ought to have wither to you some time ago

me with an

hat my ill sprint 'I' its heather has forever ferrishis to air for delaying till tomonon. I fear that you I fear that you still continue the capate of four thy istimating my apology A thoms and Manche for you kind attention to my reguit I have cons, dead the dramings, &. Written of them, nor indeed

sand

to focuss case

any attempt at Sculpture seems to me pot for the

perhaps strongly incline & prefer an unornamnited hyramid of white math as of the most durable from & simplest appearance, but if you with permit, I will per my decision soon. You have too much got rep on such a subigest the truth which I give you will sand at the same time the Inscuption. Donagh spant still contion methhall deprepped from so than a stranger (the purchases I ought not to call you so) could imagion - We love seeming us one but one ladly, who is agments. We think, best is yet only think often For the pointer.

Thane nearly finished my Cenci - which Mary litter. I wish very much to get a good ingraving madels the

Letter from Shelley to Miss Curran

a pist- eat homan Artish demand for such a work _ Dan I ask you to all to the amount; of so many faroms, which must he is king unitseid, that of shaying ghoul mot such a bening? grass a

that the one to you in posiping the Ploten, is mon May I have that some tiny will. pofith sapulfione

- then I can express

P.B. Shelly

to hind

enrgh - Mayz says - as to wind

Conths you

Any drawings of simple momemented froms, such as you Consider beautifond es well as durabh ? _ I ending to a

Lerici the Villa Magni, a dwelling which "looked more like a boat or bathing house than a place to live in." Here they all resided, in easy and cheerful contiguity, from April 26 to July 8. Shelley, who had always loved the sea, spent his days in a little skiff and his evenings on the verandah "facing the sea and almost over it," reading his poems, listening to Mrs. Williams's guitar, or discoursing with his friends. It was during this, the latest and perhaps the happiest station of his career, that Shelley composed, what he left unfinished, The Triumph of Life. On the 8th of July Shelley and Williams, with a young English sailor, started from Leghorn, where Shelley had been visiting Leigh Hunt, for Lerici, in his yacht, the Don Juan. She was probably run down by a felucca, for all hands were lost. On the 18th Shelley's body was washed ashore at Via Reggio, and was cremated, in the presence of Byron, Hunt, and Trelawney. The impression made by Shelley's prose has not been so vivid as that by his poetry, but he was an extremely lucid and pure master of pedestrian English. This side of his talent was first displayed, not in his bombastic novels, but in the Letter to Lord Ellenborough, 1812, a fine piece of invective. In 1840 his widow published his Essays and Letters, but Shelley's prose writings were not properly collected until 1880, when Mr. H. Buxton Forman brought them together in four volumes. The personal appearance of Shelley was highly romantic. His eyes were blue and extremely penetrating; his hair brown; his skin exceedingly clear and transparent, and he had a look of extraordinary rapture on his "flushed, feminine, and artless face" when interested. To the end his figure was boyish; in the last year of his life he seemed "a tall, thin stripling, blushing like a girl." But he was not wanting in manliness, though awkward and unhandy in manly exercises, and he left on all who knew him well the recollection of one who was "frank and outspoken, like a wellconditioned boy, well-bred and considerate for others, because he was totally devoid of selfishness and vanity."

VOL. IV.

THE LAST CHORUS IN "HELLAS."

The world's great age begins anew;

The golden years return;

The earth doth like a snake renew

Her winter weeds outworn;

Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam

Like wrecks of a dissolving dream.

A brighter Hellas rears its mountains

From waves serener far;

A new Peneus rolls his fountains

Against the morning star;

Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep

Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep.

A loftier Argo cleaves the main,
Fraught with a later prize;
Another Orpheus sings again,

And loves, and weeps, and dies;
A new Ulysses leaves once more
Calypso for his native shore.

Oh! write no more the Tale of Troy,

If earth Death's scroll must be !

Nor mix with Laian rage the joy
Which dawns upon the free,
Although a subtler Sphinx renew
Riddles of death Thebes never knew.

Another Athens shall arise,

And to remoter time

Bequeath, like sunset to the skies,

The splendour of its prime;

And leave, if naught so bright may live, All earth can take or heaven can give.

Saturn and Love their long repose

Shall burst, more bright and good Than all who fell, than one who rose,

Than many unsubdued :

Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers, But votive tears and symbol flowers.

Oh cease! must hate and death return?
Cease! must men kill and die?
Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn
Of bitter prophecy.

The world is weary of the past,

Oh might it die or rest at last!

A LAMENT.

Swifter far than summer's flight,
Swifter far than youth's delight,
Swifter far than happy night,

Art thou come and gone :
As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,

I am left lone, alone.

The swallow Summer comes again,
The owlet Night resumes her reign,
But the wild swan Youth is fain

To fly with thee, false as thou.
My heart each day desires the morrow,
Sleep itself is turned to sorrow,

Vainly would my winter borrow

Sunny leaves from any bough.

Lilies for a bridal bed,

Roses for a matron's head,
Violets for a maiden dead,

Pansies let my flowers be:
On the living grave I bear,
Scatter them without a tear,
Let no friend, however dear,

Waste one hope, one fear for me.

FROM "EPIPSYCHIDION."

A ship is floating in the harbour now,
A wind is hovering o'er the mountain's brow;
There is a path on the sea's azure floor,

No keel has ever ploughed that path before;
The halcyons brood around the foamless isles;
The treacherous Ocean has forsworn its wiles ;
The merry mariners are bold and free :
Say, my heart's sister, wilt thou sail with me?
Our bark is as an albatross, whose nest

Is a far Eden of the purple East;

And we between her wings will sit, while Night

And Day, and Storm, and Calm, pursue their flight, Our ministers, along the boundless Sea,

Treading each other's heels, unheeded.y.

It is an isle under Ionian skies,
Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise,

And, for the harbours are not safe and good,
This land would have remained a solitude,
But for some pastoral people native there,
Who from the Elysian, clear, and golden air
Draw the last spirit of the age of gold,
Simple and spirited, innocent and bold.
The blue Ægean girds this chosen home,
With ever-changing sound and light and foam
Kissing the sifted sands, and caverns hoar;
And all the winds wandering along the shore
Undulate with the undulating tide :

There are thick woods where sylvan forms abide ;
And many a fountain, rivulet, and pond,

As clear as elemental diamond,

Or serene morning air; and far beyond,

The mossy tracks made by the goats and deer

(Which the rough shepherd treads but once a year),

Pierce into glades, caverns, and bowers, and halls

Built round with ivy, which the waterfalls,

Illumining, with sound that never fails,
Accompany the noonday nightingales ;

And all the place is peopled with sweet airs ;

The light clear element which the isle wears

Is heavy with the scent of lemon-flowers,
Which floats like mist laden with unseen showers,
And falls upon the eyelids like faint sleep;
And from the moss violets and jonquils peep,
And dart their arrowy odour through the brain
Till you might faint with that delicious pain.
And every motion, odour, beam, and tone,
With that deep music is in unison;
Which is a soul within the soul—they seem
Like echoes of an antenatal dream.