6.

High converse, since that hour, we two have held,
Which will not be forgotten; thou alone

Hast search'd my inmost bosom, and beheld

My nature in its weakness;-thou hast known The thoughts that shook, the passions that rebell'd, The dreams that made me tremble-like thine own, Have been my spirit's faintings.-O! that thou Couldst feel the fulness of my triumph now!

7.

Methinks I could embrace my desolation,
And say "Farewell" serenely, were I sure
That thy young spring of joyous expectation
From that far-gathering tempest were secure,
Which yet may shake thy peace to its foundation—
But I believe that thou wilt well endure

The fury of the storm, and lift thy brow⚫
To heaven, unscathed, and more serene than now.

8.

For in thy thoughtful forehead's clear expanse,
And in the lightning of thy quick, wild eye,
And in the restless dreams, that shift and glance
Through all thy eloquent looks incessantly-
In each bright movement of thy countenance—

In thy most thrilling converse-I descry
Heaven's stamp; nor e'er shall human error bind
The strength and genius of thy mighty mind.

O! had I known thee earlier-but one year-
One little year-when thou wast fancy-free,-
While both our natures trembled with one fear,
And panted with one thirst-I swear to thee,
By all that to my soul on earth is dear,

By all thy hopes of final victory,
By all we feel within, around, above-

Thou shouldst have loved me with a Spirit's love.

10

Nor vain had been my hope that I had found
In thee the embodied phantasy, whose gleams
Kindled my sleep for years, and pour'd around
My path the brightness of a poet's dreams-
Whose voice was to my ear a phantom-sound,
So sweet, that its ideal music seems

E'en now to haunt my sense-that thou wert She
To whom my dearest hopes must cling eternally.

11

Tis o'er-but there are words, which thou hast spoken,
Writ on my heart in fire-and now I know

The slumber of my soul at length is broken,
Yea, by the stroke that laid its visions low:
Perchance hereafter I may find a token
Worthy to speak to thee of all I owe,
But never can repay thee-but e'en now
I must fulfil one unforgotten vow.

12

Have I not sworn that from this alter'd lyre

The strains thou lov'st not shall be heard no more?

Have I not sworn my spirit shall aspire

(If yet its weaken'd wing hath power to soar)

To nobler darings with a pure desire?

That when this tale is told-these wanderings o'er,

My song shall be attuned, with high endeavour,
To loftier music-or be mute for ever?

13.

Haply, asleep in Reason's secret cells

A power is hid, which yet may make me strong; Haply, the desart of my soul hath wells

Which yet may pour a deeper stream of song;
Haply but oh! awaken'd conscience tells

That I have trifled with my heart too long-
Deaden'd each nobler impulse, and profaned
The strength which Nature for high toils ordain'd.

14

Yet, from this hour will I, with earnest thought, Heap knowledge from neglected mines of lore*; If, haply, by long process, may be wrought

To steadfast ends my mind's unfashion'd ore: Nor vain shall be the lessons thou hast taught, Nor vain that purpose which, for thee, I swore I would pursue in silence.-But 'tis time To end this idle and presumptuous rhyme.

15

The task, which I began in happier hours,

Lies yet a shapeless fragment-and 'twill be Hard to renew, with worn and drooping powers,

That toil whose fruits will yield no joy to thee. Yet-for the feelings that so late were oursThou wilt forgive my foolish phantasy, Dallying with bitter jests, as if to ease The aching of unheal'd remembrances.

16

Perhaps amidst my laughter, thou wilt hear,
At times, a sadder and more solemn tone,
Recalling to thine unforgetful ear

Things which are yet reveal'd to thee alone; And thou, I think, wilt hold those accents dear,

And greet them with a pleasure all thine own Nor shall these gifts, which I so coldly bring, Seem in thy sight a worthless offering.

*And from that hour did I, with earnest thought, Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore."

SHELLEY.

LA BELLE TRYAMOUR.

CANTO II.

"Then I made a circuit to a place in which nothing was completed." BOOK OF ENOCн, chap. xxi. v. i.

I.

FOUR months are past, since I've put pen to paper;
Four months of mingled sun, and wind, and rain,
Fog, thunder, morning frost, and evening vapour;
These soaking summers spoil one's rhyming vein;
But now I'll mend my pen, and trim my taper,
And sit down steadily to work again;
Because the public will be glad, I'm sure,
To hear some further news of Tryamour.

II.

We left King Arthur and his lovely bride

Safe at Carlisle-the honey-moon was over,

The happy pair had now grown sober-eyed,
Yet still, for several months, they lived in clover;
She seem'd a guardian-angel at his side,

And he was less a husband than a lover;

Soon, from this Virgo, Gemini were born,
And then she made King Arthur Capricorn.

III.

I don't know how it happen'd—and, indeed,
Some people think the tale a fabrication
Invented by the Tories, to mislead,

For their own selfish ends, the British nation;
For my part, I say nothing-you must read,
And then decide; 'tis true my information
Bears hard against the virtue of Queen Guenever,—
But then who can believe so gross a sin of her?

IV.

All the world knows Anne Boleyn was a martyr-
So was the late Queen Caroline, I've heard;
So might have been the spotless wife of Arthur,
Had similar impeachments been preferr'd;
But her foes fear'd that they might catch a Tartar;
She had such able counsel at her word,

In her defence to bluster and look big,
With spear and target, not with gown and wig.

V.

Well! stories will be told, and fools believe them,
And awkward facts will come perversely out,
Perplexing loyal subjects who receive them.

With most unpleasant mystery and doubt,
I know were I a monarch, I should leave them
To the
supreme decision of the knout-

That best Attorney-General-but I'm prating,
While King and Queen and readers all are waiting.

VI.

I'm really vastly sorry to detract

From any Sovereign's character-but now, Having no time to ascertain the fact,

I must request you, gentles, to allow

That the fair fame of Guenever was crack'd,
And that King Arthur wore upon his brow
Some ornaments less seemly than his crown→→
Or else the following story won't go down.

VII.

But here, at starting, I must just premise
(Lest any readers should look grave and cold)
That 'tis not my intention to disguise

A tale immoral in decorous mould.
Approach not me-ye cockneys, good and wise,
And other great philosophers, who hold
That Epicurus is Man's best physician,

And chastity a "monkish superstition.”