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Is based upon a rick and this ser
I bears estranhos
the tree. EARN, Asia సీమను diais pas pe doar it me.
Dance were eres i en lans: 4 ster of Fr, கலக்கற வ ப ப
These images are CLT, anĉ shs * kickasp apte real
Tse presence in the skiver.
gyerers are baseng a size :
Gratising about the
soch erg decay, I
poo be true whai dat
pasaran Give me a glass of Maraschisa panch.
I bare rebeared the entire se
With an on-bidder sad swe dzi,
On Lady P.-i cannot badi
In such a filthy basiness der
Stand on one side, lei si sprinkle Toe A toast! a toast! stand up, and three times three! A spot or two on me weld de no bara ;
Nay, it migh: hide the brand, with the sa
genius No heel-taps- darkes day-lights !
Of the Green Isle has fired, as trase
['pon my brow-which was stain is SUS LLOCTOXOS.
But which those seas could nerer wash away!
My Lord, I am ready-may I am impatiens,
To undergo the testo
is sest mu je namen snery
upon its first lisais aryam era For God's sake stop the granting of those pigs ! Die feriaus grutine prestar Pas and the ten*
& the trian. She smeris on the stage par le site PTRGANAX.
and spezies in tors at 11:31 42* à mes de salud We dare not, sire ! 'tis Famine's privilege.
ere becue wWT adder. CHOBCS OF SWIXE.
Mighty Empress ! Death's white wife ! Hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine!
Ghastly mother-in-law of life! Thy thrope is on blood, and thy robe is of rags;
By the God wbo made thee such, Thou devil which livest on damning;
By the magic of thy touch, Saintofnew churches, and cant, and GREEN BAGS;
By the starting and the cramming, Till in pity and terror thou risest,
Of fasts and feasts Sbr thr dreadset, O Famine! Confounding the schemes of the wisest.
I charge thee! when thou wake the multitude, When thou liftest thy skeitton form,
Thou lead them not upon the paths of blood. When the loaves and the skulls roll about,
The earth did never mean her foison We will greet theenthe voice of a storm
For those who crown life's cup with poison Would be lost in our terrible shout!
Of fanatie rage and meaningless rrenge
But for those radiant spirits, who are still Then hail to thee, hail to thee, Famine !
The standard-bearers in the ran of Change. Hail to thee, Empress of Earth!
Be they th' appointed stewards to fill When thoa risest, dividing possessions ;
The lap of Pain, and toil, and Age ! When thou risest, uprooting oppressions ;
Remit, 0 Queen ! thy accustom'd rage ! In the pride of thy ghastly mirth.
Be what thou art not! In voice faint and low Over palaces, temples, and graves,
FREEDOM calls Famine,,her eternal foe, We will rush as thy minister-slaves,
To brief alliance, hollow truce.-Rise now ! Trampling behind in thy train,
(Thilst the veiled Figure has been channting this Till all be made level again!
strophe, Maxmox, Dakar, LAOCTONOS, and SWEL
EDIPUS TYRANNUS; OR, SWELLFOOT THE TYRANT.
POOT, have surrounded Iona TAURINA, who, with
[During this speech she has been pulling on boots and to wait the issue of the business, in perfect confi
spurs, and a hunting-cap, buckishly cocked on one dence of her innocence.
side, and tucking up her hair, she leaps nimbly on
his back. PURGANAX, after unsealing the GREEN BAG, is gravely
Hoa ! hoa ! tallyho ! tallyho! họ ! ho!
Come, let us hunt these ugly badgers down,
These stinking foxes, these devouring otters, with a loud laugh of triumph, and empties it over
These hares, these wolves, these any thing but men. SWELLFoot and his whole Court, who are instantly | Hey, for a whipper-in ! my loyal pigs, changed into a number of filthy and ugly animals, Now let your noses be as keen as beagles', and rush out of the Temple. The image of FAMINE Your steps as swift as greyhounds, and your cries then arises with a tremendous sound, the Pigs
More dulcet and symphonious than the bells begin scrambling for the loaves, and are tripped
Of village-towers, on sunshine holiday ; up by the sculls ; all those vrho eat the loaves are
Wake all the dewy woods with jangling music. turned into Bulls, and arrange themselves quietly behind the altar. The image of FAMINE sinks through
Give them no law (are they not beasts of blood !) a chasm in the earth, and a MINOTAUR rises. But such as they gave you. Tallyho ! ho !
Through forest, furze, and bog, and den, and desert,
Pursue the ugly beasts ! tallyho ! ho !
PULL CHORUS OF IONA AND THE SWINE. Of all Europa's taurine progeny
Tallyho ! tallyho ! I am the old traditional man bull;
Through rain, hail, and snow, And from my ancestors having been Ionian,
Through brake, gorse, and briar, I am called ion, which, by interpretation,
Through fen, food, and mire,
We go ! we go!
Tallyho ! tallyho !
Through pond, ditch, and slough, Or double ditch about the new inclosures ;
Wind them, and find them, And if your Majesty will deign to mount me,
Like the Devil behind them, At least till you have hunted down your game,
Tallyho ! tallyho ! I will not throw you.
(Exeunt, in full cry; Jona driving on the SWINI,
with the empty GREEN BAG.
In the brief journal I kept in those days, I find Hesitation of whether it would do honour to recorded, in August 1820, Shelley “begins Swell Shelley prevented my publishing it at first ; but foot the Tyrant, suggested by the pigs at the fair of I cannot bring myself to keep back anything San Giuliano.” This was the period of Queen Caro he ever wrote, for each word is fraught with the line's landing in England, and the struggles made peculiar views and sentiments which he believed by Geo. IV. to get rid of her claims ; which fail to be beneficial to the human race; and the bright ing, Lord Castlereagh placed the “Green Bag" light of poetry irradiates every thought. The on the table of the House of Commons, demanding, world has a right to the entire compositions of in the King's name, that an inquiry should be in such a man ; for it does not live and thrive by stituted into his wife's conduct. These circum the out-worn lesson of the dullard or the hypocrite, stances were the theme of all conversation among but by the original free thoughts of men of Genius, the English. We were then at the Baths of San who aspire to pluck bright truth Giuliano ; a friend canje to visit us on the day
from the pale-faced moon; when a fair was held in the square, beneath our Or dive into the bottom of the deep, windows : Shelley read to us his Ode to Liberty ; Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, and was riotously accompanied by the grunting of
And pluck up drowned" a quantity of pigs brought for sale to the fair. truth, Even those who may dissent from his He compared it to the “chorus of frogs” in the opinions will consider that he was a man of genius, satiric drama of Aristophanes ; and it being an and that the world will take more interest in his hour of merriment, and one ludicrous association slightest word, than from the waters of Lethe, suggesting another, he imagined a political satirical which are so eagerly prescribed as medicinal for all drama on the circumstances of the day, to which its wrongs and woes. This drama, however, must the pigs would serve as chorus—and Swellfoot was not be judged for more than was meant. It is begun. When finished, it was transmitted to a mere plaything of the imagination, which even England, printed and published anonymously ; may not excite smiles among many, who will not but stifled at the very dawn of its existence by see wit in those combinations of thought which the "Society for the Suppression of Vice,” who were full of the ridiculous to the author. But, threatened to prosecute it, if not immediately like everything he wrote, it breathes that deep withdrawn. The friend who had taken the trouble sympathy for the sorrows of humanity, and indigof bringing it out, of course did not think it worth nation against its oppressors, which make it worthv the annoyance and expense of a contest, and it was
of his name, laid aside.
We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon ;
How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver, Streaking the darkness radiantly !-yet soon
Night closes round, and they are lost for ever :
The secret things of the grave are there,
Where all but this frame must surely be, Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous
No longer will live to hear or to see (ear All that is great and all that is strange In the boundless realm of unending change, Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?
Who lifteth the veil of what is to come! Who painteth the shadows that are beneath
The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb ? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see 1
Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings
Give various response to each varying blast, To wbose frail frame no second motion brings
One mood or modulation like the last.
We rest—A dream has power to poison sleep ; We rise-One wandering thought pollutes the
day ; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep ;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away :
A SUMMER-EVENING CHURCH-YARD,
It is the same !_For, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free ; Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow ;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
There is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.-ECCLESIASTES.
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn's andoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.
The wind has swept from the wide atmosphere
Each vapour that obscured the sun-set's ray; And pallid evening twines its beaming hair
Induskier braids around the languid eyes of day: Silence and twilight, unbeloved of men, Creep hand in hand from yon obscurest glen. They breathe their spells towards the departing day,
Encompassing the earth, air, stars, and sea ; Light, sound, and motion own the potent sway,
Responding to the charm with its own mystery. The winds are still, or the dry church-tower grass Knows not their gentle motions as they pass. Thou too, aërial Pile ! whose pinnacles
Point from one shrine like pyramids of fire, Obeyest in silence their sweet solemn spells,
Clothing in hues of heaven thy dim and distant Around whose lessening and invisible height (spire, Gather among the stars the clouds of night. The dead are sleeping in their sepulchres :
And, mouldering as they sleep, a thrilling sound, Half sense, half thought, among the darkness stirs, Breathed from their wormy beds all living things
And terrorless as this serenest night:
Sporting on graves, that death did hide from human Sweet secrets, or beside its breathless sleep (sight That loveliest dreams perpetual watch did keep.
O man ! hold thee on in courage of soul
Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way, And the billows of cloud that around thee roll
Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny.
This world is the nurse of all we know,
This world is the mother of all we feel, And the coming of death is a fearful blow,
To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel; When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass like an unreal mystery.
TO * * * *
ΔΑΚΡΥΕΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜOΝ ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ. .
Ou! there are irits in the air,
And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees :Such lovely ministers to meet Oft hast thou turned fivm men thy lonely feet.
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home ;
Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth ; Watch the dim shades as like gliosts they go and
come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy
mirth, The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float
around thine head, The blooms of dewy spring shalì gleam beneath
thy feet : But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost
that binds the dead, Ere inidnight's frown and morning's smile, ere
thou and peace may meet.
With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And mountain seas, that are the voice
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth ;-tame sacrifice
To a fond faith! still dost thou pine ! Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands ?
The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own
repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is
in the deep ; Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean
knows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its
appointed sleep. Thou in the grave shalt rest-yet till the phantoms
flee Which that house and heath and garden made
dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep
musings, are not free From the music of two voices, and the light of
one sweet smile.
Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
Ou the false earth's inconstancy? Did thine own mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee ? That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.
AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon,
Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of Away ! the gathering winds will call the darkness
soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene
lights of heaven. Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries,
Away! Tempt not with one last glance thy friend's un
gentle mood : Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not
entreat thy stay : Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
The moon made thy lips pale, beloved ; The wind made thy bosom chill;
The night did shed
On thy dear head Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie Where the bitter breath of the naked sky
Might visit thee at will. November, 1815