LXXIV.

The king would dress an ape up in his crown
And robes, and seat him on his glorious seat,
And on the right hand of the sunlike throne
Would place a gaudy mock-bird to repeat
The chatterings of the monkey.-Every one

Of the prone courtiers crawled to kiss the feet
Of their great Emperor, when the morning came,
And kissed-alas, how many kiss the same!

LXXV.

The soldiers dreamed that they were blacksmiths, and
Walked out of quarters in somnambulism;
Round the red anvils you might see them stand1
Like Cyclopses in Vulcan's sooty abysm,

Beating their swords to ploughshares;-in a band

2

The gaolers sent those of the liberal schism Free through the streets of Memphis, much, I wis To the annoyance of king Amasis.

LXXVI.

And timid lovers who had been so coy,

They hardly knew whether they loved or not, Would rise out of their rest, and take sweet joy, To the fulfilment of their inmost thought;

1 I leave this line as it is in all editions with some trepidation. In the transcript it stands thus:

Around the red hot anvils you might see

them stand,

a line with a redundant foot, and conveying, as indeed the authorized text does, a false idea,-namely that blacksmiths work at red-hot anvils. I suspect the picture that first presented itself to Shelley's mind was of the soldiers standing around their

red-hot swords, and that when he brought swords into the next line but one, and anvils into this, he omitted to strike out red-hot; and I have little doubt the line should be

Around the anvils you might see them stand. 2 In the transcript and the Posthumous Poems, jailor; in later editions gaoler.

3 So in all editions; but utmost in the transcript.

And when next day the maiden and the boy

Met one another, both, like sinners caught, Blushed at the thing which each believed was done. Only in fancy-till the tenth moon shone;

LXXVII.

And then the Witch would let them take no ill: Of many thousand schemes which lovers find, The Witch found one, and so they took their fill Of happiness in marriage warm and kind.

Friends who, by practice of some envious skill,

Were torn apart, a wide wound, mind from mind! She did unite again with visions clear

Of deep affection and of truth sincere.

LXXVIII.

These were the pranks she played among the cities
Of mortal men, and what she did to sprites
And Gods, entangling them in her sweet ditties
To do her will, and show their subtle slights,
I will declare another time; for it is

A tale more fit for the weird winter nights,
Than for these garish summer days, when we
Scarcely believe much more than we can see.

FRAGMENTS OF AN UNFINISHED

DRAMA.

VOL. III.

S

[This most exquisite fragment, Mrs. Shelley first began to give to the world in 1824, in the Posthumous Poems,-in which volume it was classed among the principal pieces. This seems to me better than placing it among miscellaneous fragments, where it is liable enough to be overlooked; and, as now finally built up by the researches of Mr. Garnett, it is a priceless gem among the latest works of the poet. I have not thought it necessary to indicate in detail which portions were given by Mrs. Shelley and which were reserved for Mr. Garnett to disentangle; but it should at all events be recorded that to that indefatigable and keen seeker we owe the wondrous passage descriptive of the Lady's dream, issued first in the Relics of Shelley under the title of The Magic Plant. Other portions Mr. Garnett reserved for issue in some new edition of Shelley's works; and the honour of first bringing them out fell to Mr. Rossetti. Mr. Garnett tells us that this fragment was written at Pisa "during the late winter or early spring of 1822"; and Mrs. Shelley says it was "undertaken for the amusement of the individuals who composed our intimate society, but left unfinished." I presume we may count Trelawny among the members of that society; and it is certainly to his adventures, with which Shelley was familiar, that we are indebted for some of the suggestions of the poem, -as few will doubt after reading the Adventures of a Younger Son. Mrs. Shelley thus briefly summarizes the scheme of the Unfinished Drama: "An Enchantress, living in one of the islands of the Indian Archipelago, saves the life of a Pirate, a man of savage but noble nature. She becomes enamoured of him; and he, inconstant to his mortal love, for a while returns her passion: but at length, recalling the memory of her whom he left, and who laments his loss, he escapes from the enchanted island, and returns to his lady. His mode of life makes him again go to sea, and the Enchantress seizes the opportunity to bring him, by a spirit-brewed tempest, back to her island." Nothing relating to the Enchantress appears to be preserved beyond the first twenty-seven lines. These are divided from the remainder, in Mrs. Shelley's editions, by a note to the effect that "a good Spirit, who watches over the Pirate's fate, leads, in a mysterious manner, the lady of his love to the Enchanted Isle. She is accompanied by a youth, who loves the lady, but whose passion she returns only with a sisterly affection. The ensuing scene takes place between them on their arrival at the Isle." Mr. Rossetti points out that the youth and lady cannot have come together to the island.-H. B. F.]