We stand upon its brink, while they are gone
To glide in peace down death's mysterious stream.
Have ye done well? They moulder, flesh and bone.
Who might have made this life's envenomed dream
A sweeter draught than ye will ever taste, I deem.

XXVIII.

"These perish as the good and great of yore
Have perished, and their murderers will repent.
Yes, vain and barren tears shall flow before
Yon smoke has faded from the firmament
Even for this cause, that ye, who must lament
The death of those that made this world so fair,
Can not recall them now; but then is lent

To man the wisdom of a high despair,

When such can die, and he live on and linger here.

XXIX.

"Ay, ye may fear not now the pestilence,
From fabled hell as by a charm withdrawn;
All power and faith must pass, since calmly hence
In pain and fire have unbelievers gone;
And ye must sadly turn away, and moan
In secret, to his home each one returning;
And to long ages shall this hour be known;
And slowly shall its memory, ever burning,

Fill this dark night of things with an eternal morning!

XXX.

"For me the world is grown too void and cold,
Since hope pursues immortal destiny
With steps thus slow- therefore shall ye behold
How those who love, yet fear not, dare to die;
Tell to your children this!'-then suddenly
He sheathed a dagger in his heart, and fell;
My brain grew dark in death, and yet to me
There came a murmur from the crowd to tell
Of deep and mighty change which suddenly befell.

XXXI.

"Then suddenly I stood a winged Thought
Before the immortal senate, and the seat
Of that star shining spirit, whence is wrought
The strength of its dominion, good and great,
The better Genius of this world's estate.
His realm around one mighty fane is spread,
Elysian islands bright and fortunate,

Calm dwellings of the free and happy dead,

Where I am sent to lead!" These winged words she said,

XXXII.

And with the silence of her eloquent smile,
Bade us embark in her divine canoe;
Then at the helm we took our seat, the while
Above her head those plumes of dazzling hue
Into the winds' invisible stream she threw,
Sitting beside the prow: like gossamer

On the swift breath of morn, the vessel flew
O'er the bright whirlpools of that fountain fair,

Whose shores receded fast, while we seemed lingering there;

XXXIII.

Till down that mighty stream dark, calm and fleet,
Between a chasm of cedar mountains riven,
Chased by the thronging winds, whose viewless feet
As swift as twinkling beams, had, under heaven,
From woods and waves wild sounds and odors driven,
The boat flew visibly-three nights and days,
Borne like a cloud through morn and noon and even,
We sailed along the winding watery ways
Of the vast stream, a long and labyrinthine maze.

XXXIV.

A scene of joy and wonder to behold

That river's shapes and shadows changing ever,
Where the broad sunrise filled with deepening gold
Its whirlpools, where all hues did spread and quiver,
And where melodious falls did burst and shiver
Among rocks clad with flowers, the foam and spray
Sparkled like stars upon the sunny river,

Or when the moonlight poured a holier day,
One vast and glittering lake around green islands lay.

XXXV.

Morn, noon and even, that boat of pearl outran
The streams which bore it, like the arrowy cloud
Of tempest, or the speedier thought of man,

Which flieth forth and can not make abode;

Sometimes through forests, deep like night, we glode,

Between the walls of mighty mountains crowned

With Cyclopean piles, whose turrets proud,

The homes of the departed, dimly frowned

O'er the bright waves which girt their dark foundations round.

XXXVI.

Sometimes between the wide and flowering meadows,

Mile after mile we sailed, and 'twas delight

To see far off the sunbeams chase the shadows

Over the grass; sometimes beneath the night

Of wide and vaulted caves, whose roofs were bright With starry gems, we fled, while from their deep And dark green chasms, shades beautiful and white, Amid sweet sounds across our path would sweep, Like swift and lovely dreams that walk the waves of sleep

XXXVII.

And ever as we sailed, our minds were full
Of love and wisdom, which would overflow
In converse wild and sweet and wonderful;

And in quick smiles whose light would come and go,
Like music o'er wide waves, and in the flow
Of sudden tears, and in the mute caress —
For a deep shade was cleft, and we did know
That virtue, though obscured on earth, not less
Survives all mortal change in lasting loveliness.

XXXVIII.

Three days and nights we sailed, as thought and feeling Number delightful hours - for through the sky The sphered lamps of day and night, revealing New changes and new glories, rolled on high, Sun, moon and moonlike lamps. the progeny Of a diviner heaven, serene and fair: On the fourth day, wild as a wind-wrought sea, The stream became, and fast and faster bare The spirit-winged boat, steadily speeding there.

XXXIX.

Steadily and swift, where the waves rolled like mountains

Within the vast ravine, whose rifts did pour

Tumultuous floods from their ten thousand fountains,

The thunder of whose earth-uplifting roar

Made the air sweep in whirlwinds from the shore,

Calm as a shade, the boat of that fair child

Securely fled that rapid stress before,

Amid the topmost spray, and sun-bows wild,

Wreathed in the silver mist: in joy and pride we smiled.

XL.

The torrent of that wide and raging river
Is passed. and our aërial speed suspended.
We look behind: a golden mist did quiver
When its wild surges with the lake were blended
Our bark hung there, as on a line suspended

Between two heavens, that windless, waveless lake:
Which four great cataracts, from four vales, attended
By mists, aye feed, from rocks and clouds they break,
And of that azure sea a silent refuge make.

XLI.

Motionless resting on the lake awhile,

I saw its marge of snow bright mountains rear
Their peaks aloft, I saw each radiant isle,
And in the midst, afar, even like a sphere
Hung in one hollow sky, did there appear
The Temple of the Spirit; on the sound

Which issued thence, drawn nearer and more near,
Like the swift moon this glorious earth around,

The charmed boat approached, and there its haven found.

END OF THE REVOLT OF ISLAN

QUEEN MAB.

NOTE BY MRS. SHELLEY.

SHELLEY was eighteen when Queen Mab' was written: he never published it. When he wrote it he had come to the decision that he was too young to be a judge of controversies; and he was desirous of acquiring that sobriety of spirit which is the characteristic of true heroism. But he never doubted the truth or utility of his opinions; and in printing and privately distributing Queen Mab' he believed that he should further their dissemination, without occasioning the mischief either to others or himself that might arise from publication. The poem has since been frequently reprinted; and it is too well known and the poetry is too beautiful to allow of its being omitted, although it is doubtful whether he would himself have admitted it into a collection of his works. His severe classical taste, refined by the constant study of the Greek poets, might have discovered defects that escape the ordinary reader, and the change his opinions underwent in many points would have prevented him from putting forth the speculations of his boyish days. To a certain extent the same motives influence me. Were the poem still in manuscript, even less might be given; as it is, such portions are omitted as support, in intemperate language, opinions to which at that age he was passionately attached A series of articles was published in the New Monthly Magazine' during the autumn of the year 1832, written by a man of great talent, a fellow-collegian and warm friend of Shelley; they describe admirably the state of his mind during his collegiate life. Inspired with ardor for the acquisition of knowledge-endowed with the keenest sensibility and with the fortitude of a martyr-Shelley came among his fellow creatures congregated for the purposes of education, like a spirit from another sphere. too delicately organized for the rough treatment man uses toward man, especially in the season of youth; and too resolute in carrying out his own sense of good and justice not to become a victim. To a devoted attachment to those he loved he added a determined resistance to oppression. Refusing to fag at Eton, he was treated with revolting cruelty by masters and boys; this roused instead of taming his spirit, and he rejected the duty of obedience, when it was enforced by menaces and punishment. To aversion to the society of his fellow-creatures, such as he found them when col lected together in societies, where one egged on the other to acts of tyranny, was joined the deepest sympathy and compassion; while the attachment he felt for individuals and the admiration with which he regarded their powers and their virtues, led him to entertain a high opinion of the perfectibility of human nature, and he believed that all could reach the highest grade of moral improvement, did not the *It will be seen by the Preface to the Second Edition, that these passages omitted by Mrs. Shelley, have been restored in the present volume.-G.G.F.