crease his popularity by adopting subjects that would more suit the popular taste than a poem conceived in the abstract and dreamy spirit of the Witch of Atlas. It was not only that I wished him to acquire popularity as redounding to his fame; but I believed that he would obtain a greater mastery over his own powers, and greater happiness in his mind, if public applause crowned his endeavours. The few stanzas that precede the poem were addressed to me on my representing these ideas to him. Even now I believe that I was in the right. Shelley did not expect sympathy and approbation from the public; but the want of it took away a portion of the ardour that ought to have sustained him while writing. He was thrown on his own resources, and on the inspiration of his own soul; and wrote because his mind overflowed, without the hope of being appreciated. I had not the most distant wish that he should truckle in opinion, or submit his lofty aspirations for the human race to the low ambition and pride of the many; but I felt sure that, if his poems were more addressed to the common feelings of men, his proper rank among the writers of the day would be acknowledged, and that popularity as a poet would enable his countrymen to do justice to his character and virtues, which in those days it was the mode to attack with the most flagitious calumnies and insulting abuse. That he felt these things deeply cannot be doubted, though he armed himself with the consciousness of acting from a lofty and heroic sense of right. The truth burst from his heart sometimes in solitude, and he would write a few unfinished verses that showed that he felt the sting; I knew that there were crimes and evil men, Misery and hate; nor did I hope to pass Untouched by suffering through the rugged glen. In mine own heart I saw as in a glass The hearts of others. . . . And, when I went among my kind, with triple brass Of calm endurance my weak breast I armed, To bear scorn, fear, and hate-a woful mass!' I believed that all this morbid feeling would vanish if the chord of sympathy between him and his countrymen were touched. But my persuasions were vain, the mind could not be bent from its natural inclination. Shelley shrunk instinctively from portraying human passion, with its mixture of good and evil, of disappointment and disquiet. Such opened again the wounds of his own heart; and he loved to shelter himself rather in the airiest flights of fancy, forgetting love and hate, and regret and lost hope, in such imaginations as borrowed their hues from sunrise or sunset, from the yellow moonshine or paly twilight, from the aspect of the far ocean or the shadows of the woods, ---which celebrated the singing of the winds among the pines, the flow of a murmuring stream, and the thousand harmonious sounds which Nature creates in her solitudes. These are the materials which form the Witch of Atlas: it is a brilliant congregation of ideas such as his senses gathered, and his fancy coloured, during his rambles in the sunny land he so much loved. OEDIPUS TYRANNUS OR SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT A TRAGEDY IN TWO ACTS TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL DORIC 'Choose Reform or Civil War, When through thy streets, instead of hare with dogs, [Begun at the Baths of San Giuliano, near Pisa, August 24, 1819; published anonymously by J. Johnston, Cheapside (imprint C. F. Seyfang), 1820. On a threat of prosecution the publisher surrendered the whole impression, seven copies-the total number sold-excepted. Oedipus does not appear in the first edition of the Poetical Works, 1839, but it was included by Mrs. Shelley in the second edition of that year. Our text is that of the editio princeps, 1820, save in three places, where the reading of ed. 1820 will be found at the foot of the page.] ADVERTISEMENT THIS Tragedy is one of a triad, or system of three Plays (an arrangement according to which the Greeks were accustomed to connect their dramatic representations), elucidating the wonderful and appalling fortunes of the SWELLFOOT dynasty. It was evidently written by some learned Theban, and, from its characteristic dulness, apparently before the duties on the importation of Attic salt had been repealed by the Boeotarchs. The tenderness with which he treats the PIGS proves him to have been a sus Boeotiae; possibly Epicuri de grege porcus; for, as the poet observes, 'A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.' No liberty has been taken with the translation of this remarkable piece of antiquity, except the suppressing a seditious and blasphemous Chorus of the Pigs and Bulls at the last Act. The word Hoydipouse (or more properly Oedipus) has been rendered literally SWELLFOOT, without its having been conceived necessary to determine whether a swelling of the hind or the fore feet of the Swinish Monarch is particularly indicated. Should the remaining portions of this Tragedy be found, entitled, Swellfoot in Angaria, and Charité, the Translator might be tempted to give them to the reading Public. SCENE I.-A magnificent Temple, built of thigh-bones and death'sheads, and tiled with scalps. Over the Altar the statue of Famine, veiled; a number of Boars, Sows, and Sucking-Pigs, crowned with thistle, shamrock, and oak, sitting on the steps, and clinging round the Altar of the Temple. Enter SWELLFOOT, in his Royal robes, without perceiving the PIGS. Swellfoot. Thou supreme Goddess! by whose power divine These graceful limbs are clothed in proud array [He contemplates himself with satisfaction. Of gold and purple, and this kingly paunch The Swine. Eigh! eigh! eigh! eigh! Ha! what are ye, Who, crowned with leaves devoted to the Furies, Cling round this sacred shrine? Swine. Aigh! aigh! aigh! Swell foot. What! ye that are The very beasts that, offered at her altar 5 ΤΟ 15 20 1 See Universal History for an account of the number of people who died, and the immense consumption of garlic by the wretched Egyptians, who made a sepulchre for the name as well as the bodies of their tyrants. [SHELLEY'S NOTE.] SHELLEY With blood and groans, salt-cake, and fat, and inwards, When taxes are withheld? Swine. Ugh! ugh! ugh! What! ye who grub 25 With filthy snouts my red potatoes up Who swill the hog-wash soup my cooks digest The Swine.-Semichorus I. The same, alas! the same; Semichorus II. If 'twere your kingly will Us wretched Swine to kill, What should we yield to thee? 30 35 Swellfoot. Why, skin and bones, and some few hairs for mortar. Chorus of Swine. I have heard your Laureate sing, Under your mighty ancestors, we Pigs Were bless'd as nightingales on myrtle sprigs, The murrain and the mange, the scab and itch; First Sow. My Pigs, 'tis in vain to tug. Second Sow. I could almost eat my litter. First Pig. I suck, but no milk will come from the dug. Second Pig. Our skin and our bones would be bitter. The Boars. We fight for this rag of greasy rug, Though a trough of wash would be fitter. 40 45 50 Semichorus. Happier Swine were they than we, I wish that pity would drive out the devils, Guard. Enter a GUARD. Your sacred Majesty. Swell foot. Call in the Jews, Solomon the court porkman, Moses the sow-gelder, and Zephaniah The hog-butcher. Guard. They are in waiting, Sire. Enter SOLOMON, MOSES, and ZEPHANIAH. 55 60 65 70 Swellfoot. Out with your knife, old Moses, and spay those Sows [The PIGS run about in consternation. That load the earth with Pigs; cut close and deep Moral restraint I see has no effect, Nor prostitution, nor our own example, This was the art which the arch-priest of Famine Moses. 75 Let your Majesty Zephaniah, cut 80 That fat Hog's throat, the brute seems overfed; Seditious hunks! to whine for want of grains. Zephaniah. Your sacred Majesty, he has the dropsy; We shall find pints of hydatids in's liver, He has not half an inch of wholesome fat Upon his carious ribs Swell foot. 'Tis all the same, He'll serve instead of riot money, when Our murmuring troops bivouac in Thebes' streets; Of butchering, will make them relish carrion. Now, Solomon, I'll sell you in a lump The whole kit of them. 85 00 Solomon. Why, your Majesty, 59 thy ed. 1820; your ed. 1839. 1 |