TO WILLIAM SHELLEY. I. THE billows on the beach are leaping around it, The bark is weak and frail, The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it Darkly strew the gale. Come with me, thou delightful child, Come with me, though the wave is wild, And the winds are loose, we must not stay, II. They have taken thy brother and sister dear, To a blighting faith and a cause of crime And they will curse my name and thee Because we are fearless and free. III. Come thou, beloved as thou art; Another sleepeth still Near thy sweet mother's anxious heart, Which thou with joy shalt fill, With fairest smiles of wonder thrown The dearest playmate unto thee. IV. Fear not the tyrants will rule for ever, V. Rest, rest, and shriek not, thou gentle child! VI. This hour will in thy memory Be a dream of days forgotten long, We soon shall dwell by the azure sea Of serene and golden Italy, Or Greece, the Mother of the free; And I will teach thine infant tongue To call upon those heroes old In their own language, and will mould Thy growing spirit in the flame Of Grecian lore, that by such name A patriot's birthright thou mayst claim ! LINES TO A CRITIC. I. HONEY from silkworms who can gather, As soon as hate in me. II. Hate men who cant, and men who pray, And men who rail like thee; Or seek some slave of power and gold, Thy love will move that bigot cold IV. A passion like the one I prove I hate thy want of truth and love— TO MARY O MARY dear, that you were here In the ivy bower disconsolate; Mary dear, come to me soon, O Mary dear, that you were here ; SONNET. LIFT not the painted veil which those who live With colours idly spread, — behind, lurk Fear |