THE POETICAL WORKS OF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1813. QUEEN MAB. THIS poem is re-printed from the edition of 1821-the first published. It was surreptitiously printed by a bookseller in the Strand (W. Clark) from one of the copies which Shelley had printed in 1813 for private distribution only. The poet sought an injunction against it. He never published "Queen Mab" himself, and his gifted wife doubted whether he would have allowed it a place in his collected poems. Probably he would not, as he had already published a portion of it (much altered) under the title of the "Demon of the World," which appeared with "Alastor" in 1816, as a Fragment. We have placed it at the end of "Queen Mab" in this edition. It will be seen that several of the alterations made in it have been inserted in the ordinary editions of the poem. TO HARRIET WHOSE is the love that, gleaming through the world, Whose is the warm and partial praise Virtue's most sweet reward? Beneath whose looks did my reviving soul Riper in truth and virtuous daring grow? Whose eyes have I gazed fondly on, And loved mankind the more? Harriet! on thine :-thou wert my purer mind; Thine are these early wilding flowers, Though garlanded by me. Then press unto thy breast this pledge of love; And know, though time may change and years may roll, It consecrates to thine, B I. How wonderful is Death, Hath then the gloomy Power Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres Seized on her sinless soul? Must then that peerless form Which love and admiration cannot view As breathing marble, perish? Leave nothing of this heavenly sight But loathsomeness and ruin? Spare nothing but a gloomy theme, On which the lightest heart might moralize? Or is it only a sweet slumber Stealing o'er sensation, Which the breath of roseate morning Will Iant he wake again, And give that faithful bosom joy Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch Light, life, and rapture from her smile? Yes! she will wake again, Although her glowing limbs are motionless, Once breathing eloquence That might have soothed a tiger's rage, And on their lids, whose texture fine The baby Sleep is pillowed: Her golden tresses shade The bosom's stainless pride, Curling like tendrils of the parasite Hark! whence that rushing sound? 'Tis like the wondrous strain That round a lonely ruin swells, Which, wandering on the echoing shore The enthusiast hears at evening: 'Tis softer than the west wind's sigh; 'Tis wilder than the unmeasured notes Of that strange lyre whose strings The genii of the breezes sweep: Those lines of rainbow light Are like the moonbeams when they fall Behold the chariot of the Fairy Queen! Upon the slumbering maid. Oh! not the visioned poet in his dreams, When silvery clouds float through the wildered brain, When fancy, at a glance, combines As that which reined the coursers of the air, The broad and yellow moon Moved not the moonlight's line: Saw not the yellow moon, Saw not the mortal scene, Heard not the night-wind's rush, Heard not an earthly sound, Saw but the fairy pageant, Heard but the heavenly strains That filled the lonely dwelling. The Fairy's frame was slight, yon fibrous cloud, The Fairy Queen descended, And thrice she waved her wand As are unheard by all but gifted ear. FAIRY. Stars! your balmiest influence shed! Let not a breath be seen to stir Soul of Ianthe! thou, Judged alone worthy of the envied boon, That waits the good and the sincere; that waits Those who have struggled, and with resolute will Vanquished earth's pride and meanness, burst the chains, The day-stars of their age;-Soul of Ianthe! Sudden arose Ianthe's Soul; it stood All beautiful in naked purity, The perfect semblance of its bodily frame. Upon the couch the body lay And every organ yet performed Yet, oh, how different! One aspires to Heaven, Wantons in endless being. The other, for a time the unwilling sport Then like an useless and worn-out machine, FAIRY. Spirit! who hast dived so deep; Thou the fearless, thou the mild, SPIRIT. Do I dream? Is this new feeling FAIRY. I am the Fairy MAB: to me 'tis given Those stern, unflattering chroniclers, I find: Which virtue's votary feels when he sums up The chains of earth's immurement They shrank and brake like bandages of straw The Fairy and the Soul proceeded; Unfurled their azure pennons, and the Queen Shaking the beamy reins Bade them pursue their way. The magic car moved on. The night was fair, and countless stars |