Whose revenge, pride, and power they have

overthrown:

Ride ye, more victorious, over your own.

Bind, bind every brow

With crownals violet, ivy, and pine:

Hide the blood-stains now

With hues which sweet nature has made

divine:

Green strength, azure hope, and eternity:
But let not the pansy among them be;
Ye were injured, and that means memory.

To Mary Shelley

HE world is dreary,

And I am weary

Of wandering on without thee,

Mary;

A joy was erewhile

In thy voice and thy smile,

And 'tis gone, when I should be gone too,

Mary.

ATHER, O gather,

Foeman and friend in love and

peace!

Waves sleep together

When the blasts that called them to battle,

cease.

For fangless Power grown tame and mild
Is at play with Freedom's fearless child-
The dove and the serpent reconciled!

Fragment: Love's
Atmosphere

T

HERE is a warm and gentle atmosphere

About the form of one we love,

and thus

As in a tender mist our spirits are

Wrapt in the

of that which is to us

The health of life's own life.

Paradise of golden lights!

Deep, immeasurable, vast,

Which art now, and which wert then
Of the present and the past,
Of the eternal where and when,
Presence-chamber, temple, home,
Ever-canopying dome,

Of acts and ages yet to come!

Glorious shapes have life in thee,
Earth, and all earth's company;

Living globes which ever throng Thy deep chasms and wildernesses; And green worlds that glide along; And swift stars with flashing tresses; And icy moons most cold and bright, And mighty suns beyond the night, Atoms of intensest light.

Even thy name is as a god,
Heaven! for thou art the abode

Of that power which is the glass
Wherein man his nature sees.
Generations as they pass
Worship thee with bended knees.

Their unremaining gods and they
Like a river roll away:

Thou remainest such alway.

SECOND SPIRIT

Thou art but the mind's first chamber, Round which its young fancies clamber,

Like weak insects in a cave, Lighted up by stalactites;

But the portal of the grave, Where a world of new delights Will make thy best glories seem But a dim and noonday gleam From the shadow of a dream!

THIRD SPIRIT

Peace! the abyss is wreathed with scorn

At

your presumption, atom-born!

What is heaven? and what are ye

Who its brief expanse inherit?

What are suns and spheres which flee

With the instinct of that spirit

Of which ye are but a part?

Drops which Nature's mighty heart

Drives through thinnest veins! Depart!

What is heaven? a globe of dew,

Filling in the morning new

Some eyed flower whose young leaves

waken

On an unimagined world:

Constellated suns unshaken,