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee. 30
The blue beacon-cloud broke,
And though[1] dumb in the blast,
(The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee. 30
III
And 'Fear'st thou?' and 'Fear'st thou?'
And 'Seest thou?' and 'Hear'st thou?'
And 'Drive we not free
O'er the terrible sea,
I and thou?' 35
And 'Fear'st thou?' and 'Fear'st thou?'
And 'Seest thou?' and 'Hear'st thou?'
And 'Drive we not free
O'er the terrible sea,
I and thou?' 35
One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover—
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low;— 40
The loved and the lover—
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low;— 40
While around the lashed Ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted
To and fro. 45
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted
To and fro. 45
IV
In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame; 50
In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame; 50
On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit,
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame; 55
As a death-boding spirit,
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame; 55
And with curses as wild
As e'er clung[2] to child,
He devotes to the blast,
The best, loveliest and last
Of his name! 60
As e'er clung[2] to child,
He devotes to the blast,
The best, loveliest and last
Of his name! 60
TO ———
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824.]
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory—
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Vibrates in the memory—
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
SONG
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824. There is a transcript in the Harvard MS. book.]
I
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day 5
'Tis since thou art fled away.
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day 5
'Tis since thou art fled away.
II
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain. 10
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain. 10
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
