Traced over them in blue and yellow paint. A thing from which sweet lips were wont to drink Of figures, disentangle them who may. Baron de Tott's Memoirs beside them lie, And here like some weird Archimage sit I, Plotting dark spells, and devilish enginery, 84 queer, Boscombe MS. || green, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824. 92 odd hooks, Mrs. Shelley transcript || old hooks, Mrs. Shelley, 1824, old books, Mrs. Shelley, 18391. 100 those Mrs. Shelley, transcript || them, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 101 lead, Boscombe MS. || least, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824. The self-impelling steam-wheels of the mind Into a powdery foam of salt abuse, I sit and smile or sigh as is my bent, I heed him more than them; the thunder-smoke You are not here! the quaint witch Memory sees In vacant chairs your absent images, And points where once you sat, and now should be Shall meet as then we met; and she replies, 127 eye, Boscombe MS., Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 18391 || age, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. "I know the past alone but summon home My sister Hope, — she speaks of all to come.” Of our communion - how on the seashore How I ran home through last year's thunder-storm, 140 knew, Boscombe MS. || know, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824. 144 citing, Boscombe MS, || acting, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824. 151 Feasts, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || Treats, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 153 well it, Mrs. Shelley, transcript | it well, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 158 believe, and, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || believe; or, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 164 Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824 || no longer as we are, Forman conj. Like babbling gossips safe, who hear the war Of visionary rhyme, in joy and pain Struck from the inmost fountains of my brain, The language of a land which now is free, And bursts the peopled prisons, and cries aloud, 66 My name is Legion!"-that majestic tongue Which Calderon over the desert flung Of ages and of nations, and which found and with the sound Startled oblivion ; thou wert then to me A child would talk as its grown parents do. If living winds the rapid clouds pursue, If hawks chase doves through the ethereal way, Huntsmen the innocent deer, and beasts their prey, Why should not we rouse with the spirit's blast Out of the forest of the pathless past These recollected pleasures? You are now In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow 173 their, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || the, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 188 ethereal, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || aërial, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more. Yet in its depth what treasures! You will see That which was Godwin, greater none than he Though fallen and fallen on evil times-to stand Among the spirits of our age and land, Before the dread tribunal of to come The foremost, while Rebuke cowers pale and dumb. You will see Coleridge - he who sits obscure Intense irradiation of a mind, Which, with its own internal lightning blind, A hooded eagle among blinking owls. Which are the salt of the earth, and without whom This world would smell like what it is a tomb; Who is what others seem; his room no doubt Is still adorned by many a cast from Shout, With graceful flowers tastefully placed about, And coronals of bay from ribbons hung, And brighter wreaths in neat disorder flung, — The gifts of the most learned among some dozens 197-201 Boscombe MS., Mrs. Shelley, transcript || omit, Mrs. Shelley, 1824, 18391. Your old friend Godwin, greater none than he; Among the spirits of our age and land, Before the dread tribunal of To-come The foremost, whilst rebuke stands pale and dumb. Mrs. Shelley, 18392. 205 lightning, Boscombe MS., Mrs. Shelley, transcript || lustre, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. |