The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley (ed. Hutchinson, 1914)/To the Lord Chancellor
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TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR
[Published in part (v-ix, xiv) by Mrs. Shelley, P. W., 1839, 1st ed. (without title); in full 2nd ed. (with title). Four transcripts in Mrs. Shelley's hand are extant: two—Leigh Hunt's and Ch. Cowden Clarke's—described by Forman, and two belonging to Mr. C. W. Frederickson of Brooklyn, described by Woodberry [P. W., Centenary Edition, iii. 193-6]. One of the latter (here referred to as Fa) is corrected in Shelley's autograph. A much-corrected draft in Shelley's hand is in the Harvard MS. book.]
I
Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest
Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm
Which rends our Mother's bosom—Priestly Pest!
Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!
Thy country's curse is on thee, darkest crest
Of that foul, knotted, many-headed worm
Which rends our Mother's bosom—Priestly Pest!
Masked Resurrection of a buried Form!
II
Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice sold, 5
Truth trampled, Nature's landmarks overthrown,
And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold,
Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction's throne.
Thy country's curse is on thee! Justice sold, 5
Truth trampled, Nature's landmarks overthrown,
And heaps of fraud-accumulated gold,
Plead, loud as thunder, at Destruction's throne.
III
And, whilst that sure slow Angel which aye[1] stands
Watching the beck of Mutability 10
Delays to execute her high commands,
And, though a nation weeps, spares thine and thee,
And, whilst that sure slow Angel which aye[1] stands
Watching the beck of Mutability 10
Delays to execute her high commands,
And, though a nation weeps, spares thine and thee,
IV
Oh, let a father's curse be on thy soul,
And let a daughter's hope be on thy tomb;
Be both, on thy gray head, a leaden cowl 15
To weigh thee down to thine approaching doom.
Oh, let a father's curse be on thy soul,
And let a daughter's hope be on thy tomb;
Be both, on thy gray head, a leaden cowl 15
To weigh thee down to thine approaching doom.
V
I curse thee by a parent's outraged love,
By hopes long cherished and too lately lost,
By gentle feelings thou couldst never prove,
By griefs which thy stern nature never crossed; 20
I curse thee by a parent's outraged love,
By hopes long cherished and too lately lost,
By gentle feelings thou couldst never prove,
By griefs which thy stern nature never crossed; 20
VI
By those infantine smiles of happy light,
Which were a fire within a stranger's hearth,
Quenched even when kindled, in untimely night
Hiding the promise of a[2] lovely birth:
By those infantine smiles of happy light,
Which were a fire within a stranger's hearth,
Quenched even when kindled, in untimely night
Hiding the promise of a[2] lovely birth:
VII
By those unpractised accents of young speech,25
Which he who is a father thought to frame
To gentlest lore[3], such as the wisest teach—
Thou strike the lyre of mind!—oh, grief and shame!
By those unpractised accents of young speech,25
Which he who is a father thought to frame
To gentlest lore[3], such as the wisest teach—
Thou strike the lyre of mind!—oh, grief and shame!
VIII
By all the happy see in children's growth—
That undeveloped flower of budding years—30
Sweetness and sadness interwoven both,
Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest[4] fears—
By all the happy see in children's growth—
That undeveloped flower of budding years—30
Sweetness and sadness interwoven both,
Source of the sweetest hopes and saddest[4] fears—
IX
By all the days, under an hireling's care,
Of dull constraint and bitter heaviness,—
O wretched ye if ever any were,—35
Sadder than orphans, yet not fatherless![5]
By all the days, under an hireling's care,
Of dull constraint and bitter heaviness,—
O wretched ye if ever any were,—35
Sadder than orphans, yet not fatherless![5]
X
By the false cant which on their innocent lips
Must hang like poison on an opening bloom,
By the dark creeds which cover with eclipse
Their pathway from the cradle to the tomb—40
By the false cant which on their innocent lips
Must hang like poison on an opening bloom,
By the dark creeds which cover with eclipse
Their pathway from the cradle to the tomb—40
XI
By thy most impious Hell, and all its terror;
By all the grief, the madness, and the guilt
Of thine impostures, which must be their error—
That sand on which thy crumbling power is built—[6]
By thy most impious Hell, and all its terror;
By all the grief, the madness, and the guilt
Of thine impostures, which must be their error—
That sand on which thy crumbling power is built—[6]
XII
By thy complicity with lust and hate—45
Thy thirst for tears—thy hunger after gold—
The ready frauds which ever on thee wait—
The servile arts in which thou hast grown old—
By thy complicity with lust and hate—45
Thy thirst for tears—thy hunger after gold—
The ready frauds which ever on thee wait—
The servile arts in which thou hast grown old—
XIII
By thy most killing sneer, and by thy smile—
By all the arts and snares[7] of thy black den,50
And—for thou canst outweep the crocodile—
By thy false tears—those millstones braining men—
By thy most killing sneer, and by thy smile—
By all the arts and snares[7] of thy black den,50
And—for thou canst outweep the crocodile—
By thy false tears—those millstones braining men—
XIV
By all the hate which checks a father's love—
By all the scorn which kills a father's care—
By those most impious hands which dared remove 55
Nature's high bounds—by thee—and by despair—
By all the hate which checks a father's love—
By all the scorn which kills a father's care—
By those most impious hands which dared remove 55
Nature's high bounds—by thee—and by despair—
XV
Yes, the despair which bids a father groan,
And cry, 'My children are no longer mine—
The blood within those[8] veins may be mine own,
But—Tyrant—their polluted souls are thine;— 60
Yes, the despair which bids a father groan,
And cry, 'My children are no longer mine—
The blood within those[8] veins may be mine own,
But—Tyrant—their polluted souls are thine;— 60
XVI
I curse thee—though I hate thee not.—O slave!
If thou couldst quench the earth-consuming Hell
Of which thou art a daemon, on thy grave
This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well!
I curse thee—though I hate thee not.—O slave!
If thou couldst quench the earth-consuming Hell
Of which thou art a daemon, on thy grave
This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well!
- ↑ Angel which aye cancelled by Shelley for Fate which ever Fa.
- ↑ promise of a 1839, 2nd ed.; promises of 1839, 1st ed.
- ↑ lore] love Fa.
- ↑ and saddest] the saddest Fa.
- ↑ yet not fatherless! cancelled by Shelley for why not fatherless? Fa.
- ↑ 41-4 By ... built 'crossed by Shelley and marked dele by Mrs. Shelley' (Woodberry) Fa.
- ↑ arts and snares 1839, 1st ed.; snares and arts Harvard Coll. MS.; snares and nets Fa.; acts and snares 1839, 2nd ed.
- ↑ those] their Fa.