The words of hate and care; the wondrous story How all things are transfigured except Love; (For deaf as is a sea, which wrath makes hoary, "The world can hear not the sweet notes that move The sphere whose light is melody to lovers) "Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers, The earth was gray with phantoms, and the air Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers "A flock of vampire-bats before the glare Of the tropic sun, bringing, ere evening, Strange night upon some Indian vale;-thus were "Phantoms diffused around; and some did fling Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves, Behind them; some like eaglets on the wing "Were lost in the white day; others like elves And others sat chattering like restless apes On vulgar hands, * Some made a cradle of the ermined capes "Of kingly mantles; some across the tire "A baby's or an idiot's brow, and made Their nests in it. The old anatomies Sat hatching their bare broods under the shade "Of demon wings, and laughed from their dead To re-assume the delegated power, [eyes Arrayed in which those worms did monarchize, "Who made this earth their charnel. Others more Humble, like falcons, sat upon the fist Of common men, and round their heads did soar; "Or like small gnats and flies, as thick as mist On evening marshes, thronged about the brow Of lawyers, statesmen, priest, and theorist; "And others, like discoloured flakes of snow "Which they extinguished; and, like tears, they were A veil to those from whose faint lids they rained In drops of sorrow. I became aware "Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stained The track in which we moved. After brief space, From every form the beauty slowly waned; "From every firmest limb and fairest face The strength and freshness fell like dust, and left The action and the shape without the grace "Of life. The marble brow of youth was cleft With care; and in those eyes where once hope Desire, like a lioness bereft [shone, "Of her last cub, glared ere it died; each one Of that great crowd sent forth incessantly These shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown "In autumn evening from a poplar tree, Each like himself and like each other were At first; but some distorted seemed to be "Obscure clouds, moulded by the casual air; "As the sun shapes the clouds; thus on the way Mask after mask fell from the countenance And form of all; and long before the day "Was old, the joy which waked like heaven's The sleepers in the oblivious valley, died; [glance And some grew weary of the ghastly dance, "And fell, as I have fallen, by the way-side ;Those soonest from whose forms most shadows past, And least of strength and beauty did abide. "Then, What is life? I cried." FRAGMENTS.* TO HERE, my dear friend, is a new book for you; To other friends, one female and one male; And all the rest, though fair and wise, commend Of modern morals, and the beaten road Who travel to their home among the dead, Free love has this, different from gold and clay, That to divide is not to take away. These fragments do not properly belong to the poems of 1822. They are gleanings from Shelley's manuscript books and papers; preserved not only because they are beautiful in themselves, but as affording indications of his feelings and virtues. Like ocean, which the general north wind breaks If I were one whom the loud world held wise, In the support of this kind of love ;— * It is a sweet thing friendship, a dear balm, |