Percy Bysshe Shelley
Page 71
Munched children with fury,
It was thou, Devil, dining with pure intent. (1)
PART 7. DOUBLE DAMNATION.
1.
The Devil now knew his proper cue. —
Soon as he read the ode, he drove
To his friend Lord MacMurderchouse’s, 655
A man of interest in both houses,
And said:—’For money or for love,
2.
‘Pray find some cure or sinecure;
To feed from the superfluous taxes
A friend of ours — a poet — fewer 660
Have fluttered tamer to the lure
Than he.’ His lordship stands and racks his
3.
Stupid brains, while one might count
As many beads as he had boroughs, —
At length replies; from his mean front, 665
Like one who rubs out an account,
Smoothing away the unmeaning furrows:
4.
‘It happens fortunately, dear Sir,
I can. I hope I need require
No pledge from you, that he will stir 670
In our affairs; — like Oliver.
That he’ll be worthy of his hire.’
5.
These words exchanged, the news sent off
To Peter, home the Devil hied, —
Took to his bed; he had no cough, 675
No doctor, — meat and drink enough. —
Yet that same night he died.
6.
The Devil’s corpse was leaded down;
His decent heirs enjoyed his pelf,
Mourning-coaches, many a one, 680
Followed his hearse along the town: —
Where was the Devil himself?
7.
When Peter heard of his promotion,
His eyes grew like two stars for bliss:
There was a bow of sleek devotion 685
Engendering in his back; each motion
Seemed a Lord’s shoe to kiss.
8.
He hired a house, bought plate, and made
A genteel drive up to his door,
With sifted gravel neatly laid, — 690
As if defying all who said,
Peter was ever poor.
9.
But a disease soon struck into
The very life and soul of Peter —
He walked about — slept — had the hue 695
Of health upon his cheeks — and few
Dug better — none a heartier eater.
10.
And yet a strange and horrid curse
Clung upon Peter, night and day;
Month after month the thing grew worse, 700
And deadlier than in this my verse
I can find strength to say.
11.
Peter was dull — he was at first
Dull — oh, so dull — so very dull!
Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed — 705
Still with this dulness was he cursed —
Dull — beyond all conception — dull.
12.
No one could read his books — no mortal,
But a few natural friends, would hear him;
The parson came not near his portal; 710
His state was like that of the immortal
Described by Swift — no man could bear him.
13.
His sister, wife, and children yawned,
With a long, slow, and drear ennui,
All human patience far beyond; 715
Their hopes of Heaven each would have pawned,
Anywhere else to be.
14.
But in his verse, and in his prose,
The essence of his dulness was
Concentred and compressed so close, 720
‘Twould have made Guatimozin doze
On his red gridiron of brass.
15.
A printer’s boy, folding those pages,
Fell slumbrously upon one side;
Like those famed Seven who slept three ages. 725
To wakeful frenzy’s vigil — rages,
As opiates, were the same applied.
16.
Even the Reviewers who were hired
To do the work of his reviewing,
With adamantine nerves, grew tired; — 730
Gaping and torpid they retired,
To dream of what they should be doing.
17.
And worse and worse, the drowsy curse
Yawned in him, till it grew a pest —
A wide contagious atmosphere, 735
Creeping like cold through all things near;
A power to infect and to infest.
18.
His servant-maids and dogs grew dull;
His kitten, late a sportive elf;
The woods and lakes, so beautiful, 740
Of dim stupidity were full.
All grew dull as Peter’s self.
19.
The earth under his feet — the springs,
Which lived within it a quick life,
The air, the winds of many wings, 745
That fan it with new murmurings,
Were dead to their harmonious strife.
20.
The birds and beasts within the wood,
The insects, and each creeping thing,
Were now a silent multitude; 750
Love’s work was left unwrought — no brood
Near Peter’s house took wing.
21.
And every neighbouring cottager
Stupidly yawned upon the other:
No jackass brayed; no little cur 755
Cocked up his ears; — no man would stir
To save a dying mother.
22.
Yet all from that charmed district went
But some half-idiot and half-knave,
Who rather than pay any rent, 760
Would live with marvellous content,
Over his father’s grave.
23.
No bailiff dared within that space,
For fear of the dull charm, to enter;
A man would bear upon his face, 765
For fifteen months in any case,
The yawn of such a venture.
24.
Seven miles above — below — around —
This pest of dulness holds its sway;
A ghastly life without a sound; 770
To Peter’s soul the spell is bound —
How should it ever pass away?
THE MASK OF ANARCHY
WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE MASSACRE AT MANCHESTER.
Composed at the Villa Valsovano near Leghorn — or possibly later, during Shelley’s sojourn at Florence — in the autumn of 1819, shortly after the Peterloo riot at Manchester, August 16; edited with Preface by Leigh Hunt, and published under the poet’s name by Edward Moxon, 1832 (Bradbury & Evans, printers). Two manuscripts are extant: a transcript by Mrs. Shelley with Shelley’s autograph corrections, known as the ‘Hunt manuscript’; and an earlier draft, not quite complete, in the poet’s handwriting, presented by Mrs. Shelley to (Sir) John Bowring in 1826, and now in the possession of Mr. Thomas J. Wise (the ‘Wise manuscript’). Mrs. Shelley’s copy was sent to Leigh Hunt in 1819 with view to its publication in “The Examiner”; hence the name ‘Hunt manuscript.’ A facsimile of the Wise manuscript was published by the Shelley Society in 1887. Sources of the text are (1) the Hunt manuscript; (2) the Wise manuscript; (3) the editio princeps, editor Leigh Hunt, 1832; (4) Mrs. Shelley’s two editions (“Poetical Works”) of 1839. Of the two manuscripts Mrs. Shelley’s transcript is the later and more authoritative.
THE MASK OF ANARCHY
1.
As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.
2.
I met Murder on the way — 5
He had a mask like Castlereagh —
Very smooth he looked, yet grim;
Seven blood-hounds followed him:
3.
All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight, 10
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them human hearts to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.
4.
Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Eldon, an ermined gown; 15
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell.
5.
And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem, 20
Had their brains knocked out by them.
6.
Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
On a crocodile rode by. 25
7.
And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.
8.
Last came Anarchy: he rode 30
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.
9.
And he wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone; 35
On his brow this mark I saw —
‘I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!’
10.
With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he passed,
Trampling to a mire of blood 40
The adoring multitude.
11.
And a mighty troop around,
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord. 45
12.
And with glorious triumph, they
Rode through England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication
Of the wine of desolation.
13.
O’er fields and towns, from sea to sea, 50
Passed the Pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down;
Till they came to London town.
14.
And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken 55
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.
15.
For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
The hired murderers, who did sing 60
‘Thou art God, and Law, and King.
16.
‘We have waited, weak and lone
For thy coming, Mighty One!
Our purses are empty, our swords are cold,
Give us glory, and blood, and gold.’ 65
17.
Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed;
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering—’Thou art Law and God.’ —
18.
Then all cried with one accord, 70
‘Thou art King, and God, and Lord;
Anarchy, to thee we bow,
Be thy name made holy now!’
19.
And Anarchy, the Skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one, 75
As well as if his education
Had cost ten millions to the nation.
20.
For he knew the Palaces
Of our Kings were rightly his;
His the sceptre, crown, and globe, 80
And the gold-inwoven robe.
21.
So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned Parliament 85
22.
When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said:
But she looked more like Despair,
And she cried out in the air:
23.
‘My father Time is weak and gray 90
With waiting for a better day;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Fumbling with his palsied hands!
24.
‘He has had child after child,
And the dust of death is piled 95
Over every one but me —
Misery, oh, Misery!’
25.
Then she lay down in the street,
Right before the horses’ feet,
Expecting, with a patient eye, 100
Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.
26.
When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak, and frail
Like the vapour of a vale: 105
27.
Till as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,
28.
It grew — a Shape arrayed in mail 110
Brighter than the viper’s scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.
29.
On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the Morning’s, lay; 115
And those plumes its light rained through
Like a shower of crimson dew.
30.
With step as soft as wind it passed
O’er the heads of men — so fast
That they knew the presence there, 120
And looked, — but all was empty air.
31.
As flowers beneath May’s footstep waken,
As stars from Night’s loose hair are shaken,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where’er that step did fall. 125
32.
And the prostrate multitude
Looked — and ankle-deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien:
33.
And Anarchy, the ghastly birth, 130
Lay dead earth upon the earth;
The Horse of Death tameless as wind
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.
34.
A rushing light of clouds and splendour, 135
A sense awakening and yet tender
Was heard and felt — and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose
35.
As if their own indignant Earth
Which gave the sons of England birth 140
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother’s throe
36.
Had turned every drop of blood
By which her face had been bedewed
To an accent unwithstood, — 145
As if her heart had cried aloud:
37.
‘Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another; 150
38.
‘Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you —
Ye are many — they are few. 155
39.
‘What is Freedom? — ye can tell
That which slavery is, too well —
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.
40.
‘‘Tis to work an
d have such pay 160
As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants’ use to dwell,
41.
‘So that ye for them are made
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade, 165
With or without your own will bent
To their defence and nourishment.
42.
‘‘Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak,
When the winter winds are bleak, — 170
They are dying whilst I speak.
43.
‘‘Tis to hunger for such diet
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye; 175
44.
‘‘Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from Toil a thousandfold
More than e’er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old.
45.
‘Paper coin — that forgery 180
Of the title-deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.
46.
‘‘Tis to be a slave in soul
And to hold no strong control 185
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.
47.
‘And at length when ye complain
With a murmur weak and vain
‘Tis to see the Tyrant’s crew 190
Ride over your wives and you
Blood is on the grass like dew.
48.
‘Then it is to feel revenge
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood — and wrong for wrong — 195
Do not thus when ye are strong.
49.
‘Birds find rest, in narrow nest
When weary of their winged quest;
Beasts find fare, in woody lair
When storm and snow are in the air. 200
50.
‘Asses, swine, have litter spread
And with fitting food are fed;
All things have a home but one —
Thou, Oh, Englishman, hast none!
51.
‘This is Slavery — savage men, 205
Or wild beasts within a den
Would endure not as ye do —
But such ills they never knew.
52.
‘What art thou Freedom? O! could slaves
Answer from their living graves 210
This demand — tyrants would flee
Like a dream’s dim imagery:
53.
‘Thou art not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name 215
Echoing from the cave of Fame.
54.
‘For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread
From his daily labour come
In a neat and happy home. 220
55.
Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude —