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They breathe their spells toward the departing day, Encompassing the earth, air, stars and sea; Light, sound and motion own the potent sway,
Responding to the charm with its own mystery. The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass Knows not their gentle motions as they pass.
Thou too, aërial Pile, whose pinnacles
Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells, Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant spire,
Around whose lessening and invisible height
The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres ;
And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound, Half sense, half thought, among the darkness
Breathed from their wormy beds all living things around;
And mingling with the still night and mute sky Its awful hush is felt inaudibly.
Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild
Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep
POET of Nature, thou hast wept to know
Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to
These common woes I feel. One loss is mine, Which thou too feel'st, yet I alone deplore; Thou wert as a lone star whose light did
On some frail bark in winter's midnight roar;
Deserting these, thou leavest me to grieve,
FEELINGS OF A REPUBLICAN ON THE FALL OF BONAPARTE
I HATED thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan
To Wordsworth. Published with Alastor, 1816.
Feelings of a Republican on the Fall of Bonaparte. Published with Alastor, 1816.
3 thou, shouldst || thee, Rossetti conj., should, Rossetti.
Where it had stood even now: thou didst prefer
And stifled thee, their minister. I know
Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, That Virtue owns a more eternal foe
Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, Legal Crime,
THE cold earth slept below;
With a chilling sound,
The wintry hedge was black;
On the bare thorn's breast,
Thine eyes glowed in the glare
Lines. Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || November, 1815. Pocket-Book, 1823. Published by Hunt, 1823.
As a fen-fire's beam
On a sluggish stream
Gleams dimly-so the moon shone there,
The moon made thy lips pale, beloved
On thy dear head
Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie
iii. 6 tangled, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || raven, Hunt, 1823.
POEMS WRITTEN IN 1816
THERE late was One within whose subtle being,
There now the sun had sunk; but lines of
Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points
The Sunset. Published in part by Hunt in The Literary PocketBook, 1823, 9-20, with title, Sunset. From an unpublished poem, and, 28-42, with title, Grief. A Fragment; and, entire, by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Composed at Bishopsgate in the spring.
4 death, Mrs. Shelley, 1839 1 || youth, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.