To see that Anchor ever hanging, And veiled her eyes; she then did hear

And columns framed of marble white,

And giant fanes, dome over dome Piled, and triumphant gates, all bright

With workmanship, which could not come

From touch of mortal instrument,

The sound as of a dim low clang-Shot o'er the vales, or lustre lent From its own shapes magnificent.

ing, And looked abroad if she might know

35 Was it aught else, or but the flow Of the blood in her own veins, to and fro.

XI

60

But still the Lady heard that clang
Filling the wide air far away; 65
And still the mist whose light did

hang

Among the mountains shook
alway,

So that the Lady's heart beat fast,
As half in joy, and half aghast,
On those high domes her look she

cast.

28 or 1824; nor 1839.

70

62 or] a cj. Rossetti.

By the wild waves heaped tumult. For it was filled with sculptures

Of his own mind did there endure 92 flames cj. Rossetti; waves 1819, 1824, 1839. IOI mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839. 106 flood] flames cj. James Thomson ('B.V.'). 120 that 1819, 1824;

XXII

And their lips moved; one seemed to speak,

When suddenly the mountains cracked,

creep,

And she walked about as one who knew 145

That sleep has sights as clear and true

135 As any waking eyes can view.

TO CONSTANTIA, SINGING

[Published by Mrs. Shelley in Posthumous Poems, 1824. Amongst the Shelley MSS. at the Bodleian is a chaotic first draft, from which Mr. Locock [Examination, &c., 1903, pp. 60-62] has, with patient ingenuity, disengaged a first and a second stanza consistent with the metrical scheme of stanzas iii and iv. The two stanzas thus recovered are printed here immediately below the poem as edited by Mrs. Shelley. It need hardly be added that Mr. Locock's restored version cannot, any more than Mrs. Shelley's obviously imperfect one, be regarded in the light of a final recension.]

I

THUS to be lost and thus to sink and die,

Perchance were death indeed!-Constantia, turn!

In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie,

Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn
Between thy lips, are laid to sleep;

5

Within thy breath, and on thy hair, like odour, it is yet,

And from thy touch like fire doth leap.

Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet,

Alas, that the torn heart can bleed, but not forget!

II

A breathless awe, like the swift change

Unseen, but felt in youthful slumbers,

Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange.

Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers.
The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven
By the enchantment of thy strain,

And on my shoulders wings are woven,

135 mountains 1819; mountain 1824, 1839.

10

15

To follow its sublime career

Beyond the mighty moons that wane

Upon the verge of Nature's utmost sphere,

Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear.

III

Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it lingers
O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings,
The blood and life within those snowy fingers
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings.
My brain is wild, my breath comes quick-
The blood is listening in my frame,
And thronging shadows, fast and thick,
Fall on my overflowing eyes;

My heart is quivering like a flame;

As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies,
I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies.

IV

I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee,
Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song
Flows on, and fills all things with melody.-
Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong,
On which, like one in trance upborne,
Secure o'er rocks and waves

Rejoicing like a cloud of morn.

sweep,

Now 'tis the breath of summer night,

Which when the starry waters sleep,

Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright,

Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.

STANZAS I AND II

As restored by Mr. C. D. Locock

I

Cease, cease-for such wild lessons madmen learn
Thus to be lost, and thus to sink and die
Perchance were death indeed!-Constantia turn
In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie
Even though the sounds its voice that were
Between [thy] lips are laid to sleep:
Within thy breath, and on thy hair
Like odour, it is [lingering] yet

And from thy touch like fire doth leap-
Even while I write, my burning cheeks are wet-
Alas, that the torn heart can bleed but not forget.

II

[A deep and] breathless awe like the swift change Of dreams unseen but felt in youthful slumbers Wild sweet yet incommunicably strange

Thou breathest now in fast ascending numbers.

TO CONSTANTIA

[Dated 1817 by Mrs. Shelley, and printed by her in the Poetical Works, 1839, 1st edition. A copy exists amongst the Shelley MSS. at the Bodleian. See Mr. C. D. Locock's Examination, &c., 1903,

p. 46.]

I

THE rose that drinks the fountain dew
In the pleasant air of noon,

Grows pale and blue with altered hue-

In the gaze of the nightly moon;

For the planet of frost, so cold and bright,
Makes it wan with her borrowed light.

II

Such is my heart-roses are fair,

And that at best a withered blossom;

But thy false care did idly wear

Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom ;
And fed with love, like air and dew,
Its growth-

FRAGMENT: TO ONE SINGING

[Dated 1817 by Mrs. Shelley, and published in the Poetical Works, 1839, 1st edition. The MS. original, by which Mr. Locock has revised and (by one line) enlarged the text, is amongst the Shelley MSS. at the Bodleian. The metre, as Mr. Locock (Examination, &c., 1903, p. 63) points out, is terza rima.]

My spirit like a charmed bark doth swim

Upon the liquid waves of thy sweet singing,
Far far away into the regions dim

Of rapture-as a boat, with swift sails winging

Its way adown some many-winding river,

Speeds through dark forests o'er the waters swinging

A FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC

[Published in Poetical Works, 1839, 1st ed. Dated 1817 (Mrs. Shelley).]

SILVER key of the fountain of tears,

Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild;

Softest grave of a thousand fears,

Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child,
Is laid asleep in flowers.

ANOTHER FRAGMENT TO MUSIC

[Published in Poetical Works, 1839, 1st ed. Dated 1817 (Mrs. Shelley).]

No, Music, thou art not the 'food of Love,'
Unless Love feeds upon its own sweet self,

Till it becomes all Music murmurs of.

To Constantia-1 The rose] The red Rose B.

6 her omitted B.

2 pleasant] fragrant B.

To One Singing-3 Far far away B.; Far away 1839.

6 Speeds... swinging B.; omitted 1839.

5

IO

5

5