_37 Bitter
editions
1839; Better 1824.
Shelley
.
.
_180
Some melted into tears without a sob,
And some with hearts that might be heard to throb
Leaned on the table and at intervals
Shuddered to hear through the deserted halls
And corridors the thrilling shrieks which came _185
Upon the breeze of night, that shook the flame
Of every torch and taper as it swept
From out the chamber where the women kept;--
Their tears fell on the dear companion cold
Of pleasures now departed; then was knolled _190
The bell of death, and soon the priests arrived,
And finding Death their penitent had shrived,
Returned like ravens from a corpse whereon
A vulture has just feasted to the bone.
And then the mourning women came. -- _195
. . .
THE DIRGE.
Old winter was gone
In his weakness back to the mountains hoar,
And the spring came down
From the planet that hovers upon the shore
Where the sea of sunlight encroaches _200
On the limits of wintry night;--
If the land, and the air, and the sea,
Rejoice not when spring approaches,
We did not rejoice in thee,
Ginevra! _205
She is still, she is cold
On the bridal couch,
One step to the white deathbed,
And one to the bier,
And one to the charnel--and one, oh where? _210
The dark arrow fled
In the noon.
Ere the sun through heaven once more has rolled,
The rats in her heart
Will have made their nest, _215
And the worms be alive in her golden hair,
While the Spirit that guides the sun,
Sits throned in his flaming chair,
She shall sleep.
NOTES:
22 Was]Were cj. Rossetti. old
26 ever 1824; even editions 1839.
_37 Bitter editions 1839; Better 1824.
_63 wanting in 1824.
_103 quiet rest cj. A. C. Bradley; quiet and rest 1824.
_129 winds]lands cj. Forman; waves, sands or strands cj. Rossetti.
_167 On]In cj. Rossetti.
***
EVENING: PONTE AL MARE, PISA
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a draft amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. ]
1.
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evening's breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream, _5
Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.
Some melted into tears without a sob,
And some with hearts that might be heard to throb
Leaned on the table and at intervals
Shuddered to hear through the deserted halls
And corridors the thrilling shrieks which came _185
Upon the breeze of night, that shook the flame
Of every torch and taper as it swept
From out the chamber where the women kept;--
Their tears fell on the dear companion cold
Of pleasures now departed; then was knolled _190
The bell of death, and soon the priests arrived,
And finding Death their penitent had shrived,
Returned like ravens from a corpse whereon
A vulture has just feasted to the bone.
And then the mourning women came. -- _195
. . .
THE DIRGE.
Old winter was gone
In his weakness back to the mountains hoar,
And the spring came down
From the planet that hovers upon the shore
Where the sea of sunlight encroaches _200
On the limits of wintry night;--
If the land, and the air, and the sea,
Rejoice not when spring approaches,
We did not rejoice in thee,
Ginevra! _205
She is still, she is cold
On the bridal couch,
One step to the white deathbed,
And one to the bier,
And one to the charnel--and one, oh where? _210
The dark arrow fled
In the noon.
Ere the sun through heaven once more has rolled,
The rats in her heart
Will have made their nest, _215
And the worms be alive in her golden hair,
While the Spirit that guides the sun,
Sits throned in his flaming chair,
She shall sleep.
NOTES:
22 Was]Were cj. Rossetti. old
26 ever 1824; even editions 1839.
_37 Bitter editions 1839; Better 1824.
_63 wanting in 1824.
_103 quiet rest cj. A. C. Bradley; quiet and rest 1824.
_129 winds]lands cj. Forman; waves, sands or strands cj. Rossetti.
_167 On]In cj. Rossetti.
***
EVENING: PONTE AL MARE, PISA
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a draft amongst the Boscombe manuscripts. ]
1.
The sun is set; the swallows are asleep;
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep,
And evening's breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream, _5
Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.
