But were the Devil's sight as keen
As Reason's penetrating eye,
His sulphurous Majesty I ween,
Would find but little cause for joy.
As Reason's penetrating eye,
His sulphurous Majesty I ween,
Would find but little cause for joy.
Shelley
Oh! why is the Father of Hell in such glee,
As he grins from ear to ear?
Why does he doff his clothes joyfully, _110
As he skips, and prances, and flaps his wing,
As he sidles, leers, and twirls his sting,
And dares, as he is, to appear?
24.
A statesman passed--alone to him,
The Devil dare his whole shape uncover, _115
To show each feature, every limb,
Secure of an unchanging lover.
25.
At this known sign, a welcome sight,
The watchful demons sought their King,
And every Fiend of the Stygian night, _120
Was in an instant on the wing.
26.
Pale Loyalty, his guilt-steeled brow,
With wreaths of gory laurel crowned:
The hell-hounds, Murder, Want and Woe,
Forever hungering, flocked around; _125
From Spain had Satan sought their food,
'Twas human woe and human blood!
27.
Hark! the earthquake's crash I hear,--
Kings turn pale, and Conquerors start,
Ruffians tremble in their fear, _130
For their Satan doth depart.
28.
This day Fiends give to revelry
To celebrate their King's return,
And with delight its Sire to see
Hell's adamantine limits burn. _135
29.
But were the Devil's sight as keen
As Reason's penetrating eye,
His sulphurous Majesty I ween,
Would find but little cause for joy.
30.
For the sons of Reason see _140
That, ere fate consume the Pole,
The false Tyrant's cheek shall be
Bloodless as his coward soul.
NOTE:
_55 Where cj. Rossetti; When 1812.
***
FRAGMENT OF A SONNET.
FAREWELL TO NORTH DEVON.
[Published (from the Esdaile manuscript book) by Dowden,
"Life of Shelley", 1887; dated August, 1812. ]
Where man's profane and tainting hand
Nature's primaeval loveliness has marred,
And some few souls of the high bliss debarred
Which else obey her powerful command;
. . . mountain piles _5
That load in grandeur Cambria's emerald vales.
***
ON LEAVING LONDON FOR WALES.
[Published (from the Esdaile manuscript book) by Dowden,
"Life of Shelley", 1887; dated November, 1812. ]
Hail to thee, Cambria! for the unfettered wind
Which from thy wilds even now methinks I feel,
Chasing the clouds that roll in wrath behind,
And tightening the soul's laxest nerves to steel;
True mountain Liberty alone may heal _5
The pain which Custom's obduracies bring,
And he who dares in fancy even to steal
One draught from Snowdon's ever sacred spring
Blots out the unholiest rede of worldly witnessing.
