642
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1821
FRAGMENTS WRITTEN FOR HELLAS
[Published by Dr. Garnett, Relics of Shelley, 1862.]
I
Fairest of the Destinies,
Disarray thy dazzling eyes:
Keener far thy lightnings are
Than the wingèd [bolts] thou bearest,
And the smile thou wearest 5
Wraps thee as a star
Is wrapped in light.
Fairest of the Destinies,
Disarray thy dazzling eyes:
Keener far thy lightnings are
Than the wingèd [bolts] thou bearest,
And the smile thou wearest 5
Wraps thee as a star
Is wrapped in light.
II
Could Arethuse to her forsaken urn
From Alpheus and the bitter Doris run,
Or could the morning shafts of purest light 10
Again into the quivers of the Sun
Be gathered—could one thought from its wild flight
Return into the temple of the brain
Without a change, without a stain,—
Could aught that is, ever again 15
Be what it once has ceased to be,
Greece might again be free!
Could Arethuse to her forsaken urn
From Alpheus and the bitter Doris run,
Or could the morning shafts of purest light 10
Again into the quivers of the Sun
Be gathered—could one thought from its wild flight
Return into the temple of the brain
Without a change, without a stain,—
Could aught that is, ever again 15
Be what it once has ceased to be,
Greece might again be free!
III
A star has fallen upon the earth
Mid the benighted nations,
A quenchless atom of immortal light, 20
A living spark of Night,
A cresset shaken from the constellations.
Swifter than the thunder fell
To the heart of Earth, the well
Where its pulses flow and beat, 25
And unextinct in that cold source
Burns, and oncourse
Guides the sphere which is its prison,
Like an angelic spirit pent
In a form of mortal birth, 30
Till, as a spirit half-arisen
Shatters its charnel, it has rent,
In the rapture of its mirth,
The thin and painted garment of the Earth,
Ruining its chaos—a fierce breath 35
Consuming all its forms of living death.
A star has fallen upon the earth
Mid the benighted nations,
A quenchless atom of immortal light, 20
A living spark of Night,
A cresset shaken from the constellations.
Swifter than the thunder fell
To the heart of Earth, the well
Where its pulses flow and beat, 25
And unextinct in that cold source
Burns, and oncourse
Guides the sphere which is its prison,
Like an angelic spirit pent
In a form of mortal birth, 30
Till, as a spirit half-arisen
Shatters its charnel, it has rent,
In the rapture of its mirth,
The thin and painted garment of the Earth,
Ruining its chaos—a fierce breath 35
Consuming all its forms of living death.
FRAGMENT: 'I WOULD NOT BE A KING'
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, P. W., 1839, 2nd ed.]
I would not be a king—enough
Of woe it is to love;
The path to power is steep and rough,
And tempests reign above.
I would not climb the imperial throne; 5
'Tis built on ice which fortune's sun
Thaws in the height of noon.
Then farewell, king, yet were I one,
Care would not come so soon.
Would he and I were far away 10
Keeping flocks on Himalay!
Of woe it is to love;
The path to power is steep and rough,
And tempests reign above.
I would not climb the imperial throne; 5
'Tis built on ice which fortune's sun
Thaws in the height of noon.
Then farewell, king, yet were I one,
Care would not come so soon.
Would he and I were far away 10
Keeping flocks on Himalay!
GINEVRA
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824, and dated 'Pisa, 1821.']
Wild, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one
Who staggers forth into the air and sun
From the dark chamber of a mortal fever,
Bewildered, and incapable, and ever
Fancying strange comments in her dizzy brain 5
Of usual shapes, till the familiar train
Who staggers forth into the air and sun
From the dark chamber of a mortal fever,
Bewildered, and incapable, and ever
Fancying strange comments in her dizzy brain 5
Of usual shapes, till the familiar train
