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(Give me some straw) - must be stowed tenderly;
bors Farmers called gaps, and we schoolboys called ar
bors, Would feast till eight.”
With a bottle in one hand,
Lionel stood, when Melchior brought him steady,• “Sit at the helm — fasten this sheet — all ready!”
The chain is loosed, the sails are spread,
The living breath is fresh behind, As with dews and sunrise fed
Comes the laughing morning wind. The sails are full, the boat makes head Against the Serchio's torrent fierce, Then flags with intermitting course,
And hangs upon the wave, and stems
The tempest of the
In morning's smile its eddies coil,
The Serchio, twisting forth Between the marble barriers which it clove
At Ripafratta, leads through the dread chasm The wave that died the death which lovers love,
Living in what it sought; as if this spasm Had not yet passed, the toppling mountains cling,
But the clear stream in full enthusiasm Pours itself on the plain, then wandering,
Down one clear path of effluence crystalline Sends its superfluous waves, that they may fling
At Arno's feet tribute of corn and wine; Then, through the pestilential deserts wild
Of tangled marsh and woods of stunted pine, It rushes to the Ocean.
SUMMER was dead and Autumn was expiring,
And infant Winter laughed upon the land All cloudlessly and cold; when I, desiring
More in this world than any understand, Wept o'er the beauty, which, like sea retiring, Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn
sand Of my lorn heart, and o'er the grass and flowers Pale for the falsehood of the flattering hours.
112 then, Boscombe MS. || until, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
The Zucca. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824, and dated, Janaary,
1822. i. 7 lorn, Boscombe MS. || poor, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
The instability of all but weeping;
I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.
The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping From unremembered dreams shalt No death divide thy immortality,
Or any earthly one, though ye are dear
I loved I know not what — but this low sphere, And all that it contains, contains not thee,
Thou, whom, seen nowhere, I feel everywhere. From heaven and earth, and all that in them are Veiled art thou like a
IV By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou
flowest, Neither to be contained, delayed, nor hidden; Making divine the loftiest and the lowest,
When for a moment thou art not forbidden To live within the life which thou bestowest;
And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden, üi. 7 Boscombe MS. || Dim object of my soul's idolatry, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
iii. 8 Boscombe MS. || omit, Mrs. Shelley, 18391; Veiled art thou like .. Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
iv. 2 nor, Boscombe MS. II or, 1824.
Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flight,
In winds, and trees, and streams, and all things
common, In music, and the sweet unconscious tone Of animals, and voices which are human,
Meant to express some feelings of their own; In the soft motions and rare smile of woman, In flowers and leaves, and in the grass fresh
shown Or dying in the autumn, - I the most Adore thee present, or lament thee lost.
A plant upon the river's margin lie,
And in despair had cast him down to die;
eye Can blast not, but which pity kills; the dew Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.
The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth
Had crushed it on her unmaternal breast
v. 6 grass fresh, Boscombe MS. || fresh grass, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
vi. 6 like, Boscombe MS. || as, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.
I bore it to my chamber and I planted
It in a vase full of the lightest mould; The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted Fell through the window panes, disrobed of
cold, Upon its leaves and flowers ; the star which panted In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled Over the horizon's wave, with looks of light Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.
The mitigated influences of air
And light revived the plant, and from it grew Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,
Full as a cup with the vine's burning dew, O'erflowed with golden colors; an atmosphere
Of vital warmth enfolded it anew, And every impulse sent to every part The unbeheld pulsations of its heart.
Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,
Even if the air and sun had smiled not on it; For one wept o'er it all the winter long Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon
it Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song,
Mixed with the stringéd melodies that won it To leave the gentle lips on which it slept, Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.
x. 2 air and sun, Boscombe MS. || sun and air, Mrs. Shelley, 1824