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So in the caverns of the forest green,
Or by the rocks of echoing ocean hoar,
Zonoras and Prince Athanase were seen

By summer woodmen ; and when winter's roar
Sounded o'er earth and sea its blast of war,
The Balearic fisher, driven from shore,

Hanging upon the peaked wave afar,

Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam, Piercing the stormy darkness like a star

Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam, Whilst all the constellations of the sky

Seemed reeling through the storm. They did but

seem

For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, And bright Arcturus through yon pines is glowing,

And far o'er southern waves, immovably

Belted Orion hangs - warm light is flowing From the young moon into the sunset's chasm. "O summer eve with power divine, bestowing

66

"On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm

58 So, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || And, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 75 eve, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || night, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

"Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and mad

ness,

Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale !
And these soft waves, murmuring a gentle sadness,

"And the far sighings of yon piny dale Made vocal by some wind we feel not here, I bear alone what nothing may avail

"To lighten a strange load!"-- No human ear Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan Of Athanase a ruffling atmosphere

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Of dark emotion, a swift shadow, ran,
Like wind upon some forest-bosomed lake,
Glassy and dark. And that divine old man

Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake,
Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest;
And with a calm and measured voice he spake,

And with a soft and equal pressure, pressed
That cold, lean hand: -"Dost thou remember yet,
When the curved moon, then lingering in the west,

"Paused in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea?

'Tis just one year sure thou dost not forget

"Then Plato's words of light in thee and me Lingered like moonlight in the moonless east ; For we had just then read thy memory

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"Is faithful now
the story of the feast;
And Agathon and Diotima seemed
From death and dark forgetfulness released."

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'Twas at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber, as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings,

Stands up before its mother bright and mild,
Of whose soft voice the air expectant seems
So stood before the sun, which shone and smiled

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To see it rise thus joyous from its dreams,
The fresh and radiant Earth. The hoary grove
Waxed green, and flowers burst forth like starry
beams;

The grass in the warm sun did start and move,
And sea-buds burst beneath the waves serene.
How many a one, though none be near to love,

Loves then the shade of his own soul, half seen
In any mirror, or the spring's young minions,
The winged leaves amid the copses green!

How many a spirit then puts on the pinions
Of fancy, and outstrips the lagging blast,
And his own steps, and over wide dominions

Sweeps in his dream-drawn chariot, far and fast, More fleet than storms the wide world shrinks

below,

When winter and despondency are passed!

116 beneath, Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || under, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

'Twas at this season that Prince Athanase Passed the white Alps; those eagle-baffling mountains

Slept in their shrouds of snow; beside the ways

The waterfalls were voiceless, for their fountains Were changed to mines of sunless crystal now; Or, by the curdling winds, like brazen wings

Which clanged along the mountain's marble brow,
Warped into adamantine fretwork, hung,
And filled with frozen light the chasm below.

Thou art the wine whose drunkenness is all
We can desire, O Love! and happy souls,
Ere from thy vine the leaves of autumn fall,

Catch thee, and feed from their o'erflowing bowls Thousands who thirst for thy ambrosial dew! Thou art the radiance which where ocean rolls

Investest it; and when the heavens are blue
Thou fillest them; and when the earth is fair
The shadow of thy moving wings imbue

Its deserts and its mountains, till they wear Beauty like some bright robe; thou ever soar

est

Among the towers of men, and as soft air

142 Invests it: and when heavens are blue, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Investeth, Rossetti.

144 Shadows, Rossetti.

In spring, which moves the unawakened forest, Clothing with leaves its branches bare and bleak, Thou floatest among men, and aye implorest

That which from thee they should implore; the weak

Alone kneel to thee, offering up the hearts
The strong have broken; yet where shall any seek

A garment whom thou clothest not?

Her hair was brown, her spherèd eyes were brown,
And in their dark and liquid moisture swam,
Like the dim orb of the eclipsèd moon;

Yet when the spirit flashed beneath, there came
The light from them, as when tears of delight
Double the western planet's serene flame.

THE WOODMAN AND THE NIGHTINGALE

A WOODMAN, whose rough heart was out of tune (I think such hearts yet never came to good), Hated to hear, under the stars or moon,

One nightingale in an interfluous wood
Satiate the hungry dark with melody;
And as a vale is watered by a flood,

160 flame, Boscombe MS. || frame, Mrs. Shelley, 18392. The Woodman and the Nightingale. Published, 1-67, by Mrs. Shelley, 1824, and, 68-70, by Garnett, 1862. Dated, 1818.

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