LINES I FAR, far away, O ye II Vultures, who build your bowers Dying joys, choked by the dead, Will serve your beaks for prey Many a day. THE FUGITIVES I THE waters are flashing, Lines. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. The Fugitives. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. The whirlwind is rolling, The thunder is tolling, The forest is swinging, The minster bells ringing— The Earth is like Ocean, II "Our boat has one sail, A bold pilot I trow, Who should follow us now," And she cried, "Ply the oar; And from isle, tower and rock, And though dumb in the blast, From the lee. III "And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou? And see'st thou, and hear'st thou ? And drive we not free O'er the terrible sea, One boat-cloak did cover While around the lashed Ocean, IV In the court of the fortress Like a bloodhound well beaten The bridegroom stands, eaten On the topmost watch-turret, And with curses as wild As e'er clung to child, He devotes to the blast The best, loveliest, and last LINES WRITTEN ON HEARING THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON WHAT! alive and so bold, O Earth? What! leapest thou forth as of old Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled, How! is not thy quick heart cold? What spark is alive on thy hearth? Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled; "Who has known me of old," replied Earth, "Or who has my story told? It is thou who art over-bold." And the lightning of scorn laughed forth Lines written on hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon. Mrs. Shelley, 18391 || Written on hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon, Shelley, 1821. Published with Hellas, 1821. ii. 8 dost thou, Rossetti. And so with living motion all are fed, And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead. "Still alive and still bold," shouted Earth, The dead fill me ten thousand-fold Till by the spirit of the mighty dead I feed on whom I fed. "Ay, alive and still bold," muttered Earth, 66 Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled, In terror, and blood, and gold, A torrent of ruin to death from his birth. And weave into his shame, which like the dead SONNET POLITICAL GREATNESS NOR happiness, nor majesty, nor fame, arts, Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame; Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts, Sonnet. Political Greatness, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || Sonnet to the Republic of Benevento, Harvard MS. Published by Mrs. Shelley, |