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II.

"Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not;
But when I think that he

Who made and makes my lot

As full of flowers as thine of weeds,
Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine,
Might then have charmed1 his agony
As I another's-my heart bleeds
For thine.

III.

Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of

The dead and the unborn

Forget thy life and love;2

Forget that thou must wake for ever;

Forget the world's dull scorn;

Forget lost health, and the divine

Feelings which died in youth's brief morn;
And forget me, for I can never

Be thine.

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IV.

Like a cloud big with a May shower,

My soul weeps healing rain,

On thee, thou withered flower;
It breathes mute music on thy sleep;
Its odour calms thy brain;

Its light within thy gloomy breast

1 In Medwin's and Mrs. Shelley's versions, chased; but charmed in the MS.

2 Medwin reads woes: so does Mrs. Shelley in the first edition of 1839;

but in the second, she substitutes love.

3 So in the second edition of 1839; but that in the first and in The Shelley Papers.

Spreads1 like a second youth again.
By mine thy being is to its deep

Possest.

V.

"The spell is done. How feel you now?"
"Better-Quite well," replied

-The sleeper.-"What would do

You good when suffering and awake?
What cure your head and side ?—”

What would cure, that would kill me, Jane:2
And as I must on earth abide

Awhile, yet tempt me not to break

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II.

As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,

The heart's echoes render

No song when the spirit is mute:-
No song but sad dirges,

Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges

That ring the dead seaman's knell.

III.

When hearts have once mingled
Love first leaves the well-built nest,
The weak one is singled

To endure what it once possest.
O, Love who bewailest

The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest

For your cradle, your home and your bier?

IV.

Its passions will rock thee

As the storms rock the ravens on high:

Bright reason will mock thee,

Like the sun from a wintry sky.

From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home

Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.

1 So in the second edition of 1839;

but in the first, and in the Posthumous

Poems, we read the for thee.

TO JANE-THE INVITATION.1

BEST and brightest, come away!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.

The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Through the winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the haleyon Morn
To hoar February born;

Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the Earth,

1 A part of this and a part of the next poem were published by Mrs. Shelley in the Posthumous Poems (1824), as one composition, under the single title of The Pine Forest of the Cascine near Pisa; and this arrangement was followed in the first edition of 1839; but in the second edition of that year the poem was divided into two, as in the text, and given in substantial accordance with the autograph copy in Mr. Trelawny's hands, consuited by Mr. Rossetti for his edition. Mrs. Shelley, however, only called these two poems The Invitation and The Recollection. To both versions of the composition she affixed the date

February, 1822." I am disposed to think that Shelley must have left at least two MSS. of this later form, beside that of the earlier form from which Mrs. Shelley gave her first version. The slight variations between her second version and Mr. Trelawny's MS. are recorded in the ensuing notes. Mr. Rossetti observes that the original title is "worth bearing in mind as determining the loca

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lity"; but there is much more than that worthy, in my opinion, of careful preservation; and, as the variations of the early from the late version are very considerable, I extract some passages of the former in full in lieu of recording a number of additional variorum readings. Thus, the opening of The Pine Forest of the Cascine near Pisa is as follows :

Dearest, best and brightest,
Come away,

To the woods and to the fields!
Dearer than this fairest day,
Which like thee to those in sorrow,
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough year just awake
In its cradle in the brake.

The eldest of the hours of spring,
Into the winter wandering
Looks upon the leafless wood;
And the banks all bare and rude
Found it seems this halcyon morn,
In February's bosom born,
Bending from heaven, in azure mirth,
Kissed the cold forehead of the earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free;
And waked to music all the fountains,
And breathed upon the rigid mountains,
And made the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

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To take what this sweet hour yields;-
Reflection, you may come to-morrow,
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow.—
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,—
You tiresome verse-reciter, Care,--
I will pay you in the grave,—
Death will listen to your stave.
Expectation too, be off!

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