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Of this Book 
Five Hundred Copies have been printed 





Of this Book 
Five Hundred Copies have been printed 



a poem 




** If I will thai he tctrry till I come, what is that to thee f Follow thou 

me," — St. John xxi. 22. 





[The text of Tli& Wandering Jevj follows the 
version printed in Frasers Magazine. But (as I have 
explained in the Introduction) in the various extracts 
printed in the Edinburgh Literary Journal there are 
many lines which do not appear in Frasers Magazine. 
These lines I have inserted in the text, and, 
in order to distinguish them, and to avoid the 
necessity of numerous footnotes, they are printed 
in italics. Readers will therefore please note that all 
passages in italics appeared in the Literary Journal 
only. Moreover, the selections printed in the Journal 
diflfer in many minute points of punctuation, spelling, 
&c., from the Fraser version. These variations are 
noted at the bottom of the page; and readers will 
understand that the various readings there given 
(excepting in a few duly specified cases) are from 
the Literary Journal^] 



Introduction xiii 

The Wandbrinq Jew — 

Canto 1 1 

Canto II 17 

Canto III 27 

Canto IV 47 

Appendix — 

The Wandering Jew's Soliloquy 69 

Introductory Article in Fraser^s Magazine . . 71 

Notes . 95 




Of all the legends which have obtained popular cur- 
rency, not one is more remarkable for singularity and 
suggestiveness than the wild story of the* Wandering Jew. 
However it may have originated, it has had an influence 
greater probably than any other myth (with the possible 
exception of the Faust legend) not only upon the minds 
of imlettered persons, but upon the imaginations of poets, 
artists, and romance- writers. But, of all the authors who 
have dealt with the subject, no other seems to have been 
so strongly influenced by it as was Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
The Wandering Jew was the subject of his earliest poem 
of any length; in Queen Mob he is one of the most 
important figures; there are allusions to him in other 
poems ; and in Hellas — the last work published during 
Shelley's lifetime — he makes a most impressive re-appear- 
ance. An attempt, therefore, to trace the history of The 
Wavdering Jew, and to show (what hitherto has been 


doubted) that the poem so-named was entirely, or at least 
almost wholly, Shelley's, can hardly be altogether devoid 
of interest or importance. 

The Wandering Jew has hitherto been omitted from 
almost all editions of Shelley's works, because the editors, 
relying upon Medwin s statements, have believed that 
Shelley's part in it was very small, and that Medwin was 
really its author, or at least the author of the chief part 
of it. Medwin indeed asserts as much ; and were he a 
writer of ordinary credit, it would scarcely be possible 
to dispute his statement. It is certain, however, 
that, owing to some mental defect, he was a most in- 
accurate and misleading writer. His statements can hardly 
ever be depended upon, except when confirmed by inde- 
pendent testimony. I think I can show clearly enough 
that what he says regarding The Wandering Jew is not 
only inconsistent with itself, but opposed to what we learn 
from other sources ; and, therefore, that we may disregard 
his assertions altogether, and decide the question of the 
authorship of the poem independently of his evidence. 

The Wandering Jew appears to have been written in 
1810, when Shelley was about eighteen years of age. 
When finished, it was submitted to Messrs. Ballantyne 
and Co., the Edinburgh publishers, by whom it was de- 
clined. Shelley then oiBFered it to Stockdale, at that time 
a weU-known and rather prosperous London publisher. 
The latter states, however, that it never reached him ; a 
statement about which I have my doubts. In 1827, when 


Stockdale was publishing his scandalous Bvdget, he printed, 
among other letters of Shelley's, one relating wholly to 
The Wandering Jew and three containing references to it. 
This letter and these references, before proceeding further, 
it will be well to reproduce. The letter is written from 
" Field Place, September 28th, 1810," and is as follows :— 

** Sir, — I sent, before I had the pleasure of knowing 
you, the MS. of a poem to Messrs. Ballantyne and Co., 
Edinburgh; they have declined publishing it, with the 
enclosed letter. I now ofifer it to you, and depend upon 
your honour as a gentleman for a fair price for the copy- 
right. It will be sent to you from Edinburgh. The 
subject is The Wandering Jew. As to its containing 
atheistical principles, I assure you I was wholly unaware 
of the fact hinted at. Your good sense will point out the 
impossibility of inculcating pernicious doctrines in a poem 
which, as you will see, is so totally abstract from any 
circumstances which occur under the possible view of 

" I am. Sir, 

" Your obedient and humble servant, 

"Percy B. Shelley.'' 

The enclosed letter from Messrs. Ballantyne and Co., 

declining to publish the poem, is remarkable enough to 

deserve re-production: — 

"Edinburgh, Sept. 24th, 1810. 

" Sir, — The delay which occurred in our reply to you, 

respecting the poem you have obligingly offered us for 


publication, has arisen from our literary friend^ and 
advisers (at least such as we have confidence in) being in 
the country at this season, as is usual, and the time they 
have bestowed on its perusal. 

"We are extremely sorry at length, after the most mature 
deliberation, to be under the necessity of declining the 
honour of being the publishers of the present poem ; not 
that we doubt its success, but that it is perhaps better 
suited to the character and liberal feelings of the English, 
than the bigoted spirit which yet pervades many culti- 
vated minds in this country. Even Walter Scott is assailed 
on all hands, at present, by our Scotch spiritual and evan- 
gelical magazines and instructors, for having promulgated 
atheistical doctrines in The Lady of the Lake, 

*' We beg you will have the goodness to advise us how 
it should be returned, and we think its being consigned 
to some person in London would be more likely to ensure 
its safety than addressing it to Horsham. 
" We are. Sir, 

" Your most obedient humble servants, 

''John Ballantyne & Co." 

Writing to Stockdale on November 14, 1810, Shelley 
says : — " I am surprised that you have not received The 
Wandering Jew, and in consequence write to Mr. Bal- 
lantyne to mention it ; you will, doubtlessly, therefore re- 
ceive it soon." Writing again to Stockdale on November 19, 
1810, he says : — " If you have not got The Wandering Jew 
from Mr. B., I will send you a MS. copy which I possess." 


It is to be presumed that Stockdale, in reply, stated that 
he had not received the copy from Messrs. Ballantyne ; 
and that Shelley thereupon sent him the MS. copy of 
which he speaks; for in a letter, dated December 2» 1810, 
he says : — " Will you, if you have got two copies of Th^ 
Wandering Jew, send one of them to me, as I have thought 
of some corrections which I wish to make ; your opinion 
on it will likewise much oblige me." No further references 
to The Wandering Jew occur in the other letters to Stock- 
dale, nor, so far as I am aware, in any other part of 
Shelley's correspondence. Doubtless, he soon came to see 
that it was an immature and comparatively worthless 
production, and he would have been well content with its 
entire suppression. It is highly probable that, if he could 
have reclaimed the two manuscript copies, they would 
have been committed to the flames. But as both were 
out of his reach — one reposing quietly at Edinburgh 
(Shelley's application to Ballantyne and Co. for its return 
having perhaps miscarried), the other, it may be, \ymg jpcrdu 
among Stockdale's papers — he probably regarded them as 
mere "alms for oblivion," and did not contemplate the 
possibility of their being disinterred and published after 
his death. But the poem, which its author regarded as 
dead and buried, underwent a resuiTection in 1831, when 
it was published in the pages of Fraser's Magazine, It has 
hitherto been generally supposed that this was the first 
appearance of the poem, or of any portion of it, in print. 
I have ascertained, however, that two years previously. 


a long article about it, which gave copious extracts from 
the poem, appeared in The Edinlurgh Literary Journal, 
This article adds considerably to our knowledge respecting 
the poem, anl helps to decide the question of its author- 
ship. It was unknown to Medwin, and seems to have 
remained unknown also to all Shelley's editors and 
biographers down to the present time. I will now proceed 
to summarize the chief points of interest in it. 

In No. 32 of The Edinhurgh Literary Journal the fol- 
lowing notice appeared : — 


" There has recently been put into our hands a manu- 
script volume, which we look upon as one of the most 
remarkable literary curiosities extant. It is a poem in four 
cantoSy hy the late jpoet Shelley, and entirely written in his 
own hand} It is entitled The Wandering Jew, and con- 
tains many passages of great power and beauty. It was 
composed upwards of twenty years ago, and brought by 
the poet to Edinburgh, which he visited about that period. 
It has since lain in the custody of a literary gentleman of 
this town, to whom it was then offered for publication. 
We have received permission to give our readers a further 
account of its contents, with some extracts, next Saturday ; 
and it affords us much pleasure to have it in our power to 
be thus instrumental in rescuing, through the medium of 
the Literary Journal, from the obscurity to which it might 

^ I have italicized this sentence, because I think it has an im- 
portant bearing upon the question as to the authorship of the poem. 


otherwise have been consigned, one of the earliest and most 
striking of this gifted poet's productions, the very existence 
of which has never hitherto been surmised." 

Accordingly, in Nos. 33 and 34 (the numbers for June 
27 and July 4, 1829) of the Literary Journal^ the promised 
account of the poem duly appeared. After giving some 
particulars, not altogether accurate, as to the time when 
the poem was written, the article proceeds : — 

'* It may possibly have been oiBFered to one or two book- 
sellers, both in London and Edinburgh, without success, 
and this may account for the neglect into which the author 
allowed it to fall, when new cares crowded upon him, and 
new prospects opened round him. Certain it is, that it 
has been carefully kept by the literary gentleman to 
whom he entrusted its perusal when he visited Edinburgh 
in 1811, and would have been willingly surrendered by 
him at any subsequent period, had any application to 
that e£fect been made." 

The statement that Shelley gave the poem to the " lite- 
rary gentleman" in 1811, is diflScult to reconcile with the 
fact that it was in 1810 that the poem was submitted to 
Messrs. Ballantyne and Co. It seems most probable that 
the copy used by the writer in the Literary Journal was 
the one sent to Ballantyne and Co. in 1810, and that, 
in the lapse of time, the circumstances under which it 
had first come into his possession had become somewhat 
confused in the mind of the ** literary gentlemai 

However, it may have been otherwise, for Shel] 

I 2 


certainly visited Edinburgh in 1811 (on the occasion of his 
marriage with Harriett Westbrook), and he may then 
have made the acquaintance of the " literary gentleman," 
and left The Wandering Jew in his care. Possibly, being 
in Edinburgh in 1811, Shelley took the opportimity of 
reclaiming his poem from Ballantyne and Co., and having 
then made the acquaintance of the ** literary gentleman," 
may have transferred it to him. 

Returning to the article in the Literary Journal, the 
passage following the one already quoted is so interesting, 
and will be so new to readers of the present day, that I 
give it in full : — 

" Mr. Shelley appears to have had some doubts whether 
to call his poem The Wandering Jew or The Victim of the 
Eternal Avenger. Both names occur in the manuscript ; 
but had the work been published, it is to be hoped that 
he would finally have fixed on the former, the more espe- 
cially as the poem itself contains very little calculated to 
give ojBFence to the religious reader. The motto on the 
title-page is from the 22nd chapter of St. John : — ' If I 
will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee ? — follow 
thou me.* Turning over the leaf, we meet with the fol- 
lowing Dedication : — ' To Sir Francis Burdett, bart., M.P., 
in consideration of the active virtues by which both his 
public and private life is so eminently distinguished, the 
following poem is inscribed by the Author.' Again turning 
the leaf, we meet with the — 



" ' The subject of the following Poem is an imaginary- 
personage, noted for the various and contradictory tradi- 
tions which have prevailed concerning him — The Wan- 
dering Jew. Many sage monkish writers have supported 
the authenticity of this fact, the reality of his existence. 
But as the quoting them would have led me to annotations 
perfectly uninteresting, although very fashionable, I decline 
presenting anything to the public but the bare poem, 
which they will agree with me not to be of suflScient con- 
sequence to authorise deep antiquarian researches on its 
subject. I might, indeed, have introduced, by anticipating 
future events, the no less grand, although equally ground- 
less, superstitions of the battle of Armageddon, the per- 
sonal reign of J C , &c. ; but I preferred, im- 
probable as the following tale may appear, retaining the 
old method of describing past events : it is certainly more 
consistent with reason, more interesting, even in works of 
imagination. With respect to the omission of elucidatory 
notes, I have followed the well-known maxim of ' Do unto 
others as thou wouldest they should do unto thee.' 

"'January, 1811/" 

" The poem introduced by the above Preface is in four 
cantos ; and though the octosyllabic verse is the most pro- 
minent, it contains a variety of measures, like Sir Walter 
Scott's poetical romances. The incidents are simple, and 
refer rather to an episode in the life of the Wandering 
Jew, than to any attempt at a full delineation of all his 


adventures. We shall give an analysis of the plot, and 

intersperse, as we proceed, some of the most interesting 

passages of the poem." 

Neither the Dedication nor the Preface of the poem, as 

given above, appeared in Frasers Magazine when the poem 
was printed in that periodical. Sir Francis Burdett, al- 
though he played a prominent part in the political history 
of the early part of the century, is now so nearly forgotten, 

that it may be necessary to remind readers of the present 
day that he was one of the most advanced radicals of that 
time ; and hence it was very natural that Shelley should 
dedicate' his poem to him. The passage accounting for 
the absence of annotations is a side-blow at Sir Walter 
Scott, and rather an unfair one, considering that The Wan- 
dering Jew bears evident tokens that its author had dili- 
gently studied Scott's poetical romances. It is likely 
enough that the hit at the superstitions of the battle of 

Armageddon, the personal reign of J C } &c., 

rather than anything in the poem itself, was the chief 
cause of its rejection by Ballantyne and Co. No more 
than this one passage would have been needed to convict 
the author of The Wandering Jew of blasphemy in the 
eyes of those pretematurally acute fanatics who could dis- 
cover atheism in The Lady of the Lake, But, in truth, a 
careful reading of Shelley's poem shows that it contains 

^ It is, of course, very unlikely that Shelley adopted the device of 
giving the initials only of the name of Christ, and it was doubtless 
printed thus by the editor of the Literary Journal out of a fear of 
oflfending his more scrupulous readers. 


several passages whicli it would be hard to reconcile with 
orthodox opinions, and which may well have made Messrs. 
Ballantyne and Co. pause before undertaking the responsi- 
bility of publishing it. It is rather curious that the preface 
should be dated ** January, 1811," considering that the 
MS. was placed in the hands of Messrs. Ballantyne at 
least three months before that time ; but perhaps Shelley 
reckoned that it could not be published during 1810, and 
for that reason chose to date it in advance. 

There is not much else in the article on Hie Wandering 
Jew which need be quoted, the chief part of it being 
devoted to a summary of the incidents of the poem, 
accompanied with various illustrative extracts from it. 
I must not, however, omit the following : — 

" It is curious to observe, before proceeding to the second 
canto, that, in illustration of something said by Paulo, 
Shelley quotes, in the margin, the following line from 
-^schylus, so remarkably applicable to his own future 
fate, — 

The writer of the article by no means agrees with its 
later critics as to the worthlessness of the poem ; on the 
contrary he expresses great admiration for certain parts of 
the work. The extracts given from it dififer materially from 
the corresponding passages as printed in Fraser's Magazine, 
and prove, with suflScient certainty, that the manuscript 
used by the writer in the Literary Journal could not have 
been the same as the one used by Fraser, 


Reviewing the evidence as to the authorship of the 
poem, which may be derived from the various sources I 
have mentioned, we see that Shelley uniformly appears as 
the sole author, and that there is nowhere a hint as to his 
having had a coadjutor in the work. The manuscript is 
written entirely in Shelley's own handwriting • he dedicates 
it to Sir Francis Burdett; the Preface contains no hint 
that he had received assistance in writing it ; and he ofifers 
it as his own production to Ballantyne and Co. and to 
Stockdale. It is noteworthy that in writing to Stockdale 
about it, he says : — " I now offer it to you, and depend 
upon your honour as a gentleman for a fair price for the 
copyright." There could hardly be a more absolute asser- 
tion of his authorship of the poem than this, for it can 
hardly be supposed that Shelley would ask for money for 
the copyright of a poem which was not his to dispose of. 

If we now turn to Medwin's statements with regard to 
The Wandering Jew, and examine them carefully, we shall, 
I think, find them to be so loose and contradictory as to 
be altogether unworthy of credit. Medwin first referred 
to the poem in 1833 in The Shelley Papers} After 
speaking of a ballad which, he says, was Shelley's first 
production, and which was written when he was about 
fifteen, he proceeds : — 

'* Shortly afterwards we wrote, in conjunction, six or 

seven cantos on the subject of the Wandering Jew, of 

^ The book with this title was first published in 1833, but the 
chief part of its contents had previously appeared in ih^ Athenceum 
during 1832. 


whicli the first four, with the exception of a very few 
lines, were exclusively mine. It was a thing such as boys 
usually write, a cento from different favourite authors ; the 
crucifixion scene altogether a plagiary from a volume of 
Cambridge Prize Poems. The part which I contributed 
I have still, and was surprised to find totidem verbis in 
Fraser's Magazine, ... As might be shown by the last 
cantos of that poem, which Fraser did not think worth 
publishing,^ his [Shelley's] ideas were, at that time, strange 
and incomprehensible, mere elements of thought — images 
wild, vast and Titanic." 

It will be observed that Medwin here claims the first 
four cantos as being exclusively his own, "with the 
exception of a very few lines." He also speaks of the 
last cantos of that poem, " which Fraser did not think 
worth publishing." Now the fact is, that both in the 
Edinburgh Literary Journal and in Fraser the poem is 
stated to be complete. The former says: — "The poem 
introduced by the above Preface is in four cantos ; " while 
Fraser^ in the prefatory remarks on the poem, testifies 
to the same effect : — " The important literary curiosity 
which the liberality of the gentleman into whose hands 
it has fallen, enables us now to lay before the public 
for the first time, in a complete state, was offered for 
publication by Mr. Shelley when quite a boy." It thus 

^ It is worth noting that Medwin afterwards stated that the portion 
of the poem written by Shelley was by far the best ; yet, if we 
believe the statement he makes here, it was Shelley's portion which 
Fraser y " did not think worth publishing." 


appears that Medwin knew so little about the poem that 
he imagined it to be in six or seven cantos, whereas it 
was complete in four. He also says that Fraser did not 
think the last cantos worth publishing, whereas Fraser 
certainly published the four cantos in the belief that they 
constituted a complete poem. Moreover (as I have already 
pointed out), we cannot put faith in Medwin^s statements 
unless we are prepared to believe that Shelley ofifered to 
sell for publication, as his own production, a poem which 
was not only not his to dispose of, but which was not 
even a complete work. It seems to me that it is im- 
possible to believe this ; and I, at least, prefer to think 
that Medwin was under the influence of some strange 
hallucination with regard to the poem. 

In his Life of Shelley, published in 1847, Medwin gives 
another and longer account of The Wandering Jew. 
He there says : — 

" Shelley, having abandoned prose for poetry, now 
formed a grand design, a metrical romance on the subject 
of the Wandering Jew, of which the first three cantos 
were, with a few additions and alterations, almost en- 
tirely mine. It was a sort of thing such as boys usually 
write, a cento from different favourite authors; the vision 
in the third canto taken from Lewis's Monk, of which, in 
common with Byron, he was a great admirer; and 
the crucifixion scene altogether a plagiarism from a 
volume of Cambridge Prize Poems. The part which I 
supplied is still in my possession. After seven or eight 


cantos were perpetrated, Shelley sent them to Campbell 
for his opinion on their merits, with a view to publication. 
The author of the Pleasures of Hope returned the MS. 
with the remark that there were only two good lines 
in it: 

It seemed as if an angel's sigh 

Had breathed the plaintive symphony. 

Lines, by the way, savouring strongly of Walter Scott. 
This criticism of Campbell's gave a death-blow to our 
hopes of immortality, and so little regard did Shelley 
entertain for the production, that he left it at his 
lodgings in Edinburgh, where it was disinterred by 
some correspondent of Fraser s, and in whose magazine, 
in 1831, four of the cantos appeared. The others he 
very wisely did not think worth publishing. 

"It must be confessed that Shelley's contributions 
to this juvenile attempt were far the best, and those, 
with my MS. before me, I could, were it worth while, 
point out, though the contrast in the style, and the 
inconsequence of the opinions on religion, particularly 
•in the last canto, are suflSciently obvious to mark two 

different hands, and show which passages were his 

The finale of The Wandering Jew is also Shelley's, 
and proves that thus early he had imbibed opinions 
which were often the subject of our controversies. We 
diflfered also as to the conduct of the poem. It was 
my wish to follow the German fragment, and put an 


end to the Wandering Jew — a consummation Shelley 
would by no means consent to." 

The above appears to me to be a passage remarkable 
for confusion of thought and inexactitude of statement. 
I doubt if even one of the several statements which 
the paragraph contains, represents quite correctly the 
facts of the case. The impression it makes upon me 
is, that Medwin's ideas and recollections about the 
poem had grown so confused that he was totally unable 
to give a clear and connected acpount of the matter. 
Shelley, we are told, formed a grand design, yet, 
strangely enough, the first thi*ee cantos (or, according 
to Tlie Shelley Papers, the first four cantos) of the 
grarid design were written by Medwin. We are next 
informed that : — " It was a sort of thing such as 
boys usually write," — ^but, however juvenile an efifort 
the poem may be, it is certainly not the sort of 
thing boys usually write. Again, it is said that 
Lewis's Monk is the source of the vision in the third 
canto. It is true that one of the characters in this 
romance experiences a vision, but it bears little or 
no resemblance to the vision in the poem. What 
Medwin should have said, is, that the whole idea of the 
poem was probably derived from The MonTc. In that 
curious production, which at once delighted and 
scandalized our grandfathers and grandmothers, the 
Wandering Jew is an important figure; and several 
of the circumstances of Shelley's poem are derived 


froi9 Lewis's romance. " The crucifixion scene, altogether 
a plagiarism fi'om a volume of Cambridge Prize Poems," 
is another assertion which is certainly not hterally 
true. The Seatonian poem for 1765, called "The 
Crucifixion," by Thomas Zouch, is doubtless the one 
Medwin alludes to. It is written in blank verse, and 
although it contains passages which bear some re- 
semblance to the crucifixion scene in The Wandering 
Jew, yet these resemblances are not greater than might 
be expected to occur in two writers who chose the same 
subject. The images and expressions are, in fact, such 
as would naturally occur to any one writing upon the 
crucifixion, and Shelley no more plagiarises from Zouch, 
than Zouch does fi:om the New Testament. " The part 
which I suppUed is still in my possession " — ^how strange 
then that he did not know whether he had written 
three or four cantos 1 " After seven or eight cantos were 
perjpetratedy^ — but, as I have shown, it was complete, at 
least as far .as Shelley was concerned, in four cantos. 
Moreover, Medwin in 1833 says six or seven cantos, but 
in 1845 he says seven or eight. It is very noteworthy 
that Medwin says nothing about the poem having been 
oflFered for publication to Ballantyne and Co., and to 
Stockdale, which he would surely have done had he 
known the facts. Indeed, he implies his ignorance on 
this point by saying that Campbell's adverse opinion 
extinguished Shelley's interest in the poem, which, as 
we know, it certainly did not. 


I could point out other discrepancies in Medwin's 
statements, but it is surely unnecessary to do so. His 
whole account of the poem is so vitiated by contradictions 
and inaccuracies that no part of it can be depended upon. 
On the other hand, there is nothing that I know of to 
lead us to doubt that Shelley, in claiming the author- 
ship of the poem, was perfectly justified by the facts 
of the case. In short, the conclusions I have come to 
from a consideration of the various circumstances, are, 
that the original design was Shelley's (this even Medwin 
allows) ; that he wrote (possibly with some slight assis- 
tance from Medwin) the four cantos as we now have 
them ; that some discussion may have taken place between 
them with regard to a continuation of the poem, but that 
Shelley ultimately decided not to extend it. At the same 
time, it is likely enough that Medwin may have written 
something of the same sort on his own account, and he 
may possibly, in the course of time, have confused his 
own poem with Shelley's, and thus have come to believe 
himself the author of the latter. 

I have already stated that the extracts printed in the 
Literary Journal dififer very considerably from the corre- 
sponding passages in Fraser, In addition to numerous 
minute variations, the former contains many lines which 
do not appear in the latter. Thus, if we take 
the opening section of the poem, we shall find that 
while Fraser gives nineteen lines only, there are twenty- 
eight lines in the Literary Journal. If I might hazard 


a guess as to the cause of the differences in the two 
versions, I should say that the one used by the Literary 
J<mmal was a carefully revised and finished manuscript, 
while the one used by Fraser was probably a rough draft of 
the poem as originally composed. I also imagine that the 
former was the copy submitted to Messrs. Ballantyne and 
Co., while the latter was the one sent by Shelley to 
Stockdale, which may or may not have reached him, but 
which, I think, must have remained in the custody of some 
one in London until the thought occurred to its custodian 
of offering it for publication to Fraser* s Magazine. Of 
course I only put forward these opinions as probable 
hypotheses, which further evidence may disprove : but they 
seem to me to be the ones which best fit in with the 
circumstances of the case, so far as they are at present 

What has become of these two manuscripts? I can 
hardly think that both of them have been destroyed ; and 
it is rather curious, considering the avidity with which 
collectors have sought for Shelley's letters and manuscripts, 
that neither of them has yet been brought to light. But 
I do not think we need yet despair of recovering at least 
one of them. 

It may very probably be questioned whether the 
object I have here had in view — namely, to prove that 
Shelley was responsible for a poem of very indifferent 
merit — was one which it was worth while to under- 
take or accomplish. Since Medwin had claimed it, why 



not leave him in possession of it? With Zastrozzi and 
St. Irvyne to answer for, why add The Wandering Jew to 
the list of Shelley's juvenile failures ? To this it might be 
suflBcient to reply, that the search for truth justifies it-self, 
and needs no apology, whatever may result from it. But 
just as we look with interest and instruction at the first 
rough sketches which have formed the foundation for 
some grand design, so, if we look upon the early works of 
Shelley as preparatory studies for his mature masterpieces, 
they will be seen to possess an importance which their 
merits certainly do not give them. An author s failures 
an? no less instructive than his successes ; and, perhaps, 
fn>m a j^ychological standpoint, The Wandering Jew 
dosi^rx'os attentive study, although the student certainly 
will not :md need not linger over it as he will over 
y^v^itthrus llihou7id. Thi^ Two Gentlemen of Verona and 
.\'.\\< Lohntrs Lost might be well spared firom the list 
v.t Sh:\kospeare's productions, if their merits only were 
^ , v.v.vU iwl ; but they help us, in a way which his greater 
wvv/ns vu^ Ux^t. to understand the growth and development 
ot" ^»is i;v^v.uti^ Had Shelley's critical faculty developed 
icsolt us o<ivl\ AS his faculty of expression, we should 
vwvccuuU vu^t hi^\e hiul his two novels, or ^?%« Wandering 
t^.v'; but iKVss^iblv wo luiijht not have had Prometheus 
eithv r. A iKvt leavus t'iu^ more by attempting to create a 
iKvm or a plav, thcin by u^iltvtiug. for however long a 
tiuu\ u^Knx the right metluxl of oroating them. As the 
art of swimuiiug cannot }H>ssibly be learned without going 


into the water, so it is impossible to learn how to write 
poetry, without attempting to compose it ; and this natur- 
ally involves the production of much indifferent verse. 
Of course the real poet soon comes to perceive the worth- 
lessness of his early writings, but it is a misfortune if he 
perceives their small value at the very time he composes 
them ; for when this is the case his invention is chilled 
and discouraged, and he is apt to abandon his efforts 
in despair. The critical fa^nilty, in short, when in excess, 
is a hindrance, rather than a help, and we have reason 
to rejoice that, in Shelley's case, it was not developed too 
early. If we cannot allow any positive good quaUties 
to The Wandering Jew (and truth compels me to say 
that I cannot perceive any merits in it beyond a certain 
facility of versification and some few powerful lines), we 
need not regret that it was written, for doubtless its 
composition rendered easier the task of creating the great 
works which have placed Shelley among the Immortals. 

Bertram Dobell. 





" Me miserable, wliich way shall T fly ? 
Infinite wrath and infinite despair — 
AVhich way I fly is hell — myself am hell ; 
-And in this lowest deep a lower deep, 
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven." 

Paradise Lost. 

The brilliant orb of parting day 
Diffused a rich and mellow ray, ^ 
Above the mountain's brow ; 
It tinged the hills with lustrous light, 
It tinged the promontory's height, 
Still sparkling with the snow ; 
And 2 as aslant it threw its beam, 
Tipt* with gold the mountain stream 

^ and a mellow ray ' And, ^ Tipped 



That laved the vale below ; ^ 

Long hung the eye of glory there, 10 

And lingered as if loth to leave • 

A scene so lovely and so fair. 

'Twere luxury even, there to grieve. * 

So soft the clime, so halm the air. 

So pure and genial were the skies, 15 

In sooth 'twas almost Paradise, — 

For neer did the sunis splendour close 

On such a picture of repose ; — 

All, all was tranquil, all was still, 

Save when ^ the music of the rill, 20 

Or * distant waterfall, 

At intervals broke on the ear. 

Which echo's ^ self was charmed * to hear. 

And ceased her babbling call. 

With every charm the landscape glovfd 25 

Which partial Nature's hand hestowd; 

Nor could the mimic hand of art 

Such "beauties or such hues impart 

Light clouds ^ in fleeting livery gay. 

Hung,® painted in grotesque array 30 

1 below. 2 'Twere there even luxury to grieve ; 

* where — ^probably a printer's error. 
* Or a « Echo's • pleased 

' clouds, • Hung 


Upon the western sky : 

Forgetful of the approaching dawn, 

The peasants danced upon the lawn, 

For the vintage time was nigh : 

How jocund to the tabor s sound, 85 

O'er the smooth, trembling turf they bound,* 

In every measure light and free, 

The very soul of harmony ; « 

Grace in each attitude, they move, 

They thrill to amorous ecstasy, 40 

Light as the dewdrops of the mom, 

That hang upon the blossomed * thorn, 

Subdued by the pow'r of resistless Love. 

Ah ! days of innocence, of Joy, 

Of rapture that knows no alloy, 45 

ffaste on, — ye roseate hours, 

Free from the world! s tumultuous cares, 

From pale distrust, from hopes and fears, 

Baneful concomitants of time, — 

*Tis yours, beneath this favoured clime^ 50 

Tour pathway strewn withjlowersy 

Upborne onplea>sure*s downy wing. 

To quaff a long unfading spring. 

And beat with light and careless step the ground; 

1 The smooth turf trembling as they bound, 
* ! ^ blossomed 

B 2 


The fairest flowers too soon grow sere, 55 

Too soon shall tempests hlast the yeaVy 
And sin's eternal tointer reign around. 

But see, what forms are those, 

Scarce seen by gUmpse of dim twiUght, 

Wandering o'er the mountain's height ? 60 

They swiftly haste to the vale below : 

One wraps his mantle around his brow. 

As if to hide his woes ; 

And as his steed impetuous flies. 

What strange fire flashes from his eyes ! 65 

The far off city's murmuring sound 

Was borne on the breeze which floated around ; 

Noble Padua's lofty spire 

Scarce glow'd with the sunbeam's latest fire, 

Yet dashed the travellers on — 70 

Ere night o'er the earth was spread, 

Full many a mile they must have sped. 

Ere their destined course was run. 

Welcome was the moonbeam's ray, 

Which slept upon the towers so grey. 75 

But, hark ! a convent's vesper bell — 

It seemed to be a very spell — 

The stranger checked his courser's rein, 

And listened to the mournful sound : 

Listened — and paused — and paused again : 80 


A thrill of pit^ and of pam 

Through his inmost soul had past, 

While gushed the tear-drops silently and fast. 

A crowd waff at the convent gate, 

The gate was opened wide ; 85 

No longer on his steed he sate, 

But mingled with the tide. 

He felt a solemn awe and dread. 

As he the chapel entered ; 

Dim was the Ught from the pale moon beaming, 90 

As it fell on the saint-cyphered * panes ; * 

Or from the western window streaming. 

Tinged the pillai*s with varied stains. 

To the eye of enthusiasm strange forms were gliding * 

In each dusky recess of the aisle ; 95 

And indefined shades in succession were striding, 

0*er the coignes * of the gothic pile.^ 

The pillars to the vaulted roof 

In airy lightness rose ; 

Now they mount to the rich Gothic ceiling aloof y 100 

And exquisite tracery disclose. 

The altar illumined now darts its bright rays, 

^ eaint-ciplier'd * , ' gliding, 

* Buttress nor coigne of vantage. — Macbeth. (Author's Note.) 

^ pillared pile ; — 


The train past in brilliant array ; 

On the shrine Saint Pietro's rich ornaments blaze, 

A.nd rival the brilliance of day 105 

Hark ! — now the loud organ swells full on the ear — 

So sweetly mellow, chaste, and clear ; 

Melting, kindling, raising, firing, 

Delighting now, and now inspiring. 

Peal upon peal the music floats — 110 

Now they list still as death to the dying notes ; 

Whilst the soft voices of the choir. 

Exalt the soul from base desire ; 

Till it mounts on unearthly pinions free. 

Dissolved in heavenly ecstasy. 115 

Now a dead stillness reigned around, 

Uninterrupted by a sound ; 

Save when in deadened response ran, 

The last faint echoes down the aisle, 

Reverberated through the pile, 120 

As within the pale the holy man. 

With voice devout and saintly look. 

Slow chaunted from the sacred book, 

Or pious prayers were duly said, 

For spirits of departed dead. 125 

With beads and crucifix and hood. 

Close by his side the abbess stood ; 

Now her dark penetrating eyes 


Were raised in suppliance to heaven, 

And now her bosom heaved with sighs, 130 

As if to human weakness given. 

Her stem, severe, yet beauteous brow 

Frowned on all who stood below ; 

And the fire which flashed from her steady gaze. 

As it turned on the listening crowd its rays, 135 

Superior virtue told, — 

Virtue as pure as heaven's own dew, 

But which, untainted, never knew, 

To pardon weaker mould. 

The heart though chaste and cold as snow — 140 

'Twere faulty to be virtuous so. 


Not a whisper now breathed in the pillared aisle — 

The stranger advanced to the altar high — 

Convulsive was heard a smothered sigh I 

Lo ! four fair nuns to the altar draw near, 145 

With solemn footstep, as the while 

A fainting novice they bear — 

The roses from her cheek are fled 

But there the lily reigns instead ; 

Light as a sylph's, her form confest, 150 

Beneath the drapery of her vest, 

A perfect grace and symmetry ; 

Her eyes, with rapture form* d to move. 

To melt with tenderness and love. 

♦ ^ 


Or learn with sensibility ^ 155 

To Heaven were raised in pious prayer^ 

A silent eloquence of woe ; 

Now hung the pearly tear-drop there. 

Sate on her cheek a fix^d despair ; 

And now she heat her hosom hare, 160 

As pure as driven snow. 

Nine graceful novices ^ around 

Fresh roses strew ^ upon the ground : 

In purest white arrayed, ^ 

Nine* spotless vestal virgins shed 165 

Sabsean ^ incense o'er the head 

Of the devoted maid. 

They dragged her to the altar's pale, 

The traveller leant against the rail. 

And gazed with eager eye, — 170 

His cheek was flushed with sudden glow, 

On his brow sate a darker shade of woe, 

As a transient expression fled by. 

The sympathetic feeling flew 

Thro' every breast, from man to man, 175 

Confused and open clamours ran, 

Louder and louder still they grew ; 

^ Novices * strew'd * arrayed ; * Three « Sabean 


When the abbess waved her hand, 

A stem resolve was in her eye, 

And every wild tumultuous cry 180 

Was stilled at her command. 

The abbess made the well known sign — 

The novice reached the fatal shrine, 

And mercy implored from the power divine ; 

At length she shrieked aloud, 185 

She dashed from the supporting mm. 

Ere the fatal rite was done, 

And plunged amid the crowd. 

Confusion reigned throughout the throng, 

Still the novice fled along, 190 

Impelled by frantic fear. 

When the maddened traveller's eager grasp 

In firmest yet in wildest clasp 

Arrested her career. 

As fainting from terror she sank on the ground, 195 

Her loosened locks floated her fine form around ; 

The zone which confined her shadowy vest 

No longer her throbbing bosom prest, 

Its animation dead ; 

No more her feverish pulse beat high, 200 

Expression dwelt not in her eye. 

Her wildered senses fled. 

♦ ♦ ♦ • • 


Hark ! Hark I the demon of the storm I 

I see his vast expanding form 

Blend with the strange and sulphurous glare 205 

Of comets through the turbid air. 

Yes, 'twas his voice, I heard its roar, 

The wild waves lashed the cavemed shore 

In angry murmurs hoarse and loud, 

Higher and higher still they rise ; 210 

Red lightnings gleam from every cloud 

And paint wild shapes upon the skies ; 

The echoing thunder rolls around, 

Convulsed with earthquake rocks the ground. 

The traveller yet undaunted stood, 215 

He heeded not the roaring flood ; 
Yet Rosa slept, her bosom bare, 
Her cheek was deadly pale. 
The ringlets of her auburn hair 

Streamed in a lengthened trail, 220 

And motionless her seraph form ; 
Unheard, unheeded raved the storm. 
Whilst, borne on the wing of the gale. 
The harrowing shriek of the white sea-mew 
As o*er the midnight surge she flew : 225 

The bowlings of the squally blast 
• As o'er the beetling cliffs it past ; 
Mingled with the peals on high. 


That, swelling louder, echoed hy. 

Assailed the traveller s ear. 230 

He heeded not the maddened storm 

As it pelted against his lofty form, 

He felt no awe, no fear. 

In contrast, like the courser pale ^ 

That stalks along Death's pitchy vale 235 

With silent, with gigantic tread, 

Trampling the dying and the dead. 

Rising from her death-like trance. 

Fair Rosa met the stranger's glance ; 

She started from his chilling gaze, 240 

Wild was it as the tempest's blaze. 

It shot a lurid gleam of light. 

A secret speU of sudden dread, 

A mystic, strange, and harrowing fear, 

As when the spirits of the dead, 245 

Drest in ideal shapes appear. 

And hideous glance on human sight — 

Scarce could Rosa's frame sustain. 

The chill that pressed upon her brain. 

Anon, that transient spell was o'er, 250 

Dark clouds deform his brow no more, 

^ " Behold a pale horse, and his name that sate upon him was Death, 
and Hell followed with him." — Revelations^ vL 8. (Author's Note.) 


But rapid fled away ; 
Sweet fascination dwelt around, 
Mixed with a soft, a silver sound, 

As soothing to the ravished ear, 255 

As what enthusiast lovers hear ; 
Which seems to steal along the sky, 
When mountain mists are seen to fly, 
Before the approach of day. 

He seized on wondering Rosa's hand, 260 

" And, ah ! " cried he, " he this the band 
Shall join us, till this earthly frame, 
Sinks convulsed in bickering flame- 
When around the demons yell, 

And drag the sinful wretch to hell, 265 

Then, Rosa, will we part — 
Then fate, and only fate's decree, 
Shall tear thy lovely soul from me. 
And rend thee from my heart. 

Long has Paulo sought in vain, 270 

A friend to share his grief ,— 
Never will he seek again. 
For the wretch has found relief. 
Till the Prince of Darkness bursts his chain, 
Till death and desolation reign — 275 

Rosa, wilt thou then be mine ? 
Ever fairest, I am thine ! " 


He ceased, and on the howling blast, 

Which wildly round the mountain past, 

Died his accents low ; 280 

Yet fiercely howled the midnight storm, 

As Paulo bent his awful form, 

And leaned his lofty brow. 


" Stranger, mystic stranger, rise ; 

Whence do these tumults fill the skies ? 285 

Who conveyed me, say, this night, 

To this wild and cloud-capped height ? 

Who art thou ? and why am I 

Beneath Heaven's pityless canopy ? 

For the wild winds roar around my .head ; 290 

Lightnings redden the wave ; — 

Was it the power of the mighty dead, 

Who live beneath the grave ? 

Or did the Abbess drag me here, 

To make yon swelling surge my bier ? " 295 


" Ah, lovely Rosa ! cease thy fear, 

It was thy friend who bore thee here — 

I, thy friend, till this fabric of earth. 

Sinks in the chaos that gave it birth ; 

Till the meteor-bolt of the God above, 300 


Shall tear its victim from his love, — 
That love which must unbroken last. 
Till the hour of envious fate is past ; 
Till the mighty basements of the sky 
In bickering hell-flames heated fly : 305 

E'en then will I sit on some rocky height, 
Whilst around lower clouds of eternal night. 
E'en then will I loved Rosa save 
From the yawning abyss of the grave. — 
Or, into the gulf impetuous hurled — 310 

If sinks with its latest tenants the world, 
Then will our souls in union fly 
Throughout the wide and boundless sky : 
Then, free from th' ills that envious fate 
Has heaped upon our mortal state, 315 

Well taste etherial pleasure ; 
, Such as none but thou canst give, — 
Such as none but I receive, 
And rapture without measure." 

As thus he spoke, a sudden blaze 320 

Of pleasure mingled in his gaze : 

Illumined by the dazzling light, 

He glows with radiant lustre bright ; 

His features with new glory shine. 

And sparkle as with beams divine. 325 

** Strange, awful being," Rosa said, 


" Whence is this superhuman dread, 

That harrows up my inmost frame ? 

Whence does this unknown tingling flame, 

Consume and penetrate my soul ? 330 

By turns with fear and love possessed. 

Tumultuous thoughts swell high my breast ; 

A thousand wild emotions roll, 

And mingle their resistless tide ; 

O'er thee some magic arts preside ; 835 

As by the influence of a charm. 

Lulled into rest my griefs subside, 

And safe in thy protecting arm, 

I feel no power can do me harm : 

But the storm raves wildly o'er the sea, 340 

Bear me away 1 I confide in thee 1 " 

CANTO 11. 

*• I could a tale unfold, whose slightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part. 
And each particular hair to stand on end. 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine." — Hamlet, 

The horrors of the mighty blast, 

The lowering tempest clouds were past, 

Had sunk beneath the main ; 

Light baseless mists were all that fled, 345 

Above the weary traveller's head, 

As he left the spacious plain. 

Fled were the vapours of the night, 

Faint streaks of rosy tinted light 

Were painted on the matin grey ; 360 

And as the sun began to rise, 

To pour his animating ray, 

Glowed with bis fire the eastern skies, 

The distant rocks — the fjEur-oflf bay. 


The ocean's sweet and lovely blue, 355 

The mountain's variegated breast, 

Blushing with tender tints of dawn, 

Or with fantastic shadows drest. 

The waving wood, the opening lawn. 

Rose to existence, waked anew, 360 

In colours exquisite of hue. 

Their mingled charms Victorio viewed, 

And lost in admiration stood. 

From yesternight how changed the scene, 

When howled the blast o'er the dark cliflfs* side, 365 

And minorled with the maddened roar 

Of the wild surge that lashed the shore. 

To-day — scarce heard the whispering breeze. 

And still and motionless the seas 

Scarce heard the murmuring of their tide ; 370 

All, all is peaceful and serene. 

Serenely on Victorio's breast 

It breathed a soft and tranquil rest, 

Which bade each wild emotion cease. 

And hushed the passions into peace. 375 

Along the winding Po he went, 
His footsteps to the spot were bent 
Where Paulo dwelt, his wandered friend. 
For thither did his wishes tend. 


Noble Victorio's race was proud, 380 

From Cosmo's blood he came ; 

To him a wild untutored crowd 

Of vassals, in allegiance bowed, 

Illustrious was his name ; 

Yet vassals and wealth he scorned, to go 885 

Unnoticed with a man of woe : 

Gay hope and expectation sate, 

Throned in his eager eye. 

And ere he reached the castle gate, 

The sun had moimted higk 390 

Wild was the spot where the castle stood. 

Its towers embosomed deep in wood. 

Gigantic cliffs, with craggy steeps,* 

Beared their proud heads on high, ' 

Their bases were washed by the foaming deeps, 895 

Their summits were hid in the sky ; 

From the valley below they excluded the day, 

That valley ne'er cheered by the sunbeam's ray ; 

Nought broke on the silence drear. 

Save the himgry vultures darting by, 400 

Or eagles yelling fearfully, 

As they bore to the rocks their prey, 

Or when the fell wolf ravening prowled. 

Or the gaunt wild boar fiercely howled / 

His hideous screams on the night's dull ear. 405 

C 2 


Borne on pleasure's downy wing, 

Downy as the breath of spring, 

Not thus fled Paulo's hours away, 

Though brightened by the cheerful day : 

Friendship or wine, or softer love, 410 

The sparkling eye, the foaming bowl. 

Could with no lasting rapture move, 

Nor still the tumults of his soul. 

And yet there was in Rosa's kiss 

A momentary thrill of bliss; 415 

Oft the dark clouds of grief would fly, 

Beneath the beams of sympathy ; 

And love and converse sweet bestow, 

A transient requiem from woe. — 

Strange business, and of import vast, 420 

On things which long ago were past. 

Drew Paulo oft from home ; 

Then would a darker, deeper shade. 

By sorrow traced, his brow o'erspread 

And o'er his features roam. 425 

Oft as they spent the midnight hour. 

And heard the wintry wild winds rave 

Midst the roar and spray of the dashing wave. 

Was Paulo's dark brow seen to lour. 

Then, as the lamp's uncertain blaze 430 

Shed o'er the hall its partial rays, 


And shadows strange were seen to fall, 

And glide upon the dusky wall, 

Would Paulo start with sudden fear. 

Why then unbidden gush*d the tear, 435 

As he mutter'd strange words to the ear ? — 

Why frequent heaved the smother'd sigh ? — 

Why did he gaze on vacancy, 

As if some strange form was near ? 

Then would the fillet of his brow 440 

Fierce as a fiery furnace glow. 

As it bum'd with red and lambent flame , 

Then would cold shuddering seize his frame, 
As gasping he laboured for breath. 

The strange light of his gorgon eye, 445 

As;^ frenzied and roUing dreadfully. 

It glared with terrific gleam, 

Would chill like the spectre gaze of death, 

As,^ conjured by feverish dream, 

He seems o'er the sick man's couch to stand, 450 

And shakes the dread lance in his skeleton hand* 

But when the paroxysm was o'er. 

And clouds deform'd his brow no more. 

Would Rosa soothe his tumults dire. 

Would bid him cahn his grie^ 466 

Would quench reflection's rising fire, 

' The comma is omitted in Fraur. 


And give his soul relief. 

As on his form with pitying eye, 

The ministering angel hang, 

And wiped the drops of agony, 460 

The music of her syren ^ tongue 

Luird forcibly his griefs to rest,^ 

Like fleeting visions of the dead. 

Or midnight dreams, his sorrows fled : 

Waked to new life through all his soul 465 

A soft delicious languor stole, 

And lapt in heavenly ecstasy 

Ho sank and fainted on her breast. 

'Twas on an eve, the leaf was sere, 

Howl'd the blast round the castle drear, 470 

The boding night-bird's hideous cry 

Was mingled with the warning sky ; 

Heard was the distant torrent's dash. 

Seen was the lightning's dark red flash. 

As it gleamed on the stormy cloud ; 476 

Heard was the troubled ocean's roar, 

As its wild waves lash'd the rocky shore ; 

The thunder mutter'd loud. 



' A fall Btop instead of a comma is given here in the Literary Journal, 



As wilder still the lightnings flew ; 

Wilder as the tempest blew, 

More wildly strange their converse grew. 


They talk'd of the ghosts of the mighty dead, 

If, when the spark of life were fled, 

They visited this world of woe ? 

Or, were it but a phantasy, 

Deceptive to the feverish eye. 

When strange forms flashed upon the sight, 

And stalk'd along at the dead of night ? 

Or if, in the realms above. 

They still, for mortals left below, 

Retained the same aflfection's glow, 

In friendship or in love ?— 

Debating thus, a pensive train, 

Thought upon thought began to rise ; 

Her thrilling wild harp Rosa took ; 

What sounds in softest murmurs broke 

From the seraphic strings I 

Celestials borne on odorous wings, 

Caught the dulcet melodies, 

The life-blood ebb'd in every vein, 

As Paulo listened to the strain. 








*' What sounds are those that float upon the air,^ 
As if to bid the fading day farewell, — ^ 
What form is that so shadowy, yet so fair, 
Which glides along the rough and pathless dell ? 605 

Nightly those sounds swell full upon the breeze, 
Which seems to sigh as if in sympathy ; 
They hang amid yon cliflf-embosom'd trees, 
Or float in dying cadence through the sky. 


Now rests that form upon the moonbeam pale, 510 

In piteous strains of woe its vesper sings ; 
Now — now it traverses the silent vale. 
Borne on transparent ether's viewless wings. 

Oft will it rest beside yon abbey's ^ tower, 
Which lifts its ivy-mantled mass so high ; 515 

Bears its dark head to meet the storms that lour. 
And braves the trackless tempests of the sky. 

That form, the embodied spirit of a maid, 

Forced by a perjured lover to the grave ; 

A desperate fate the maddened girl obey'd, 520 

And from the dark cliffs plung'd into th6 wave. 


1 The 'turned commas' at the commencement of this line are 

omitted both in-jFVcwer, and in the Literary Journal, 

2 Abbey's 


There the deep murmurs of the restless surge, 
The mournful shriekings of the white sea-mew, 
The warring waves, the wild winds, sang her dirge; 
And o'er her bones the dark red coral grew. 525 

Yet though that form be sunk beneath the main, 
Still rests her spirit where its vows were given ; 
Still fondly visits each loved spot again. 
And pours its sorrows on the ear of Heaven. 

That spectre wanders through the abbey ^ dale, 530 
And suflfers pangs which such a fate must share ; 
Early her soul sank in death's darkened vale. 
And ere long all of us must meet her there/* 

She ceased, and on the listening ear 

Her pensive accents died ; 535 

So sad they were, so softly clear. 

It seemed as if some angel's sigh 

Had breathed the plaintive symphony ; 

So ravishingly sweet their close, 

The tones awakened Paulo's woes ; 540 

Oppressive recollections rose, 

And poured their bitter tide. 

* Abbey 


Absorbed awhile in grief he stood ; 

At length he seemed as one inspired, 

His burning fillet blazed with blood— 545 

A lambent flame his features fired. 

" The hour is come, the fated hour ; 

Whence is this new, this unfelt power ? — 

Yes, I've a secret to unfold. 

And such a tale as ne'er was told, 550 

A dreadful, dreadful mystery ! 

Scenes, at whose retrospect e*en now. 

Cold drops of anguish on my brow. 

The icy chill of death I feel ; 

Wrap, Rosa, bride, thy breast in steel, 655 

Thy soul with nerves of iron brace. 

As to your eyes I darkly trace. 

My sad, my cruel destiny. 

" Victorio, lend your ears, arise, 

Let us seek the battling skies, 560 

Wild o'er our heads the thunder crashing, 
And at our feet the wild waves dashing ; 
As tempest, clouds, and billows roll. 
In gloomy concert with my souL 

Rosa, follow me — 665 

For my soul is joined to thine. 
And thy being's linked to mine — 
Rosa, list to me." 


••• • • 

• • • : 

• • • • 


'^ His form had not yet lost 
All its original brightness, nor appeared 
Less than archangel rained, and the excess 
Of glory obscured ; but his face 
Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care 
Sate on his faded cheek." — Paradise Lost, 


** *Tls sixteen hundred years ago, 

Since I came from Israel's land ; 670 

Sixteen hundred years of woe I — 

With deep and farrowing hand, 

God's mark is painted on my bead ; 

Must there remain until the dead 

Hear the last trump, and leave the tomb, 575 

And earth spouts fire from her riven womb. 

" How can I pairU that dreadful day, 

That tiTne of terror and dismay, 

When, for our sins, a Saviour died. 

And the meek Lamb was crucified 1 580 


As dread that day, when ^ home along 

To slaughter by the insulting throng, 

Infuriate for Deicide, 

I mocked ^ our Saviour, and I cried, 

Go, go,8 ' Ah I I wiU go,' said he,* 585 

* Where scenes of endless bliss invite ; * 

To the blest regions of the light ^ 

I go, but thou shalt here remain — ^ 

Thou diest not till I come again' — ® 

E'en now, by horror traced, I see 590 

His perforated feet and hands ; 

The madden'd crowd around him stands.^ 

Pierces his side the ruffian spear, 

Big rolls the bitter anguish'd tear.^^ 

Hark, that deep groan ! — he dies — ^he dies.^^ 695 

And breathes, in death's last agonies. 

Forgiveness to his enemies. ^^ 

Then was the noon-day glory clouded. 

The sun in pitchy darkness shrouded.^^ 599 

Then were strange forms through the darkness gleaming, 

And the red orb of night on Jerusalem beaming ; ^* 

^ 'Twas on that day, as 
» mock'd 8 * Go ! go I ' 

* he said, 

® Nor see thy dying day 

Till I return again.' 
9, 10 : 

^^ Hark that deep groan ! He dies, he dies I ^' 1 ^f ; " > 


1 - 


* The Frater Teraan here retds— 

ConTxilsed, all nature shook with (Vs^A 
Earth trembled as if the end vraa nt^^r« 
Bent was the Temple's vail in txfain^ 
The graves gave up their dead agiftiiu 



nor mriaei » «l inr s Seviwr i^^^ tft)>» 

Of mmatim^iAabU jirt ; 
An eaopusUdf^ iortmrim^ jMtim 


Offrenzying anguish fired my brain} 

By keen remorse and anguish driven, 625 

T called for vengeance down from Heaven. 

But, ah ! the all-wasting hand of Time, 

Might never wear away my crime ! 

I scarce could draw my fluttering breath — 

Was it the appalling grasp of death ? 630 

I lay entranced, and deemed he shed 

His dews of poppy o'er my head ; 

But though the kindly w«rmth was dead. 

The self-inflicted torturing pangs 

Of conscience lent their scorpion fangs, 635 

Still life prolonging, after life was fled. 

•* Methought, what glories met my sight, 

As burst a sudden blaze of light. 

Illumining the azure skies, 

I saw the blessed Saviour rise. 640 

But how unlike to him who bled ! 

Where then his thorn-encircled head ? 

Where the big drops of agony 

Which dimmed the lustre of his eye ? 

Or deathlike hue that overspread 645 

1 In the Fraser version these nine lines are represented by four only — 

" 'Twas then I felt the Almighty's ire — 
Those words flashed on my soul, my frame, 
Scorched breast and brain as with a flame 
Of unextinguishable fire ! 


The features of that heavenly face ? 

Gone now was every mortal trace ; 

ffis eyes with radiant lustre beamed — 

His form confessed celestial grace, 

And with a blaze of glory streamed. 650 

Innumerable hosts around, 

Their brows with wreaths immortal crowned, 

With amaranthine chaplets bound, 

As on their wings the cross they bore, 

Deep dyed in the Redeemer s gore, 655 

Attune their golden harps, and sing 

Loud hallelujahs to their King. 

** But, in an instant, from my sight, 

Fled were the visions of delight. 

Darkness had spread her raven pall ; 660 

Dank, lurid darkness cover d all. 

All was as silent as the dead ; 

I felt a petrifying dread, 

Whicli harrowed up my frame ; 

When suddenly a lurid stream 665 

Of dark red light, with hideous gleam, 

Shot like a meteor through the night, 

And painted Hell upon the skies — 

The Hell from whence it came. 

What clouds of sulphur seemed to rise I v 670 

What sounds were borne upon the air ! 


The breatliings of intense despair— 

The piteous shrieks — the wails of woe — 

The screams of torment and of pain— 

The red-hot rack — the clanking chain ! 675 

I gazed upon the gulf below, 

Till, fainting from excess of fear, 

My tottering knees refused to bear 

My odious weight. I sink — I sink ! 

Already had I reached the brink. 680 

The fiery waves disparted wide, 

To plunge me in their sulphurous tide ; 

When, racked by agonizing pain, 

I started into life again. 

" Yet still the impression left behind 685 

Was deeply graven on my mind, 

In characters whose inward trace 

No change or time could e'er deface ; 

A burning cross illumed my brow, 

I hid it with a fillet grey, 690 

But could not hide the wasting woe 

That wore my wildered soul away, 

And ate my heart with living fire. 

I knew it was the avenger's sway, 

I felt it was the avenger's ire 1 695 

"A burden on the face of earth, 


I cursed the mother who gave me birth ; 

I cursed myself — my native land. 

Polluted by repeated crimes, 

I sought in distant foreign climes 700 

If change of country could bestow 

A transient respite from my woe. 

Vain from myself the attempt to fly, 

Sole cause of my own misery. 

" Since when, in death-like trance I lay, 705 

Past, slowly past, the years away 

That poured a bitter stream on me. 

When once I fondly longed to see 

Jerusalem, alas ! my native place, 

Jerusalem, alas ! no more in name, 710 

No portion of her former fame 

Had left behind a single trace. 

Her pomp, her splendour, was no more. 

Her towers no longer seem to rise. 

To lift their proud heads to the skies. 715 

Fane and monumental bust, 

Long levelled even with the dust. 

The holy pavements were stained with gore, 

The place where the sacred temple stood 

Was crimson-dyed with Jewish blood. 720 

Long since, my parents had been dead, 

All my posterity had bled 


Beneath the daxk Crusader's spear, 

No friend was left my path to cheer, 

To shed a few last setting rays 725 

Of sunshine on my evening days ! 

" Racked by the tortures of the mind, 

How have I long*d to plunge beneath 

The mansions of repelling death I 

And strove that resting place to find 730 

Where earthly sorrows cease. 

Oft^ when the tempest-fiends engaged^ 

And the warring winds tumultuous raged, 

Confounding skies with seas, 

Then would I rush to the towering height 735 

Of the gigantic Teneriffe, 

Or some precipitous cliff, 

All in the dead of the silent night, 

" / have cast myself from the mountain's height, 
Above was day — below was night ; 740 

The substantial clouds that lowcT^d beneath 
Bore my detested form ; 

They whirVd it above the volcanic breath, 

And the meteors of the dorm ; 

The torrents of electric flame 745 

ScorcKd to a cinder my fated frame. 

Hark to the thunder's awful crash — 


Hark to the midnight lightning's hiss ! 
At length was heard a sullen dash, 

Which made the hollow rocks around 750 

Rebellow to the awful sound ; 
The yawning ocean opening wide, 
Received me in its vast abyss, 
And whelm' d me in its foaming tide. 
Though my astounded senses fled, 755 

Yet did the spark of life^ remain ; 
Then the wild surges of the main 
DasKd and left me on the rocky shore. 
Oh ! would that I had waked no mai*e ! 
Vain wish/ I lived again to feel 760 

Torments more fierce than those of hell ! 
A tide of keener pain to roll, 
And the bruises to enter my inmost soul ! ^ 

^ This passage, whicL, as given in the Literary Journal, consists 
of 37 lines, is represented in Fraser by 24 lines only : — 
" How have I longed to plunge beneath 
The mansions of repelling death 
Where earthly sorrows cease I 
Oft have I rushed to the towering height 
Of the gigantic TenerifFe, 
Or some precipitous clifF, 
All in the dead of the stormy night, 
And flung me to the seas. 
The substantial clouds that lower'd beneath, 
Bore my detested form ; 
They whirPd it above volcanic breath, . 
And the meteors of the storm. 
Hark to the thunder's awful crash ! 
Hark to the midnight lightning's hiss ! 

D 2 


" I cast myself in Etna's womb, ^ 

If haply I might meet my doom, 7G5 

At length was heard a sullen dash, 

Which made the hollow rocks around 

Rebellow to the awful sound, 

The yawning ocean opening wide, 

Received me in its vast abyss, 

And whelm'd me in its foaming tide — 

My astounded senses fled I 

Oh ! would that I had waked no more, 

But the wild surge swept my corpse ashore — 

I was not with the dead I 

1 "I cast myself from the overhanging summit of the gigantic 
Teneriffe into the wide weltering ocean. The clouds which hung 
upon its base below, bore up my odious weight ; the foaming billows 
swoln by the fury of the northern blast, opened to receive me, and, 
burying in a vast abyss, at length dashed my almost inanimate frame 
against the crags. The bruises entered into my soul, but I awoke 
to life and all its torments. I precipitated myself into the crater of 
Vesuvius, the bickering flames and melted lava vomited me up again 
and though I felt the tortures of the damned, though the sulphureous 
bitumen scorched the blood within my veins, parched up my flesh 
and burnt it to a cinder, still did I live to drag the galling chain of 
existence on. Repeatedly have I exposed myself to the tempestuous 
battling of the elements ; the clouds which burst upon my head in 
crash terrific and exterminating, and the flaniing thunderbolt hurled 
headlong on me its victim, stunned but not destroyed me. The 
lightning, in bickering coruscation, blasted me ; and like the scattered 
[] shattered] oak, which remains a monument of faded grandeur, and 
outlives the other monarchs of the forest, doomed me to live for ever. 
Nine times did this dagger enter into my heart — the ensanguined tide 
of existence followed the repeated plunge ; at each stroke, unutterable 
anguish seized my frame, and every limb was convulsed by the 
pangs of approaching dissolution. The wounds still closed, and still 
I breathe the hated breath of life.'* 

T have endeavoured to deviate as little as possible from the extreme 
sublimity of idea which the style of the German author, of which 
this is a translation, so forcibly impresses. [Author's note.] 


In torrents of electric flame ; 

Thrice happy had I found a grave 

'Mid fierce combustion's tumults dire, 

'Mid oceans of volcanic fire 

Which whirl'd me in their sulphurous wave, 770 

And scorched to a cinder my hated frame, 

Parch'd up the blood within my veins, 

And rack'd my breast with damning pains ; 

Then hurl'd me from the mountain's entrails dread. 

With what unutterable woe 775 

Even now I feel this bosom glow — 

I burn — I melt with fervent heat — 

Again life's pulses wildly beat — 

What endless throbbing pains I live to feel 1 

The elements respect their Maker's seal, — 780 

That seal deep printed on my fated head. 

" Still like the scathed pine-tree's height, 

Braving the tempests of the night 

Have I 'scaped the bickering fire. 

Like the scathed pine which a monument stands 785 

Of faded grandeur, which the brands 

Of th^ tempest-shaken air 

Have riven on the desolate heath, 

Yet it stands majestic even in death. 

And rears its wild form there. 790 

Thus have I 'scaped the ocean's roar 


The red-hot bolt from God's right hand, 

The flaming midnight meteor brand, 

And Etna's flames of bickering fire. 

Thus am I doom'd by fate to stand, 795 

A monument of the Eternal's ire ; 

Nor can this being pass away. 

Till time shall be no more. 

" i pierce with intellectual eye, 

Into each hidden mystery ; 800 

I penetrate the fertile womb 

Of nature ; I produce to light 

The secrets of the teeming earth. 

And give air's unseen embryos birth : 

The past, the present, and to come, 805 

Float in review before my sight : 

To me is known the magic spell, 

To summon e'en the Prince of Hell ; 

Awed by the Cross upon my head, 

His fiends would obey my mandates dread, 810 

To twilight change the blaze of noon. 

And stain with spots of blood the moon — 

But that an interposing hand 

Restrains my potent arts, my else supreme command." 

He raised his passion-quivering hand, 815 

He loosed the grey encircling band, 


A burning Cross was there ; 

Its colour wa-s like to recent blood, 

Deep marked upon his brow it stood, 

And spread a lambent glare. 820 

Dimmer grew the taper s blaze. 

Dazzled by the brighter rays, 

Whilst Paulo spoke — 'twas dead of night — 

Fair Rosa shuddered with affright ; 

Victorio, fearless, had braved death 825 

Upon the blood-besprinkled heath ; 

Had heard, unmoved, the cannon's roar, 

Echoing along the Wolga's shore. 

When the thunder of battle was sweUing, 

When the birds for their dead prey were yelling, 830 

When the ensigns of slaughter were streaming. 

And falchions and bayonets were gleaming, 

And almost felt death's chilling hand. 

Stretched on ensanguined Wolga's strand, 

And, careless, scorned for life to cry, 835 

Yet now he turned aside his eye, 

Scarce could his death-like terror bear. 

And owned now what it was to fear. 

" Once a funeral met my aching sight, 

It blasted my eyes at the dead of night, 840 

When the sightless fiends of the tempests rave. 

And hell-birds howl o'er the storm-blacken'd wave. 


Nought was seen, save at fits, but the meteor's glare 

And the lightnings of God painting hell on the air ; 

Nought was heard save the thunder's wild voice in the 
sky, 845 

And strange birds who, shrieking, fled dismally by. 

'Twas then from my head my drench'd hair that I tore, 

And bade ^ my vain dagger's point drink my life's gore ; 

'Twas then I fell on the ensanguined earth. 

And cursed the mother who gave me birth ! 850 

My maddened brain could bear no more — 

Hark ! the chilling whirlwind's roar ; 

The spirits of the tombless dead 

Flit around my fated head, — 

Howl horror and destruction round, 855 

As they quaflf my blood that stains the ground, 

And shriek amid their deadly stave, — 

' Never shalt thou find the grave ! 

Ever shall thy fated soul 

In life's protracted torments roll, 860 

Till, in latest ruin hurl'd, 

And fate's destruction, sinks the world ! 

Till the dead arise from the yawning ground. 

To meet their Maker's last decree. 

Till angels of vengeance flit around, 865 

And loud yelling demons seize on thee 1 ' 



" Ah ! would were come that fated hour, 

When the clouds of chaos around shall lower ; 

When this globe calcined by the fury of God 

Shall sink beneath his wrathful nod ! " 870 

As thus he spake, a wilder gaze 

Of fiend-like horror lit his eye 

With a most unearthly blaze, 

As if some phantom-form passed by. 

At last he stilled the maddening wail 875 

Of grief, and thus pursued his tale :— 

" Oft I invoke the fiends of hell, 

And summon each in dire array — 

I know they dare not disobey 

My stem, my powerful spell. 880 

— Once on a night, when not a breeze 

Ruffled the surface of the seas. 

The elements were lulled to rest, 

And all was calm save my sad breast, 

On death resolved — intent, 885 

I marked a circle round my form ; 

About me sacred reliques spread. 

The reliques of magicians dead. 

And potent incantations read — 

I waited their event. 890 


" All at once grew dark the night, 

Mists of swarthiness hung o*er the pale moonlight. 

Strange yells were heard, the boding cry 

Of the night raven that flitted by, 

Whilst the silver winged mew 895 

Startled with screams o'er the dark wave flew. 

'Twas then I seized a magic wand, 

The wand by an enchanter given. 

And deep dyed in his heart's red blood. 

The crashing thunder pealed aloud ; 900 

I saw the portentous meteor's glare 

And the lightnings gleam o'er the lurid air ; 

I raised the wand in my trembling hand, 

And pointed Hell's mark at the zenith of Heaven. 

" A superhuman sound 905 

Broke faintly on the Ustening ear, 

Like to a silver harp the notes. 

And yet they were more soft and clear. 

I wildly strained my eyes around — 

Again the unknown music floats. 910 

Still stood Hell's mark above my head — 

In wildest accents I summoned the dead — 

And through the unsubstantial night, 

It diffused a strange and fiendish light; 

Spread its rays to the charnel-house air, 915 

And marked mystic forms on the dark vapours there. 


The winds had ceased — a thick dark smoke 

From beneath the pavement broke ; 

Around ambrosial perfumes breathe 

A fragrance, grateful to the sense, 920 

And bliss, past utterance, dispense. 

The heavy mists, encircling, wreath. 

Disperse, and gradually unfold 

A youthful female form ; — she rode 

Upon a rosy-tinted cloud ; 925 

Bright streamed her flowing locks of gold ; 

She shone with radiant lustre bright, 

And blazed with strange and dazzling light ; 

A diamond coronet deck'd her brow, 

Bloom'd on her cheek a vermeil glow ; 930 

The terrors of her fiery eye 

Pour'd forth insuflerable day. 

And shed a wildly lurid ray. 

A smile upon her features play'd, 

But there, too, sate pourtray'd 935 

The inventive malice of a soul 

Where wild demoniac passions roll ; 

Despair and torment on her brow, 

Had mark'd a melancholy woe 

In dark and deepened shade. 040 

Under those hypocritic smiles, 

Deceitful as the serpent's wiles. 

Her hate and malice were conceaFd ; 


Whilst on her guilt-confessing face. 

Conscience, the strongly printed trace 945 

Of agony betrayed, 

And all the fallen angel stood reveard. 

She held a poniard in her hand, 

The point was tinged by the lightning's brand ; 

In her left a scroll she bore, 950 

Crimson d deep with human gore ;* 

And, as above my head she stood, 

Bade me smear it with my blood. 

She said, that when it was my doom 

That every earthly pang should cease ; 955 

The evening of my mortal woe 

Would close beneath the yawning tomb ; 

And, lull'd into the arms of death, 

I should resign my labouring breath ; 

And in the sightless realms below 960 

Enjoy an endless reign of peace. 

She ceased — oh, God, I thank thy grace, 

Which bade me spurn the deadly scroll ; 

Uncertain for a while I stood — 

The dagger s point was in my blood. 965 

Even now I bleed ! — I bleed ! 

When suddenly what horrors flew. 

Quick as the lightnings through my frame ; 

Flash'd on my mind the infernal deed, 

The deed which would condemn my soul 970 


To torments of eternal flame. 

Drops colder than the cavern dew 

Quick coursed each otiier down my face, 

I laboured for my breath ; 

At length I cried, ' Avaunt ! thou fiend of Hell, 975 

Avaunt 1 thou minister of death ! ' 

I cast the volume on the ground. 

Loud shriek'd the fiend with piercing yell, 

And more than mortal laughter peal'd around. 

The scattered fragments of the storm 980 

Floated along the Demon's form. 

Dilating till it touched the sky ; 

The clouds that roU'd athwart his eye, 

Reveal'd by its terrific ray. 

Brilliant as the noontide day, 985 

Gleam*d with a lurid fire ; 

Red lightnings darted around his head. 

Thunders hoarse as the groans of the dead. 

Pronounced their Maker s ire ; 

A whirlwind rush'd impetuous by, 990 

Chaos of horror fill'd the sky ; 

I sunk convulsed with awe and dread. 

When I waked the storm was fled, 

But sounds unholy met my ear, 

And fiends of hell were flitting near. 995 

" Here let me pause — here end my tale, 


My mental powers begin to fail ; 

At this short retrospect I faint : 

Scarce beats my pulse — I lose my breath, 

I sicken even unto death. 1000 

Oh ! hard would be the task to paint 

And gift with Ufe past scenes again ; 

To knit a long and linkless chain, 

Or strive minutely to relate 

The varied horrors of my fate. 1005 

Rosa ! I could a tale disclose, 

So full of horror — full of woes, 

Such as might blast a demon's ear. 

Such as a fiend might shrink to hear — 

But, no—" 1010 

Here ceased the tale. Convulsed with fear, 

The tale yet lived in Rosa's ear — 

She felt a strange mysterious dread, 

A chilhng awe as of the dead ; 

Gleamed on her sight the demon's form. 1015 

Heard she the fury of the storm ? 

The cries and hideous yells of death ? 

Tottered the ground her feet beneath ? 

Was it the fiend before her stood ? 

Saw she the poniard drop with blood ? 1020 

All seemed to her distempered eye 

A true and sad reality 



Oi/TOi, yvvcuKUSf itWh, TopySvas Xeyw 
is* aire TopyeioKriy tiKdctc riirois' 

fx4\ouyai 8* is rh irov ^€\6iCTpoiroi' 

^iyKOvffi 8* oh vKarolffi ipvaid/juKriv' 
iK S' OfjLfxdrtoy \ei$ova't 8v(r^iX^ filau. 

^sckyluSf £umenide8f v. 48^ 5H 

What are ye 

So withered and so wild -in your attire, 
That look not like th' inhabitants of earth, 
And yet are on't ? — Live you, or are you aught 
That man may question ? " Macbeth. 

Ah 1 why does man, whom God has sent 

As the Creation's ornament, 

Who stands amid his works confest 1025 

The first — the noblest — and the best ; 

Whose vast — whose comprehensive eye. 

Is bounded only by the sky. 

Overlook the charms which Nature yields. 

The garniture of woods and fields, 1030 

The sun's all vivifying light. 

The glory of the moon by night, 


And to himself alone a foe, 

Forget from whom these blessings flow ? 

And is there not in friendship's eye, 1035 

Beaming with tender sympathy, 

An antidote to every woe ? ^ 

And cannot woman's love bestow 

An heav'nly paradise below ? 

Such joys as these to man are given, 1040 

And yet you dare to rail at Heaven ; ^ 

Vainly oppose the Almighty Cause, 

Transgress His universal laws; 3 

Forfeit the pleasures that await 

The virtuous in this mortal state ;* 1045 

Question the goodness of the Power on high. 

In misery live, despairing die. 

What then is man, how few his days. 

And heightened by what transient rays ; ^ 

Made up of plans of happiness, 1050 

Of visionai*y schemes of bliss, 

The varying passions of his mind 

Inconstant, varying as the wind ;« 

Now hush'd to apathetic rest. 

Now tempested with storms his breast ; ^ 1055 

Now with the fluctuating tide 

Sunk low in meanness, swoln with pride ; 


4 5 6 7 8 

> ) J > 


Thoughtless, or overwhebn'd with care, 
Hoping, or tortured by despair ! 

The sun had sunk beneath the hill, 1060 

Soft fell the dew, the scene was still ; 

All nature hailed the evening's close. 

Far more did lovely Rosa bl^ss 

The twilight of her happiness. 

Even Paulo blest the tranquil hour 1065 

As in the aromatic bower, 

Or wandering through the olive grove. 

He told his plaintive tale of love ; 

But welcome to Victorio's soul 

Did the dark clouds of evening roll! 1070 

But, ah ! what means his hurried pace, 

Those gestures strange, that varying face ; 

Now pale with mingled rage and ire, 

Now burning with intense desire ; 

That brow where brood the imps of care, * 1075 

That fixed expression of despair. 

That haste, that labouring for breath — 

His soul is madly bent on death. 

A dark resolve is in his eye, 

Victorio raves — I hear him cry, 1080 

" Rosa is Paulo's eternally." 

But whence is that soul-harrowing moan. 
Deep drawn and half supprest — 



A low and melancholy tone, 

That rose upon the wind ? 1085 

Victorio wildly gazed around, 

He cast his eyes upon the ground, 

He raised, them to the spangled air, 

But all was still — was quiet there. 

Hence, hence, this superstitious fear ; 1090 

'Twas but the fever of his mind 

That conjured the ideal sound. 

To his distempered ear. 

With rapid step, with frantic haste, 
He scoured the long and dreary waste ; 1095 

; • And now the gloomy cypress spread 
Its darkened umbrage o'er his head ; 
The stately pines above him high, 
Lifted their tall heads to the sky ; 
Whilst o'er his form, the poisonous yew 1100 

And melancholy nightshade threw 
Their baleful deadly dew. 
At intervals the moon shone clear ; 
Yet, passing o'er her disk, a cloud 
Would now her silver beauty shroud. 1105 

The autumnal leaf was parched and sere ; 
It rustled like a step to fear. 
The precipice's battled height 
Was dimly seen through the mists of night, 


As Victorio moved along. 1110 

At length he reach'd its summit dread, 
The night-wind whistled round his head 
A wild funereal song. 
A dying cadence swept around 

Upon the waste of air, 1115 

It scarcely might be called a sound, 
For stillness yet was there. 
Save when the roar of the waters below 
Was wafted by fits to the mountain's brow. 
Here for a while Victorio stood 1120 

Suspended o'er ^ the yawning flood, 
And gazed upon the gulf beneath. 
No apprehension paled his cheek, 
No sighs from his torn bosom break, 
No terror dimm'd his eye. 1125 

" Welcome, thrice welcome, friendly death," 
In desperate harrowing tone he cried, 
" Receive me, ocean, to your breast, 
Hush this ungovernable tide, 

This troubled sea to rest. 1130 

, Thus do I bury all my grief — 
This plunge shall give my soul relief. 
This plunge into eternity ! *' 
I see him now about to spring 

1 On 

E 2 


Into the watery grave : 1135 

Hark ! the death angel flaps his wing 

O'er the blacken'd wave. 

Hark ! the night-raven shrieks on high 

To the breeze which passes on ; 

Clouds o'ershade the moonlight sky — 1140 

The deadly work is almost done — 

When a soft and silver sound, 

Softer than the fairy song, 

Which floats at midnight hour along 

The daisy-spangled ground, 1145 

Was borne upon the wind's soft swell. 

Victorio started — 'twas the knell 

Of some departed soul ; 

Now on the pinion of the blast, 

Which o'er the craggy mountain past, 1150 

The lengthen'd murmurs roll — 

Till lost in ether, dies away 

The plaintive, melancholy lay. 

'Tis said congenial sounds have power 

To dissipate the mists that lower 1155 

Upon the wretch's brow — 

To still the maddening passions' war — 

To calm the mind's impetuous jar — 

To turn the tide of woe. 

Victorio shudder'd with affright, 1160 

Swam o'er his eyes thick mists of night ; 


Even now he was about to sink 

Into the ocean's yawning womb, 

But that the branches of an oak, 

Which, riven by the lightning's stroke, 1165 

O'erhung the precipice's brink, 

Preserved him from the billowy tomb ; 

Quick throbb'd his pulse with feverish heat. 

He wildly started on his feet, 

And rush'd from the mountain's height. 1170 

The moon was down, but thro' the air 

Wild meteors spread a transient glare, 

Borne on the wing of the swelling gale. 

Above the dark and woody dale, 

Thick clouds obscured the sky. 1175 

All was now wrapped in silence drear. 

Not a whisper broke on the listening ear. 

Not a murmur floated by. 

In thought's perplexing labyrinth lost 

The trackless heath he swiftly crost. 1180 

Ah ! why did terror blanch his cheek ? 

Why did his tongue attempt to speak, 

And fail in the essay? 

Through the dark midnight mists, an eye, 

Flashing with crimson brilliancy, 1185 

Poured on his face its ray. 


What sighs pollute the midnight air ? 

What mean those breathings of despair ? 

Thus asked a voice, whose hollow tone 

Might seem but one funereal moan. 1190 

Victorio groaned, with faltering breath, 

" I burn with love, I pant for death ! " 

Suddenly a meteor's glare. 

With brilliant flash illumed the air ; 

Bursting through clouds of sulphurous smoke, 1195 

As on a Witch's form it broke, v 

Of herculean bulk her frame 

Seemed blasted by the lightning's flame ; 

Her eyes that flared with lurid light, 

Were now with bloodshot lustre filled. 1200 

They blazed like comets through the night. 

And now thick rheumy gore distilled ; 

Black as the raven's plume, her locks 

Loose streamed upon the pointed rocks ; 

Wild floated on the hollow gale, 1205 

Or swept the ground in matted trail ; 

Vile loathsome weeds, whose pitchy fold 

Were blackened by the fire of Hell, 

Her shapeless limbs of giant mould 

Scarce served to hide — as she the while 1210 

" Grinned horribly a ghastly smile " 

And shrieked with demon yell. 


Terror unmaaned Victorio's mind, 

His limbs, like lime leaves in tbe wind, 

Shook, and his brain in wild dismay 1215 

Swam — Vainly he strove to turn away. 

" Follow me to the mansions of rest," 

The weird female cried ; 

The life-blood rushed thro' Victorio's breast 

In full and swelling tide. 1220 

Attractive as the eagle's gaze. 

And bright as the meridian blaze. 

Led by a sanguine stream of light. 

He followed through the shades of night — 

Before him his conductress fled, 1225 

As swift as the ghosts of the dead. 

When on some dreadful errand they fly. 

In a thunderblast sweeping the sky. 

They reached a rock whose beetling height 

Was dimly seen thro' the clouds of night ; 1230 

Illumined by the meteor's blaze, 

Its wild crags caught the reddened rays 

And their refracted brilliance threw 

Around a solitary yew, 

Which stretched its blasted form on high, 1235 

Braving the tempests of the sky. 

As glared the flame — a cavemed cell. 

More pitchy than the shades of hell. 



Lay open to Victorious view. 

Lost for an instant was his guide ; 1240 

He rushed into the mountain's side. 

At length with deep and harrowing yell 

She bade him quickly speed, 

For that ere again had risen the moon 

'Twas fated that there must be done 1245 

A strange — a deadly deed. 

Swift as the wind Victorio sped; 

Beneath him lay the mangled dead 

Around dank putrefaction's power 

Had caused a dim blue mist to lower. 1250 

Yet an unfixed, a wandering light • 

Dispersed the thickening shades of night ; 

Yet the weird female's features dire 

Gleamed thro' the lurid yellow air : 

With a deadly livid fire, 1255 

Whose wild, inconstant, dazzling light 

Dispelled the tenfold shades of night, 

Whilst her hideous fiendlike eye 

Fixed on her victim with horrid stare 

Flamed with more kindled radiancy ; ^ 1260 

More frightful far than that of Death, 

When exulting he stalks o'er the battle heath ; 

Or of the dread prophetic form. 

Who rides the curled clouds in the stormj 


And borne upon the tempest's wings. 
Death, despair, and horror brings. 
Strange voices then and shrieks of death 
Were borne along the trackless heath ; 
Tottered the ground hia steps beneath ; 
Bustled the blast o'er the dark cliffs side, 
And their works unhallowed spirits plied. 
As they shed their baneful breath. 

Yet Victorio hastened on — 

Soon the dire deed will be done. 

" Mortal," the female cried, " this night 

Shall dissipate thy woe ; 

And, ere return of morning light 

The clouds that shade thy brow. 

Like fleeting summer mists shall fly 

Before the sun that mounts on high, 

I know the wishes of thy heart — 

A soothing balm I could impart : 

Rosa is Paulo's — can be thine, 

For the secret power ia mine," 


" Give me that secret power — Oh ! give 
To me fair Rosa — I will live 
To bow to thy com 
Rosa but n 


E'en to the regions of the sky, 

Will traverse every land." 1290 


" Calm then those transports and attend, 
Mortal, to one, who is thy friend — 
The charm begins." 

An ancient book ■* 

Of mystic characters she took ; 

Her loose locks floated on the air ; ^ 1295 

Her eyes were fixed in lifeless stare : ^ 
She traced a circle on the floor, 
Around dank chilling vapours lower : ^ 
A golden cross on the pavement she threw,* 
'Twas tinged with ^ a flame of lambent blue, 1300 

From which bright scintillations flew ; ^ 
By it she cursed her Saviour s soul ; ^ 
Around strange fiendish laughs did roll, 
A hollow, wild, and frightful sound, 
At fits was heard to float around.^ 1305 

She uttered • then, in accents dread. 
Some maddening rhyme that wakes the dead, 

1 2 . 3 . 4 . 6 hv 6 • 7 ! 

8 Then savage laughter round did roll, 
A hollow, wild, and frightful sound, 
In air above, and under ground. 
9 utter'd. 


And forces every shivering fiend, 

To her their demon-forms to bend ; ^ 

At length a wild and piercing shriek, 1310 

As the dark mists disperse and break, 

Announced the coming Prince of Hell — ^ 

His horrid form obscured the ceU. 

Victorio shrunk, unused to shrink, 

E'en at extremest danger's brink ; l3l5 

The witch then pointed to the ground. 

Infernal shadows flitted around, 

And with their prince were seen to rise, 

The cavern bellows with their cries. 

Which echoing through a thousand caves, 1320 

Sound like as many tempest waves.^ 

Inspired and wrapt in bickering flame. 

^ This passage differs considerably from the Literary Journal 
version : — 

But when his form obscured the cell, 
What words could paint, what tongue could tell, 
The terrors of his look ! 
The witch's heart unused to shrink 
Even at extremest danger's brink, 
With deadliest terror shook ! 
And with their Prince were seen to rise 
Spirits of every shape and hue, — 
A hideous and infernal crew, 
With hell-fires flashing from their eyes. 
The cavern bellows with their cries, 
Which, echoing through a thousand caves, 
Sound like as many tempest- waves* 


The strange, the awful being stood.^ 

Words unpremeditated came, 

In unintelligible flood, 1326 

From her black tumid lips,^ — array'd 

In livid fiendish smiles of joy ; ^ 

Lips, which now dropped * with deadly dew, 

And now, extending wide, displayed,^ 

Projecting teeth of mouldy hue,^ 1330 

As with a loud and piercing cry, 

A mystic, harrowing lay she sang, 

Along the rocks a death-peal rang. 

In accents hollow, deep and drear, 

They struck upon Victorio's ear7 1335 

As ceased the soul-appalling verse, 

Obedient to its power, grew still 

The hellish shrieks ; — the mists disperse ; — 

Satan — a shapeless, hideouts heaM — 

In all his horrors stood confest ! 1340 

And as his vast proportions fill 

The lofty cave, his features dire 

Gleam with a pale and sulphurous fire ; 

From his fixed glance of deadly hate 

1 The strange and wild enchantress stood ; — 

2 — 3 — ^dropp'd ^ displayed 

® blue. 

^ The rocks, as with a death-peal, rang 
And the dread accents, deep and drear, 
Struck terror on the dark night's ear ! 


Even she shrunk hack, appalled vrith dread — 1345 

For there contempt and malice sate. 

And from his hasiliskine eye 

Sparks of living fury fly. 

Which wanted hut a heing to strike dead, 

A wilder, a more awful spell 1350 

Now echoed through the long-drawn cell ; 

The demon bowed to its mandates dread. 

" Receive this potent drug," he cried, 

" Whoever quaffs its fatal tide, 

Is mingled with the dead." 1355 

Swept by a rushing sulphurous blast. 

Which wildly through the cavern past, 

The fatal word was borne. 

The cavern trembled with the sound,^ 

Trembled beneath his feet the ground, 1360 

With strong convulsions torn, 

Victorio, shuddering, fell ; 

But soon awakening from his trance. 

He cast around a fearful glance. 

Yet gloomy was the cell, 1365 

Save where a lamp's uncertain flare 

Cast a flickering, dying glaie. 

1 " Death ! 

Hell trembled at the hideous name and sighed 
From all its caves, and back resounded death.'' — Paradise Lost, 



" Receive this dear-earned drug — its powe^ 

Thou, mortal, soon shalt know : 

This drug shall be thy nuptial dower, 1370 

This drug shall seal thy woe. 

Mingle it with Rosa's wine, 

Victorio — Rosa then is thine." 

She spake, and, to confirm the spell, 
A strange and subterranean sound 1375 

Reverberated long around, 
In dismal echoes — the dark cell 
Rocked as in terror — thro' the sky 
Hoarse thunders murmured awfully, 
And winged with horror, darkness spread 1380 

Her mantle o'er Victorio's head. 
He gazed around with dizzy fear. 
No fiend, no witch, no cave, was near ; 
But the blasts of the forest were heard to roar, 
The wild ocean's billows to dash on the shore. 1385 

The cold winds of Heaven struck chill on his frame ; 
For the cave had been heated by hell's blackening 

And his hand grasped a casket — the philtre was there ! 

♦ « « « « 

Sweet is the whispering of the breeze 

Which scarcely sways yon summer trees ; 1390 


Sweet is the pale moon's pearly beam, 

Which sleeps upon the silver stream, 

In slumber cold and still : 

Sweet those wild notes of harmony, 

Which on the blast that passes by, 1395 

Are wafted from yon hill ; 

So low, so thrilling, yet so clear. 

Which strike enthusiast fancy's ear : 

Which sweep along the moonlight sky, 

Like notes of heavenly symphony. 1400 


See yon opening flower 

Spreads its fragrance to the blast ; 

It fades within an hour, 

Its decay is pale, is fast. 

Paler is yon maiden ; 1405 

Faster is her heart's decay ; 

Deep with sorrow laden. 

She sinks in death away. 

« « ♦ « « 

'Tis the silent dead of night — 

Hark ! hark ! what shriek so low yet clear, 1410 

Breaks on calm rapture's pensive ear. 

From Lara's castled height ? 

'Twas Eosa's death-shriek fell ! 

What sound is that which rides the blast, 


As onw9.rd its fainter murmurs past ? 1415 

*Tis Rosa's funeral knell I 

What step is that the ground which shakes ? 

'Tis the step of a wretch, nature shrinks from his tread ; 

And beneath their tombs tremble the shuddering dead ; 

And while he speaks the churchyard quakes. 1420 


" Ides she therefor the worm to devour, 

Lies she there till the judgment hour. 

Is then my Rosa dead ! 

False fiend ! I curse thy futile power ! 

O'er her form will lightnings flash, 1425 

O'er her form will thunders crash, 

But harmless from my head 

Will the fierce tempest's fury fly, 

Rebounding to its native sky. — 

Who is the God of Mercy ? — where 1430 

Enthroned the power to save ? 

Reigns he above the viewless air ? 

lives he beneath the grave ? 

To him would I lift my suppliant moan, 

That power should hear my harrowing groan ; — 1435 

Is it then Christ's terrifix Sire ? 

Ah ! I have felt his burning ire, 

I feel, — I feel it now, — 

His flaming mark is fix' d on my head, 


And must there remain in traces dread ; 1 44 

Wild anguish glooms my hrow ; 

Oh ! Griefs like mine that fiercely hum, 

Where is the halm can heal ! 

Where is the monumental urn 

Can hid to dust this frame return, 1445 

Or quench the pangs I feel ! " 

As thus he spoke grew dark the shy. 

Hoarse thunders murmured awfully, 

" Demon ! I am thine ! " he cried, 

A hollow fiendish voice replied, 1450 

" Come ! for thy doom is misery. "^ 

^ The Fraser version of the final section differs materially from that 
given above. I add it therefore for purposes of comparison ; — 


" Lies she there for the worm to devour 1 
Lies she there till the judgment hour ] 
Is then mv Rosa dead 1 
False fiend ! I curse thy futile power ! 
O'er her form will lightnings flash, 
O'er her form will thunders crash, 
But harmless from my head 
Will the fierce tempest's fury fly, 
Rebounding to its native sky. 
Who is the God of Mercy 1 — where 
Enthrones the power to save ] 
Reigns he above the viewless air 1 
Lives he beneath the grave 1 
To him would I lift my suppliant moan, 
That power should hear my harrowing groan ; 
Is it then Christ's terrific Sire '/ 
A.h 1 I have felt his burning ire, — 


Wild anguish glooms my brow ; 
His flaming mark is fixed on my head, 
And must there remain in traces dread ; 
I feel— I feel it now I '* 

As thus he spoke grew dark the sky, 
Hoarse thunders murmured awfully, 
" O Demon I I am thine I " he cried, 
A hollow, fiendish voice replied, 
" Come ! for thy doom is misery ! " 


F 2 


Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He 
Who dares arrest the wheels of destiny 
And plunge me in the lowest Hell of Hells ? 
Will not the lightning's blast destroy my frame ? 
Will not steel drink the blood-life where it swells ? 
No — let me hie where dark Destruction dwells, 
To rouse her from her deeply cavemed lair. 
And taunting her curst sluggishness to ire 
Light long Oblivion's death torch at its flame 
And calmly mount Annihilation's pyre. 

Tyrant of Earth ! pale misery's jackal thou 1 
Are there no stores of vengeful violent fate 
Within the magazines of thy fierce hate ? 
No poison in the clouds to bathe a brow 
That lowers on thee with desperate contempt ? 
Where is the noonday pestilence that slew 
The myriad sons of Israel's favoured nation ? 
Where the destroying minister that flew 


Pouring the fiery tide of desolation 
Upon the leagued Assyrian's attempt ? 
Where the dark Earthquake demon who ingorged 
At the dread word Korah's unconscious crew ? 
Or the Angel's two-edged sword of fire that urged 
Our primal parents from their bower of bliss 
(Reared by thine hand) for errors not their own 
By Thine omniscient mind foredoomed, foreknown ? 
Yes ! I would court a ruin such as this, 
Almighty Tyrant ! and give thanks to Thee — 
Drink deeply — drain the cup of hate — remit this I 
may die. 

[I have to thank C. J. E. Esdaile, Esq., for pennission to publish 
the above poem, which now appears in print for the first time.] 


Prefixed to " The Wandering Jew " as 'published in 

Fraser's Magazine. ^ 

'* Mankind," says Quinctilian, speaking of the freedom 
and boldness of speech which often characterise the un- 
learned orator, "have a pleasure in hearing what they 
themselves are unwilling to say." Judging from its rarity 
it would seem that such candour occasions at times ex- 
tremely unpleasant effects to the ingenuous speakers^ 
who are consequently daily decreasing in number. The 
Frenchman who averred that if he had in his hand all 
the truths in the world, he would only open one finger 
at a time, made a bold avowal — there are numbers to 
whom it would be dangerous to open that one ; for many 
are the Pilates who ask what is truth, yet are unfit to 
hear it. Unfortunately this extensive appetite, for which 
the world has so long been distinguished, has never had 

1 This article is printed here rather on account of its intrinsic 
interest, than because of its slight references to I'he Wandering 


an opportunity of being gratified regarding the celebrated 
poet, whose works form the subject of our present re- 
flections. The able and willing author, who well knew 
the calumnies of Mr. Shelley's enemies, though he had 
every desire to render justice to his genius, and leave to 
posterity a token that his elevated and unearthly mind 
was understood by at least one generous contemporary, 
having fairly weighed his philosophy in the balance and 
found it wanting, therefore dealt out just that meed of 
faint praise which amounts to the acknowledgment that 
a defence is no longer tenable. By the opposite Aris- 
tarchus, who defended the party of optimists in religion^ 
philosophy, and politics, advantage was taken of youthful 
errors, in after life devoutly retracted, to insinuate the 
existence of opinions and morals perfectly at variance 
with the well-being of society, and to brand, with the 
mark of Cain, the brow of one whose life shewed, by the 
most unequivocal demonstration, that instead of being an 
atheistical anarch, he was pious towards nature, towards 
his friends, towards the whole human race, towards the 
meanest insect of the forest; in a word, that he loved 
every thing that was nature's and was untainted by man's 
misery. We cannot sufficiently express our regret at the 
charity of those men who, living in the way they see others 
live, without regard to the mode being right or wrong, 
could describe to the world as the unprincipled enemy of 
morality a man who from the cradle to the grave was 
weighed down by the burden of an anxiety for the future. 


ever held before his eyes by a weak and consumptive con- 
stitution ; who, elevated by a great prevailing sentiment 
into the highest regions of the moral world, passed his 
days in a passionate straining after a solution of the 
" Mystery of God," the great mystery of his suflfering vice 
and confusion to prevail ; and who, guided by a philosophy 
of life^ which would be unanswerable in its conclusions 
were it possible to assume as a rule of life, pure and strict 
justice without reference to the collateral affections of 
man, endeavoured to reconcile together his life and his 
aspirations after human perfectibility. A time, however, 
has at last come, when, without danger, an admission of 
such a truth may be made. The remorseless deep has 
closed over the head of Lycidas, and the friends whom he 
loved may now bid his brave and gentle spirit repose, for 
the human beings whom he laboured for begin to know 
him. He must not float unwept upon his watery bier, 
because his admirers are voiceless and tuneless ; nor must 
enmity be allowed through ignorance to extend beyond 
the funeral pyre, in a land where men are still just, and 
pity is of ancient date. 

" Oltre 11 rogo non vive ira nemica, 
E nell' ospite suolo ove io ti lasso, 
Giuste son Talme, e la pietade h antica.'' 

Monti's Basvigliana. 

To distinguish the true poet from the mere hunter after 

^ Godwin's Political Justice; — for the analysis of which, see the 
character of its author in the Spirit of the Age, 


images and conceits, the talent of producing rhetorical 
phraseology, and turning smooth verses, however trivial 
and devoid of ideas the mode of feeling, judging, and 
imagining may be, it is necessary that he should be en- 
dowed with a creative genius, be initiated in the deep 
mystery of the harmony of nature and the human mind, 
and gifted with an infallible instinct of the beautiful, that 
rejects every impure or incongruous element, now giving a 
" local habitation and a name " to invisible things, now 
emerging from the etherial, and exalting to heaven the 
terrestrial.— The study and profound contemplation of 
which masters will shew that poetry is the re-produced, 
clear, and intimate mingling of the visible and invisible 
worlds, the rhythm and measure of every life, the original 
form of the soul, or in whatever other manner we may 
describe that divine gift conceded to those few who are 
bom the depositaries and mirrors of the intellectual 
treasures of an age. 

The proper business of art is to represent only the 
eternal, viz., that which is at all places, and in all times 
significant and beautiful ; but this cannot be done without 
the intervention of a veil. Upon the choice of this veil 
depends the character of the artist. If, like Shakspeare, 
he describe the riddle of human life, his is the poetry of 
society, ih^jucuTida et idonea vitce, to use Horace's words ; 
if, like Milton, he pursue the infinite, it is the poetry of 
abstraction. He draws less upon our social sympathies, 
yet, though he do himself the injustice to choose subjects 


which he could never adequately describe, he may yet be 
honoured as a poet of the first class ; for he also founds 
upon an intuitive sense, from which all philosophy of life 
and true feeling are derivative, that sense of the eternal 
and beautifril which centres in religion. To point out to 
man wherein consists this highest life, is alike the object 
of both. In all poets who have been eminently the poets 
of intellect this progress of the mind to abstraction is 

thus inevitable. They create a world of their own. The 
true poet seems then aU-knowing, or, as it were, a world 
in miniature ; and the last and deepest observers still find 
in him new harmonies with the infinite structure of the 
universe; — concurrences with later ideas, and affinities 
with the higher powers and senses of man. Thus there is, 
blindly woven through the web of our being, a principle 
which bums bright or dim, as each of us are mirrors of 
that fire of love and immortality for which all unceasingly 
thirst. If this foundation of nature's creating — this 
natural form or eternal identity of the individual, (if we 
may so call it,) be mysterious and impenetrable in the 
meanest human being, how much less can we pretend to 
unveil the mystery of a mind so highly endowed. It will 
be sufficient to have slightly indicated the concourse of 
the conflicting elements of his time, the tension of his 
own peculiar ones and their results. 

K in comparing the chances of immortality to the 
greatest poets of our time, we assume as a test our theory 
that the writer who is the truest reflex of the feelii 


his age, will be preferred by posterity, in opposition to 
the notion that it will be the one who depicts a character 
possessing a power of appealing to certain immutable 
feelings of mankind, independent of those of his age, we 
would suggest that the searching mind of modern Europe, 
its advanced state of science and politics, and its new 
mode of reviewing antiquity, are more vividly shadowed 
forth in Mr. Shelley's poetry than in that of his rival 
Byron. The French Revolution, that voice 

" Which was the echo of three thousand years,'* 

and the various theories of morals and government, which, 
like the wild dreams of astrology, were agitated for the 
perfection of man, are there recorded -as in a faithful 
mirror; but, from their extremes, defeat their object by 
disgusting the majority, and thereby giving their enemies 
additional power to continue the same round " which the 
weary world has ever ran;" at the same time souring 
the mind of the author into the desponding belief that it 
is not his own philamthropy that is defective in judgment, 
but the blindness of a hopeless world. 

" Ma el mondo cieco che' el virtu non cura." 

It is strange that a genius of such a rare and etherial 
order should not have perceived that to the eloquent but 
specious reasoning of Mirabaud, the Materialism of the 
SysUme de la Nature, so unanswerable to the matter-of- 
fact mind, there could not be given a better reply than 
by pointing to his own Prometheus Unbound. All is folly 


except the care bestowed on our existence — if we choose 
to think so. True poetry is indeed the best practical 
refutation of the maxim that there is nothing in the 
intellect that was not first in the senses, and of all the 
sorrowful deductions therefrom. Shelley's Witch of Atlas, 
his terrific Triumph of Life, or that most exquisite poem 
called Ejpijpsychidion, which in the expression of exalted 
and Platonic love, rivals the Triumphs of Petrarch, or 
the Vita Nuova of Dante, surely give evidence of 
something inconceivably more delicate than a mere 
conjunction of external imagery. 

" More subtle web Arachne cannot spin." 

And so far are we from reducing the mind of man to a 
wonderful machine, that on perusing the works of Keats 
and Shelley, the countless combinations which appear so 
foreign to the mind of an indweller of a city, like the 
former, and the exceeding sympathy with nature displayed 
in the writings of the latter, almost incline us to be of 
Plato's pleasant belief, that all knowledge is but remem- 
brance of a prior existence, relumed in us by the concords 
of poetry, the original form of the soul. 

" A cuyo son divino 
El alma que en olvido esta sumida 
Toma a cobrar el tino 
Y memoria perdida 
De su origen primera esclarecida." 

Luis DE Leon. 

That fantastic spirit which would bind all existence in 


the visionary chain of intellectual beauty, and the forced 
and distorted tenor of such a philosophy, became in 
Shelley the centre in which his whole intellectual and 
sensitive powers were united for its formation and em- 
bellishment. And although in painting the romance, the 
conceits and the diversities, the workings and meanderings 
of a heart penetrated with such an ideal passion, drawing 
less upon our individual sympathies than on those of social 
life, he may be liable to the charge of a certain mannerism, 
there is not the less evident, the delicacy, elasticity, and 
concentration of a gentle and noble mind, a deep scorn of 
all that is vulgar and base, a lofty enthusiasm for liberty 
and the glory of his country, for science and for letters ; 
and finally, an insatiable longing after an eternal and 
incorruptible being which opposed to his persuasion of the 
misery and nullity of this world, feeds and maintains that 
tension, or struggle, that '* fire at the core " which is the 
inheritance of all privileged geniuses, the promoters of 
their age. Hence that restlessness coupled with the 
desire of repose, that ambition and vanity coupled with 
the disdain of worldly things, that retirement and mis- 
anthropy joined to benevolence, and the yearning after 
love and aflfection, the pursuit of fame, and the intolerance 
of contemporary criticism in conjunction with real and 
unaflfected modesty; and in fine, that contrast of virtue 
and weakness which is the inheritance of flesh, so requisite, 
seemingly, to level the more sublime capacity with its 
fellow creatures, and to inculcate the religious bond of 


union which Christian charity ought to inspire. Hence, 
too, that querulous monotony, that desire in a tender soul 
of exiling itself from a world deprived of the projective 
power, and its relapse into its own void and indistinct 
generalities. Love is his deity, Plato his high-priest, 
Aristotle his sacristan, the poets leaders and composers 
of his choir, and the world a court of love or a floral 

Yet there is something pathetic in this fragrant flower, 
so transitory seemingly in its essence and beauty. It is a 
delicate Ariel that would fain continue a little longer on 
the earth when the rays of Aurora and the approach of 
the living oblige it to vanish. Dismayed by the desert 
with which it is surrounded it passes through the universe 
and finds no associate or resting place for the sole of its 
foot. This divine emanation hears no responsive echo in 
nature, and the vulgar regard as folly that restlessness of 
soul which seems to want breathing room in the world for 
its enthusiasm and hope. A fatality is suspended over 
exalted souls, over those poets che avrano intelletto di 
amove, whose imagination depends on the faculty of 
loving and suflfering. 

" lo mi son iin che quando 
Amor mi spira noto ed in quel modo, 
Che ditta dentro vo significando." — Dante. 

As Madame de Stael says, "they are the exiles of 
another religion." " What," says the eloquent Corinne, " did 
the ancients mean when they spoke of destiny with so 


much terror ? What influence could that destiny have over 
the unvarying existence of common and tranquil beings ? 
They follow the changes of the seasons, they pass unruflBled 
through the ordinary course of life, but the priestess who 
delivered the oracles was agitated by an awful power." 
There is, indeed, a woe too deep for tears when a sur- 
passing spirit, whose light might have adorned the world, 
is warped from its native bias, leaving to friends behind it 
only despair and cold tranquillity, the web of nature and 
the tangled frame of human things, that to them are no 
longer what they once were. Ungrateful mortals do not 
feel their loss, and the gap it makes seems to close as 
quickly over his memory as the murderous sea over his 
living frame. The sacred rivers of righteousness and 
justice have rolled back upon their sources, and all things 
in this world seem plainly to go amiss. 

How deeply expressive are those tender words of 
Euripides : — 

avcD TTorafioiv iepav x<*>pov(Ti nayaiy 
KOI bUa Koi TTorra TraXtv aTp6(/)eTai. 
dvbpdo'i fi€v bdkiai fiovXai' Bemv b* 
ovK€Tt morns hpapc. 

On the other hand, Byron, gifted with a stronger 
intellect though less fancy, and opposed to the visions and 
theories which in Shelley sometimes strike from their 
obscure grandeur, and at other times look like the dance 
and confusion of forms seen in a revolving kaleidoscope, 
is like Alfieri, stem, brief and succinct in his style, greatly 



inferior in stately and harmonious diction ; but, neverthe- 
less, more impressive from the direct appeal to our 
individual sympathies. In which particular Keats, not 
being troubled with much philosophy, is perhaps the 
superior of Shelley in spite of his negligent versification 
and mawkish sensibility. Byron gives us only the world of 
reality : Shelley that of desire. In examining the world 
the former views it as the difference between man and 
man; the latter as the diflference between man and 
his Creator ; thus presenting the metamorphosis of the 
human mind, and its progress from a sensual to an 
intellectual state. The one is full of that romance of 
monarchy and lordly chivalry which glosses over blood and 
the tears of human aflfections, by which the temple of the 
Moloch has been cemented, offering as compensation the 
gratification of passion and the glory and honour of this 
life to cheat the deluded victim. The other has the 
majestic spirit of antiquity, to which the world of debased 
Christianity and feudalism bears no reference, and is filled 
with a philosophy of liberty and equality drawn from the 
" fountains pure, nigh overgrown and lost," of Plato and 
the Greek tragedians, and the difference between man and 
man is regarded with the calm indifference of an extensive 
social system, which does not disdain to regard unless the 
greatest of heroes, of catastrophes and of geniuses, but is 
content to view the harmony of the whole. The one lived 
the life of a voluptuary, the other that of a hermit. Byron 
is the greater poet, Shelley the greater philanthropist ; and 



he too had his temptations in the way of birth. The heir 
of an ancient Baronetcy and the representative of Sir 
Philip Sidney could forget this, refuse a seat in parliament, 
walk the hospitals for the benefit of the poor, and live a 
Pythagorean; all for the sake of a theory of man's 
perfectibility. But Byron's death in the cause of freedom 
cancelled all. 

" Carminibus confide bonis : jacet ecce Tibullus ! " — Ovid. 

With an apology for obtruding a fanciful and perhaps 
irrelevant comparison, we would submit that there appears 
to us to be in the Divine Comedy y a measure or standard 
whereby to contrast the different powers of the three 
great poets of our age. In Byron we see the austere 
plastic style and vivid expression, — the vengeance which 
Dante, embracing in the Inferno^ the past, present, and 
future, exercises, in the name of universal judgment with 
prophetic force, but with personal hatred. In Shelley, as 
in the Furgatorio, we see the pains of the condemned in 
part picturesque, but the dark and fiery vapour giving 
place to the various play and greater pomp of the colour- 
ing ; and in Wordsworth, quel signor delV aUissimo canto, 
the ParadisOy where shines the pure light, struck with 
whose refulgence the poet's mind seems at length to lay 
aside all reflection, and enjoy the intuition of perfect 
goodness, in the contemplation of love and the con- 
summation of all things in happiness. Or to borrow an 
illustration from a sister art, we may compare them to the 


gigantic energy of Michael Angelo*s figures, the fanciful 
incongruity of Raphael's Arabesques, and the calm yet 
sweetly animated serenity of Correggio's saints. 

**Mr. Shelley's poetry," says a biographer, "is invested with a 
dazzling and subtle radiance which blinds the common observer 
with excess of light. Piercing beyond this, we discover that the 
characteristics of his poetical writings are an exceeding sympathy 
with the whole universe, material and intellectual~an ardent desire 
to benefit his species, and an impatience of the tyrannies and super- 
stitions that hold them bound. In all his writings there is a 
wonderfully sustained sensibility, and a language lofty and fit for 
it. He has the art of using the stateliest words, and the most learned 
idioms, without incurring the charge of pedantry ; so that passages 
of more splendid and sonorous writing are not to be selected from 
any writer since the time of Milton ; and yet when he descends 
from his ideal worlds, and comes home to us in our humble bowers, 
and our yearnings after love and affection, he attunes the most 
natural feelings to a style so proportionate, and withal to a modula- 
tion so truly musical, that there is nothing to surpass it in the lyrics 
of Beaumont and Fletcher." 

His is the poetry of intellect, not that of the lakers — 
his theme is the high one of intellectual nature and lofty 
feeling, not of waggoners or idiot children. Like Milton, 
he does not love to contemplate " clowns and vices," but 
the loftiest forms of excellence which his &ncy can present. 
His morality has always reference to the virtues which 
he admires, and not to the vices of which he is either 
unconscious or ashamed. He looks upwards with pas- 
sionate veneration, and seldom downwards with self-control. 
Instead of a simple and well-defined piece of music, his 
poetry is a brilliant fantasia, containing in itself the 
fragments of many melodies, but which, from its confusioD, 
leaves on the ear no other remembrance of its modulations 

G 2 


than the key-note. The imagery is chequered with un- 
natural lights and shadows, which, to the uninitiated, seem 
capriciously pamted in a studio, without regard to the real 
nature of things ; for to them, there is not apparent a 
system of " divine philosophy," like a sun reflecting order 
on his landscape. His poetry contains infinite sadness. 
It is the morbid expression of a soul " desperate," to use 
the beautiful words of Jeremy Taylor, " by a too quick 
sense of a constant infelicity." Like him who had re- 
turned from the valley of the dolorous abyss, the reader 
hears a voice of lamentation "wailing for the world's 
wrong," in accents wild and sweet, yet " incommunicably 
strange," but every thing to his sight is dark and cloudy 
when he attempts to penetrate beyond this obscure depth. 

" Che tuono accoglie d'infiniti guai, 
Oscura profonda era e nebulosa 
Tanto che, per ficcar lo viso a fondo, 
lo non vi discemea alcuna cosa." — Inferno, 

The view of external objects suggests ideas and re- 
flections, as if the poet's soul had awoke from slumber 
and saw, through a long vista, glimpses of a communion 
held with them in a distant past. It is like the first 
awaking of Adam, and the indistinct expression of his 
emotions. Nature is like a musical instrument, whose 
tones again are keys to higher strings in him ; the morning 
light causing the statue of Memnon to sound. The shadow 
of some unseen power, as he himself has feigned of 
intellectual beauty, deriving much of its interest from its 


invisibility, floats, though unseen, among his verses; re- 
sembling every thing unreal and fantastic — the hues and 
harmonies of evening — the memory of music fled — 

" Or aught that for its grace may be, 
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery." 

And the only thing apparent, is a passionate regret that 
the power of one loving and enthusiastic individual was 
not proportioned to his will, nor his good reception with 
the world at all proportioned to his love. A misanthropy 
which so often has the effect of giving to strange and even 
revolting objects, (as for instance in the tragedy of the 
Cenci, a dark and horrible subject, fit only for the elder 
Crebillon,) the same fascination for his mind, as they 
possessed over that of the melancholy Florentine. From a 
sophistical analysis of the most natural ties and affections 
with which the mind, during those moments of despond- 
ency when its generous love feels the want of its powers 
to do good, or if enabled, is repulsed by an unfeeling world 
for its ofBciousness, will attempt to soothe itself into the 
dream of its own independence — he also frequently derives 
the expression of a ruthless philosophy ; but when strong 
and immediate personal feelings have given a deeper tone 

and more pointed direction to his muse, as in the Elegy 
on the death of Adonais, a great and admirable change 
for the better is made on the perspicuity of his style. 
His metaphors become intelligible, his allusions forcible 
and applicable, his diction admirably precise, and that 


monotony of ideas which characterises his pathetic Lyre 
of Love : that flickering flame then bursts forth into the 
fire of an indignant prophet, now invoking vengeance on 
the head of him who pierced the innocent breast of his 
young friend — 

" And scared the angel soul that was its earthly guest." 

Now triumphing over the obscene ravens " clamorous o'er 

the dead.*' 

** When like Apollo from his golden bow, 
The Pythian of the age one arrow sped, 
And smiled.'' 

And finally dying away into those heartfelt convictions, 
with which, in every mythology, the virtuous human soul, 
succumbing to a dark and cruel fate, is regarded as a 
divine being, suffering in time, only to reveal the triumph 
of eternal glory, and the invisible beauty over frail earthly 
power ; such elegies which lament, as it were, the mournful 
fate of all that is great and beautiful in individuals and 
nations, thus being sublime triumphal songs — the echoes 
of that beauty re-ascending to its native skies. How 
loftily is this proclaimed in the concluding stanza : 

" The breath, whose might I have invoked in song, 
Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven 
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng, 
Whose sails were never to the tempest given : — 
The massy earth, and sphered skies are riven 1 
I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ; 
Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, 
The soul of Adonais, like a star, 

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are." 


To such a mind as this life is but a disease of the spirit, 

a working incited by passion. Rest, the most desirable 
of all things — Mors optima rerum. His hypothesis of 
human perfectibility, and the progress from a sensual to 
an intellectual state in this life, which, contrary to all 
experience, is perpetually advocated — the consciousness of 
his own high aspirations teaching him " to fear himself 
and love all human kind" — and the attempt, though 
poetry should in. reality be the original form of the soul, 
to make of idle verse, and idler prose, the framework of 

the universe, and to bind all possible existence in the 
visionary chain of intellectual beauty, both were indeed 

equally vain and enthusiastic. 

" To sujffer woes which Hope thinks infinite — 
To forgive wrongs darker than death or night — 
To defy power, which seems omnipotent — 
To love and bear: to hope till hope creates 
From its own wreck the thing it contemplates, 
Neither to change, nor flatter, nor repent ; 
This, like thy glory, Titan, is to be 
Good, great, and joyous, beautiful and free ; 
This is alone life, joy, empire, and victory." 


Alas for Adonais 1 

An ode, composed on the late French revolution, by 
an admirer of Shelley's poetry, has been pronounced, by 
competent judges, to be so fair an imitation of his solemn, 
stately diction, and exaggerated, yet significant allusions, 
that, although it breathes a spirit so democratic withal, 
that we suspect it is only in a journal like our own, whose 
staunch loyalty is so well known, that it would dare to be 


printed without fear of a visit from His Majesty's Attorney- 
General, we shall, nevertheless, present a few stanzas to 
the reader, without curtailing a single syllable : 

" A sound as of a mighty angel singing, 
Or far off thunder, strikes my listening ear : 
Now loud, now faint, by turns alternate ringing. 
Whilst the loud echoes clearer and more clear, 
O'er sky and cloud and each harmonious hill, 

Reverberate like harmony 

Of evening ; or melody 
Of music heard in an autumnal sky, 
Which dies yet leaves behind its sympathy to thrill. 
Was it a voice ? — Perchance, while deeply musing 
What heaven-oppressed mortality inherits — 
' The king-deluded world's ancestral ill. 

Conjured before the sad overwearied spirit's . 

Faint organs, sounds as of the electric loosing 

Of the Promethean adamantine chain. 

Hark ! —'tis the articulate voice — it comes again, again ! 

Mine eyes' clear orbits like the beaten flint. 
Sparkle with fire ; a whirlwind wraps my soul ; 
Dim visions float before me, and imprint 
Their forms on earnest words, which as they roll, 
The faltering tongue distinctly scarce pronounces — 

Last of the Labdacidse, 

Listen to the prophecy, 
Which, long begun, soon ends, alas ! in thee 
Thought-winged liberty thy life denounces 
And destiny with endless involution. 
Fold: the high house of GEdipus — I see 
The lesson shadowed in the past, — the fire 
Dealt to another's pile, just retribution 
Makes on its own creator back retire. 
Invokest thou Celtic anarchs from the North ? 
Call on Cimmerian wolves — What one shall dare come forth ? 

Woe, woe I — the wrath of nations quick devours ; 
As in the deep abyss of ocean sank 


The countless host of the Egyptian powers, 

So shall each Pharaoh banded 'gainst the Frank, 

Fare in his impious war, and like thee perish. 

Tyrants, thrones, and priests all must 

Follow thee and come to dust. 
Soon quail their high hearts in their impious trust, 
Grovels their purple pride, when slaves that cherish 
In their heart's heart freedom, the lamp of life. 
Wait but her signal to leap forth, arrayed 
In the resistless might of hate, and thrust 
From its grey throne the Python, by whose aid 
Power long hath poisoned all the springs of life. 
Lamp of the earth ! thy light all mists subdued ; 
Shout I for the world's young mom is, as a snake's, renewed. 

All old things now are past away, and error 
Flies like a cloud from the regenerate earth ; 
Immortal truth again holds up her mirror. 
To wrongs engendered at the Hydra's birth. 
And startled nations hail the wished commotion : 

When loud the voice divine. 

Let equal laws be thine. 
And light and truth resounds from freedom's shrine. 
Driving through the pale world a spirit of deep emotion. 

** Mr. Shelley when he died was in his thirtieth year. His figure 
was tall and slight, and his constitution consumptive. He was 
subject to violent spasmodic pains, which would sometimes force him 
to lie on the groimd till they were over ; but he had always a kind 
word to give to those about him when his pangs allowed him to 
speak. In his organization, as well as in other respects, he resembled 
the German poet, Schiller. Though well turned, his shoulders were 
bent a little, owing to premature thought and trouble. The same 
causes had touched his hair with grey ; and though his habits of 
temperance and exercise gave him a remarkable degree of strength, 
it is not supposed that he could have lived many years. He used 
to say that he had lived three times as long as the calendar gave out, 
which he would prove between jest and earnest by some remai'ks on 

" That would have puzzled that stout Stagyrite. 


Like the Stagyrite's, his voice was high and weak. His eyes were 
large and animated, with a dash of wildness in them ; his face small, 
but well shaped, particularly the mouth and chin, the turn of which 
was very sensitive and graceful. His complexion was naturally fair 
and delicate, with a colour in the cheeks. He had brown hair, 
which, though tinged with grey, surmounted his face well, being in 
considerable quantity and tending to a curL" 

" Non le connobbe il mondo mentre Tebbe 
Conobiir io ch* a pianger qui rimasi.'' 


The important literary curiosity, which the liberality of 
the gentleman into whose hands it has fallen, enables us 
now to lay before the public, for the first time, in a com- 
plete state, was offered for publication by Mr. Shelley 
when quite a boy. It is certainly a wonderful attempt for 
a youth of seventeen, and there is in this early straining 
after the powerful and terrific, the germ of Prometheus and 
Queen Mob. In the latter 'poem, indeed, his old friend 
Ahasuerus is again introduced, with a quotation from the 
same German author, whom he here mentions, and also in 
the lyrical Drama of Hellas. The Wandering Jew has 
some weak passages, but many noble ones also. Its chief 
fault is the German diablerie^ the fee, fa, fum of the fiends, 
which are here described with too much sameness, yet 
with all a schoolboy*s notions of sublimity. He had not 
yet read Laplace. At school he is known to have been 
addicted to German and chemistry, and at the early age 
of fifteen wrote two novels, called the Rosicrucian and 
Zastrozzi, which we would give something to see now. 
There is a pretty, affecting passage at the end of the 


fourth canto, whicli we dare say bore reference to the 
cloud of family misfortune in which he was then en- 

" Tis monmfal when the deadliest hate 
Of friends, of fortnne, and of fate 
Is levelled at one fated head." 

The beginning of the first, and the whole of the third 
and last cantos are the finest. There is, perhaps, a poverty 
of rhymes and a want of variety in the mental imagery 
of the chief character, which is apt to tire. Poor Ahasuerus 
is so often "harrowed** and "parched," and "chilled" 
and " blasted," that he becomes like the sieve of Danaides, 
and we wonder at last how he comes to hold any im- 
pression at all ; but, in conclusion, it is noble and elevated, 
and replete with pathos. The primitiae of such a mind 
cannot be uninteresting to the lovers of his poetry, what- 
ever they may seem to others. 

Note. — It is worth mentioning that the following notice appeared 
on the cover of Eraser's MagazinCj for July, 1831 : 

"An obscure contemporary has accused us of announcing for 
publication, Shelley's poem without proper authority. We beg to 
assure him that we have the sanction of Mrs. Shelley. 

"0. Y." [OUver Yorke = W.^Maginn.] 

Mr. Tegetmeier first drew attention to this notice in the Note' 
book of the Shelley Society. 





Page xxi. " Preface,*^ 

It is rather remarkable that Medwin prints a passage from 
what, he informs us, was intended for the preface to The Wan- 
dering Jew, had it been published. He says {lAfe of SheUey, 
vol. i. p. 69) : — 

" ITie Eosicrucian^ was suggested by St. Leon, which 
Shelley wonderfully admired. He read it till he believed that 
there was truth in Alchymy, and the Elixir Vitce, which 
indeed entered into the plot of the Wcmdering Jew, of which 
I possess a preface by him, intended for the poem, had it been 
published. He says : — * The opinion that gold can be made, 
passed from the Arabs to the Greeks, and from the Greeks to 
the rest of Europe j those who professed it, gradually assumed 
the form of a sect, under the name of Alchymists. These 
Alchymists laid it down as a first principle, that all metals 
are composed of the same materials, or that the substances at 
least that form gold, exist in all metals, contaminated indeed 
by various impurities, but capable of being brought to a per- 
fect state, by purification ; and hence that considerable quan- 
tities of gold might be extracted from them. The generality 
of this belief in the eastern provinces of the Homan Empir 
is proved by a remarkable edict' of Diocletiaii, 
Gibbon from the authority of two ancient hia*"- 

^ St, Irvyne; or the Boeienieimt 


If Shelley ever wrote the Preface from which Medwin 
quotes, it was probably intended for some other work, for 
there is no reference in The Wandering Jew to the Elixir VitcBy 
and it is very unlikely that he wrote two Prefaces to the 

Page xxix. " The crucifixion scene altogether a plagiarism jfrom 
a volume of Cambridge Prize Poems.** 

The following extracts from Thomas Zouch's poem of " The 
Crucifixion," (which is a capital specimen of the Brummagem 
Miltonic sublime) are the only ones that bear any resemblance 
to the passage relating to the same subject in The Wandering 

** Memory bids the scene, 
Th' important scene, arise, when dread dismay 
Alarm'd the nations. Melt, thou heart of brass : 
Death triumphed o*er its victor. Wild amaze 
Seized all the host of heaven, moaning their God 
In agony transfixt, his every sense 
A window to aflfliction : sorrow fiird 
Their tide of tragic woe, arid changed the note 
From fervent rapture to the gloomy strain 
Of deepest lamentation." 

" Ye young, ye gay. 
Listen with patient ear the strains of truth : 
Ye who in dissipation waste your days. 
From pleasure's giddy train steal an hour, 
With sage reflection, nor disdain to gaze 
The solemn scene on CalvVy's guilty mount. 
Where frighted nature shakes her trembling frame. 
And shudders at the complicated crime 
Of deicide. — ^The thorn-encircled head 
All pale and languid on the bleeding cross. 
The nail-empierced hand, the mangled feet, 

NOTES. 97 

The perforated side, the heaving sigh 

Of gushing anguish, the deep groan of death, 

The day of darkness, terror and distress : 

Ah ! shall not these awake one serious thought ! 


" See Israel'a humble King, mild as the lamb 

Beneath the murdering knife, amidst the sneer, 

The taunt of mad reproach, led to the cross. 

To shame and bitter death. Him late they raised 

To fame's bright summit, when they sung, his name 

With loud hosannas, or with silent ardor 

Dwelt on his tongue, listening the happy lore 

Of evangelic joy. Ye ruffian tribe, 

Ah ! check the ruthless rage, that drowns the voice. 

The faithful voice of reason, to your God 

Prefers sedition's son, whom foul with crimes. 

Ripe vengeance waits, and awful justice calls.'* 

Page xxvi. " the vision in the third canto taken from 

Levm'a ^ Monky^ 

The vision referred to seems to be that of Don Lorenzo, in 
the first chapter of " The Monk : " but, as I have said, there 
is no great likeness between the two visions. The following 
passage is the only one which bears any positive resemblance 
to Shelley's verses : — 

" At the same moment the roof of the cathedral opened ; 
harmonious voices pealed along the vaults ; and the glory into 
which Antonia was received, was composed of rays of such 
dazzling brightness, that Lorenzo was unable to sustain the 
gaze. His sight failed, and he sank upon the ground." 

As few persons nowadays have the desire or opportunity to 
read " The Monk," it seems worth while to give a short 
account of the manner in which the Wandering Jew is intro- 
duced into it, in order to show how much Shelley was indebted 
to that medley of pruriency and of melodramatic horrors. It 



is in the fourth chapter, which relates the story of Don 
Raymond and the bleeding nun, that the Jew appears. Don 
Raymond is lying wounded at a country inn, where he is tor- 
mented each night by the appearance of the apparition of the 
bleeding nun. He is reduced by its visitations to the last 
degree of weakness and distress, and his only solace is in the 
company of his attendant, a youth named Theodore. The 
reader will now be in a position to understand the following 
extract from the novel, it being premised that Don Raymond 
himself relates the story : — 

" One evening I was lying upon my sopha, plunged in re- 
flections very far from agreeable : Theodore amused himself 
by observing from the window a battle between two postilions, 
who were quarrelling in the inn-yard. 

** Ha ! ha I " cried he suddenly, " yonder is the Great 

" Who 1 " said I. 

" Only a man who made me a strange speech at Munich.'* 

" What was the purport of it ? " 

" Now you put me in mind of it, Segnor, it was a kind of 
message to you, but truly it was not worth delivering. I 
believe the fellow to be mad, for my part. When I came to 
Munich in search of you, I found him living at " the King of 
the Romans," and the host gave me an odd account of him. 
By his accent he is supposed to be a foreigner, but of what 
country nobody can tell. He seemed to have no acquaintance 
in the town, spoke very seldom, and never was seen to smile. 
He had neither servants nor baggage ; but his purse seemed 
well furnished, and he did much good in the town. Some 
supposed him to be an Arabian astrologer, others to be a 
travelling mountebank, and many declared that he was 
Doctor Faustus, whom the devil had sent back to Germany. 
The landlord, however, told me, that he had the best reasons 
to believe him to be the Great Mogul incognito." 




But the strange speech, Theodore — " 

Trae, I bad almost forgotten, tho speech : indeed, for that 
matter, il wouid not have beon a great Iobs if I bad forgotten 
it altogether. Yoii are to Ictiow, Segnor, that while I was 
enquiring about you of the landlord, this stranger passed by. 
He stopped, and looked at me earnestly — ' Youth,' eaid bCi 
in a aoleniD voice, ' be whom you s^k, has fonod that which 
he would fain lose. My hand alone can dry np the bliiod. 
Bid your master wish for me when the clock strikes one.' " 

'"HowT" cried I, starting from iny sopha. [The worda 
which Theodore had repeateil, seemed to imply the stran^jer'i* 
knowledge of my secret] " Fly to him, my boy ! Enlreiit him 
to gr*nt me one moment's conversation." 

Theodore was surprised at the vivacity of my manner; 
however, he a.sked no questions, biit hastened to obey me. I 
waited his return impatiently. But a. ehort space of time 
had elapsed, when he again appeared, and ushered the ex- 
pected guest into my chamber. He was a man of majestic 
presence ; his countenance was strongly marked, and hia eypn 
were large, black, and sparkling : yet there was a something 

his look, which, the moment that I saw him, inspired me 

th a secret awe, not to say horror. He was dressed plaittly, 
his hair was unpowdered, and a band of black velvet which 
encircled his forehead, spread over his features an additional 
gloom. His countenance wore tDe marks of profound melan- 
choly, his step was slow, and his manner grave, stately, and 

He saluted me with poltteneu ; and having replici to the 
iisaal compliments of introduction, he motioned to Theodore 
■to quit the chamber. Tie pagie inalamly withdrew. 

I know your buiiuess," »«id be, without giving me timo 
to epeok. "I bare the power of rei«uiog jgn from your 
nightly TJsitor; biit tbis t 


" May I not enquire," said I, " by what means you are in 
possession of a secret, which I have carefully concealed from 
the knowledge of every one V* 

" How can I be ignorant of your distresses, when their 
cause at this moment stands beside you ? " 

I started. The stranger continued. 

" Though to you only visible for one hour in the twenty- 
four, neither day nor night does she ever quit you ; nor will 
she ever quit you till you have granted her request." 

" And what is that request ? " 

" That she must herself explain : it lies not in my know- 
ledge. Wait with patience for the night of Saturday : all 
shall be then cleared up." 

I dared not press him further. He soon after changed the 
conversation, and talked of various matters. He named 
people who had ceased to exist for many centuries, and yet 
with whom he appeared to have been personally acquainted. 
I could not mention a country, however distant, which he 
had not visited, nor could I sufficiently admire the extent and 
variety of his information. I remarked to him, that having 
travelled, seen and known so much, must have given him 
infinite pleasure. He shook his head mournfully. 

" No one," he replied, " is adequate to comprehending the 
misery of my lot I Fate obliges me to be constantly in move- 
ment ; I am not permitted to pass more than a fortnight in 
the same place. I have no friend in the world, and from the 
restlessness of my destiny, I never can acquire one. Fain 
would I lay down my miserable life, for I envy those who 
enjoy the quiet of the grave : but death eludes me, and flies 
from my embrace. In vain do I throw myself in the way of 
danger. I plunge into the ocean ; the waves throw me back 
with abhorrence upon the shore : I rush into fire : the flames 
recoil at my approach : I oppose myself to the fury of banditti ; 
their swords become blunted, and break against my breast. 
The hungry tiger shudders at my approach, and the alligator 
flies from a monster more horrible than itself. God has set 

. •• • • 

• •! •*! ••• : • 

• ! • • • • • 

NOTES. 101 

his seal upon me, and all his creatures respect this fatal 

He put his hand to the velvet, which was bound round his 
forehead. There was in his eyes an expression of fury, de- 
spair, and malevolence, that struck horror to my very soul. 
An involuntary convulsion made me shudder. The stranger 
perceived it. 

" Such is the curse imposed on me," he continued : " I am 
doomed to inspire all who look on me with terror and detes- 
tation. You already feel the influence of the charm, and 
with every succeeding moment will feel it more. I will not 
add to your sufferings by my presence. Farewell, till 
Saturday. As soon as the clock strikes twelve, expect me 
at your chamber." 

Having said this he departed, leaving me in astonishment 
at the mysterious turn of his manner and conversation. His 
assurances that I should soon be relieved from the apparition's 
visits, produced a good effect upon my constitution. Theodore, 
who I rather treated as an adopted child than a domestic, was 
surprised at his return to observe the amendment in my looks. 
— He congratulated me on this symptom of returning health, 
and declared himself delighted at my having received so much 
benefit from my conference with the Great Mogul. Upon 
inquiry I found that the stranger had already passed eight 
days in Ratisbon. According to his own account, therefore, 
he was only to remain there six days longer. Saturday was 
still at the distance of three. Oh ! with what impatience did 
I expect its arrival ! In the interim, the bleeding nun con- 
tinued her nocturnal visits ; but hoping soon to be released 
from them altogether, the effects which they produced on me 
became less violent than before. 

The wished-for night arrived. To avoid creating suspicion, 
I retired to bed at my usual hour. But as soon as my 
attendants had left me, I dressed myself again, and prepared 
for the stranger's reception. He entered my room upon the 
turn of midnight. A small chest was in his hand, which he 


placed near the stove. He saluted me without speaking ; I 
returned the compliment, observing an equal silence. He 
then opened the chest. The first thing which he produced 
was a small wooden crucifix ; he sunk upon his knees, gazed 
upon it mournfully, and cast his eyes towards heaven. He 
seemed to be praying deVoutly. At length he bowed his head 
respectfully, kissed the crucifix thrice, and quitted his kneeling 
posture. He next drew from the chest a covered goblet : 
with the liquor which it contained, and which appeared to be 
blood, he sprinkled the floor ; and then dipping in it one end 
of the crucifix, he described a circle in the middle of the room. 
Round about this he placed various reliques, skulls, thigh- 
bones, (fee. I observed, that he disposed them all in the forms 
of crosses. Lastly, he took out a large Bible, and beckoned 
me to follow him into the circle. I obeyed. 

" Be cautious not to utter a syllable ! '* whispered the 
stranger : " step not out of the circle, and as you love yourself, 
dare not to look upon my face I " 

Holding the crucifix in one hand, the Bible in the other, 
he seemed to read with profound attention. The clock struck 
one ; as usual I heard the spectre's steps upon the staircase : but 
I was not seized with the accustomed shivering. I waited 
her approach with confidence. She entered the room, drew 
near the circle, and stopped. — The stranger muttered some 
words, to me unintelligible. Then raising his head from 
the book, and extending the crucifix towards the ghost, he 
pronounced, in a voice distinct and solemn, 

" Beatrice ! Beatrice ! Beatrice ! '* 

** What wouldst thou 1 " replied the apparition in a hollow 
faltering tone. 

"What disturbs thy sleep? Why dost thou afflict and 
torture this youth 1 How can rest be restored to thy inquiet 
spirit 1 " 

" I dare not tell ! I must not tell ! Fain would I repose 
in my grave, but stern commands force me to prolong my 

NOTES. 103 

" Knowest thou this blood 1 Knowest thou in whose veins 
it flowed ? Beatrice ! Beatrice ! In his name, I charge thee 
to answer me." 

"1 dare not disobey my taskers." 

" Darest thou disobey me ? " 

He spoke in a commanding tone, and drew the sable band 
from his forehead. — In spite of his injunction to the contrary, 
curiosity would not suffer me to keep my eyes off his face : 
I raised them, and beheld a burning cross impressed upon his 
brow. For the horror with which this object inspired me I 
cannot account, but I never felt its equal. My senses left me 
for some moments : a mysterious dread overcame my courage ; 
and had not the exerciser caught my hand, I should have 
fallen out of the circle. 

When I recovered myself, I perceived that the burning 
cross had produced an effect no less violent upon the spectre. 
Her countenance expressed reverence and horror, and her 
visionary limbs were shaken by fear. 

" Yes ! " she said at length, " I tremble at that mark ! I 
respect it ! I obey you ! Know then, that my bones lie still 
unburied : they rot in the obscurity of Lindenberg-hole. 
None but this youth has the right of consigning them to the 

grave. His own lips have made over to me his body and 

his soul : never will I give back his promise ; never shall he 
know a night devoid of terror, unless he engages to collect 
my mouldering bones, and deposit them in the family vault 
of his Andalusian castle. Then let thirty masses be said 
for the repose of my spirit, and I trouble this world no more. 
Now let me depart. Those flames are scorching.'* 

He let the hand drop slowly which held the crucifix, and 
which till then he had pointed towards her. The apparition 
bowed her head, and her form melted into air. The exerciser 
led me out of the circle. He replaced the Bible, <fec. in the 
chest, and then addressed himself to me, who stood near him 
speechless from astonishment. 

" Don Raymond, you have heard the .conditions on which 


repose is promised you. Be it your business to fulfil them to 
the letter. For me, nothing more remains than to clear up 
the darkness still spread over the spectre's history, and inform 
you, that when living, Beatrice bore the name of las Cisternas. 
She was the great-aunt of your grandfather. In quality of 
your relation, her ashes demand respect from you, though the 
enormity of her crimes must excite your abhorrence. The 
nature of those crimes no one is more capable of explaining 
to you than myself. I was personally acquainted with the 
holy man who proscribed her nocturnal riots in the castle of 
Lindenberg, and I hold this narrative from his own lips." 

It is unnecessary to trouble the reader with the account of 
the crimes which entailed such a severe punishment upon 
Beatrice de las Cisternas. The Wandering Jew thus concludes 
his relation of them : — 

" She was doomed to suffer during the space of a century. 
That period is past. Nothing now remains but to consign 
to the grave the ashes of Beatrice. I have been the means 
of releasing you from your visionary tormentor ; and amidst 
all the sorrows which oppress me, to think that I have been 
of use to you, is some consolation. Youth, farewell ! May 
the ghost of your relation enjoy that rest in the tomb, which 
the Almighty's vengeance has denied to me for ever ! " 

Here the stranger prepared to quit the apartment. 

** Stay yet one moment ! " said I ; " you have satisfied my 
curiosity with regard to the spectre, but you leave me a prey 
to yet greater respecting yourself. Deign to inform me to 
whom I am under such real obligations. You mention cir- 
cumstances long past, and persons long dead : you were 
personally acquainted with the exorciser, who, by your own 
account, has been deceased near a century. How am I to 
account for this 1 What means that burning cross upon your 
forehead, and why did the sight of it strike such horror to 
my soul?" 

On these points he for some time refused to satisfy me. 

NOTES. 105 

At length, overcome by my entreaties, he consented to clear 
up the whole, on condition that I would defer his explanation 
till the next day. With this request I was obliged to comply, 
and he left me. In the morning my first care was to inquire 
after the mysterious stranger. Conceive my disappointment, 
when informed that he had already quitted Ratisbon. I de- 
spatched messengers in pursuit of him, but in vain. No 
traces of the fugitive were discovered. Since that moment 
I never have heard any more of him, and 'tis most probable 
that I never shall.'' 

[Lorenzo here interrupted his friend's narrative : 
" How 1 " said he, " you have never discovered who he was, 
or even formed a guess 1 " 

"Pardon me," replied the marquis : **when I related this 
adventure to my uncle, the cardinal duke, he told me, that he 
had no doubt of this singular man's being the celebrated 
character known universally by the name of the wandering 
Jew, His not being permitted to pass more than fourteen 
days on the same spot, the burning cross impressed upon his 
forehead, the effect which it produced upon the beholders, and 
many other circumstances, gave this supposition the colour of 
truth. The cardinal is fully persuaded of it ; and for my 
own part I am inclined to adopt the only solution which offers 
itself to this riddle." I return to the narrative from which 1 
have digressed.] " 

Page XXX. "In short the conclusions I have come to, <fec." 

The evidence of Mrs. Shelley may be quoted as additional 
proof of Shelley's authorship of the poem. In her '* Note on 
Queen Mah," (Poetical Works of Shelley, 1839, vol. i. p. 102), 
she says : — 

" He wrote also a poem on the subject of Ahasuerus — 
being led to it by a German fragment he picked up, dirty and 
torn, in Lincoln's Inn Fields. This fell afterwards into other 
hands — and was considerably altered before it was printed." 


As to the statement that the poem was considerably altered 
before its appearance in print, I do not think we need infer 
that any material alterations were made in it, but only that 
passages may have been abridged or omitted at the Editor's 
discretion. It is to be remembered that the poem was pub- 
lished with Mrs. Shelley's consent in Fraser^s Magazine, and 
it can hardly be thought that her permission would have been 
given if she had not believed in her husband's authorship of 
it. It may be thought perhaps that her evidence does not go 
for much, as the poem was written long before she became 
acquainted with Shelley. It is likely, however^ that he, at 
some time, would tell her of his early poem ; and, as Medwin 
was in 1821 an inmate of their household, nothing is more 
likely than that The Wandering Jew would become the subject 
of conversation between them. That Mrs. Shelley says no- 
thing of Medwin in connection with the poem (although he 
had already advanced his claim to it) goes a good way toward 
proving that it was Shelley's. 

Page 2. " So soft the clime, so halm the airy 

It is perhaps worth mentioning that, in the selecticms 
printed in the Litera/ry Journal, the lines are indented 
throughout, which is not the case in Fraser. This may help 
to show that the MS. used by the Literary Journal was a 
more carefully prepared and finished one than the Fraser ver- 
sion. As the present edition is taken mainly from the Fraser 
copy, it seemed proper, for the sake of uniformity, to print it 
throughout in the same manner as in that magazine. As an 
example, I quote a few lines as printed in the Edinburgh 
Journal : — 

" So soft the clime, so balm the air. 
So pure and genial were the skies. 
In sooth 'twas almost Paradise, — 
For ne'er did the sun's splendour close 
On such a picture of repose ; " — 

NOTES. 107 

Page 6. " Melting y kindling, raising , firing. 
Delighting now, and now inspiring, ^^ 

This seems to be a reminiscence of Pope's 

"Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, 
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying I " 

Pope indeed borrowed from Flatman, who has 

" Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying, 
Panting, groaning, speechless, dying," 

but it is hardly likely that Shelley was acquainted with 
Flatman's verses. 

Page 12. " * And, ah 1 * cried he, ' he this the hand,' '* 

There is a passage resembling this in St. Irvyne : — 

" Never, never shall it end ! " enthusiastically exclaimed 
Wolfstein. " Never ! — What can break the bond joined by 
congeniality of sentiment, cemented by a union of soul which 
must endure till the intellectual particles which compose it 
become annihilated? Oh! never shall it end; for when, con- 
vulsed by nature's latest ruin, sinks the fabric of this perish- 
able globe ; when the earth is dissolved away, and the face of 
heaven is rolled from before our eyes like a scroll ; then will 
we seek each other, and in eternal, indivisible, although im- 
material union, shall we exist to all eternity." 

There is also a similar passage in Zastrozzi: — 

** * Shall I then call him mine for ever % ' mentally inquired 
Matilda ; * will the passion which now consumes me, possess 
my soul to all eternity % Ah ! well I know it will ; and when 
emancipated from this terrestrial form, my soul departs ; still 
its fervent energies unrepressed, will remain ; and in the 
union of soul to soul, it will taste celestial transports.* " 

It is very interesting to compare with these fictitious senti- 
ments, the ones which occurred to Shelley himself, when he 
thought he was in imminent danger of being drowned together 


with his beloved Mary. Crossing the Channel with her after 
the elopement, a storm came on : — 

" Mary did not know our danger ; she was resting between 
my knees, that were unable to support her ; she did not speak 
or look, but I felt that she was there. I had time in that 
moment to reflect and even to reason upon death ; it was 
rather a thing of discomfort and of disappointment than 
horror to me. We should never be separated, but in death we 
might not know and feel our union as now. I hope, but my 
hopes are not unmixed with fear for what will befall this 
inestimable spirit when we appear to die." 

Dowden's Life of Shelley^ vol. i. p. 442. 

Page 1 2. " Rosa, wilt thou tJien he mme ? 

^ver fairest f I am thin^ I " 

This seems to be a reminiscence of a passage in The 
Monk : — 

** * Agnes ! * said I, while I pressed her to my bosom, 
* Agnes ! Agnes I thou art mine ! 
Agnes ! Agnes ! I am thine ! 
In my veins while blood shall roll. 
Thou art mine ! 
I am thine ! 
Thine my body ! thine my soul ! * " 

Page 21. " Why then unhidden gusKd the tear ? " 

The passage beginning thus is used, with some omissions 
and alterations, as a motto to the eighth chapter of St, 
Irvyne : — 

" — Why then unbidden gush'd the tear ? 
• ••... 

Then would cold shudderings seize his brain, 

As gasping he labour' d for breath ; 
The strange gaze of his meteor eye, 

NOTES. 109 

Whicli, frenzied, and rolling dreadfully, 

Glared with hideous gleam, 
Would chill like the spectre gaze of Death, 

As, conjured by feverish dream, 
He seems o*er the sick man's couch to stand. 
And sbakas the fell lance in his skeleton hand." 

Page 22. " The ministering angel hung. 

And wiped the drops of agony J** 

Evidently a reminiscence of Scott's eulogium of woman : — 

** When pain and anguish wring the brow 
A ministering angel thou ! " 

It seems likely that Scott, when he wrote these lines, 
remembered (perhaps unconsciously) the words of Laertes : — 

" I tell thee, churlish priest, 
A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, 
When thou liest howling." 

Page 31. ^^ And painted Hell upon the skies J* 
This image is repeated in a slightly altered form : — 
" And the lightnings of God painting hell on the air." (p. 40) 

Page 33. " / cursed the mother who gave me birth.** 
This line occurs again : — 

" And cursed the mother who gave me birth." (p. 40) 

Page 36. " But the wild surge swept my corpse a^hore^ 
I was not with the dead I " 

This is an excellent ** bull," and almost worthy of Sir Boyle 
Roche himself. A similar one will be found on page 30 : — 

" Still life prolonging after life was fled." 


In the Literary Journal version the first of tliese blunders 
does not appear, a fact which helps to prove that it was the 
more finished rendering of the two. 

Page 36. "/ cast myself from the overhanging summit of the 

gigantic TeneriffeJ^ 

It is rather remarkable that this passage is different from 
the one of similar purport which Shelley quotes in Queen Mah, 
although both are said to be by a German author. As regards 
the present passage, it is not known, I believe, to what German 
author it is to be attributed ; but the one in Queen Mob has 
been traced to a poem by Schubart, " the unlucky." It is, 
however, by no means a literal translation, but rather a free 
rendering, with additions. I learn from a MS. note in a 
copy of Shelley's Works which belonged to the late James 
Thomson that this poem of Schubart's was translated by the 
late Clarence Mangan, who inserted it in one of his German 
Anthology papers in the Dublin University Magazine, 

Page 37. " The elements respect their Maher^s seaV* 

The passage beginning thus is quoted, with some variations, 
as a motto to the tenth chapter of St, Irvyne : — 

"The elements respect their Maker's seal ! 
Still like the scathed pine-tree's height, 
Braving the tempests of the night. 
Have I scap'd the bickering flame, 
Like the scath'd pine, which a monument stands 
Of faded grandeur, which the brands 

Of the tempest-shaken air 
Have riven on the desolate heath ; 
Yet it stands majestic even in death, 

And rears its wild form there." 


In Qv>een Mah Shelley uses the same simile, only substitut- 
ing oak ioT pine, "Thus," says Ahasuerus : — 

" Thus have I stood, — through a wild waste of years 
Struggling with whirlwinds of mad agony. 
Yet peaceful, and serene, and self -enshrined, 
Mocking my powerless tyrant's horrible curse 
With stubborn and unalterable will, 
Even as a giant oak, which heaven's fierce flame 
Had scathed in the wilderness, to stand 
A monument of fadeless ruin there ; 
Yet peacefully and movelessly it braves 
The midnight conflict of the wintry storm, 

As in the sun-light's calm it spread 

Its worn and withered arms on high 
To meet the quiet of a summer's noon." 

The simile is taken from the passage from a German author, 
which is quoted on page 36. 

Page 47. ^^ Ah! why does man whom God has sent.** 

This passage is so singular — not in itself, but as coming 
from Shelley — ^that it is worth considering with particular 
attention. It may be observed first, that there is no apparent 
reason for its introduction, since it has no connection either 
with what has preceded or with what follows it. I infer 
therefore that it was written independently, and inserted in 
The Wandering Jew rather because the author did not like to 
lose it, than because it was in any way appropriate. Next, 
it is to be noted that in the concluding lines, beginning : — 

" What then is man, how few his days," 

the sentiment is inconsistent with that of the opening 
verses. This makes me think that Shelley's original design 
was to write a poem in which the question as to man's 


relations with the Deity should be discussed between two 
speakers. If I am right in this conjecture the lines from 
the beginning of the Canto down to 

" In misery live, despairing die," 

belong to the advocate of orthodox opinions ; while the follow- 
ing lines represent the pleading of the unorthodox speaker. 
I do not, however, assert this very positively, for it may be 
that the passage as it stands simply represents the wavering 
and uncertain state of the author's mind at the time when 
the poem was written. It might be thought that this passage 
was one of those contributed by Medwin, but I do not think 
this can have been the case. There is one expression in it 
which occurs also in the Alastor volume, and which goes 
far towards showing that Shelley must have been the writer. 
Compare — 

" The glory of the moon by night," 

" The glory of the moon is dead," 

which occurs in the poem beginning 

** O I there are spirits of the air." 

Page 54. '* Bursting through clouds of sulphurous smoke^^* 
As on a witch* s form it broke ; " 

Medwin states that this description of the Witch was ver- 
sified from a passage in a novel called Nightmare, which he 
and Shelley wrote in conjunction. 

Page 60. " Satan a shapehsSy hideous beast — 
In all his horrors stood confest / " 

This description of the summoning and the appearance of 
Satan seems to be borrowed, or at least derived, from a similar 

NOTES. 113 

passage in The M(mh Ambrosio, having been sentenced 
to death, is awaiting in his prison the time of his execution. 
He uses a charm which causes Satan to appear : — 

" A loud burst of thunder was heard, the prison shook to 
its very foundation, a blaze of lightning flashed through the 
cell, and in the next moment, borne upon sulphurous whirl- 
winds, Lucifer stood before him a second time. But he came 
not as when at Matilda's summons he borrowed the seraph's 
form to deceive Ambrosio. He appeared in all that ugliness, 
which since his fall from Heaven had been his portion. His 
blasted limbs still bore marks of the Almighty's thunder. A 
swarthy darkness spread itself over his gigantic form : his 
hands and feet were armed with long talons. Fury glared in 
his eyes, which might have struck the bravest heart with 

There is more of this stuff, but probably the reader will 
think I have quoted enough of it. Lewis might have been 
excused for writing it on the plea that he was very young 
when he did so, but for the fact that he continued to write 
such rubbish as long as he lived. 

Page 71. " Introductory Article,** 

One would like to know by whom this article, so apprecia- 
tive of Shelley's genius at a time when appreciation was 
the exception and not the rule, was written. Medwin was 
inclined to think that Carlyle (he spells his name "Carlisle ") 
was the author, but this was a very unlucky guess. Other 
names that suggest themselves are those of Mrs. Shelley, 
Leigh Hunt, i^T. L. Peacock, Horace Smith, and Thomas 
Wade, but all of them are more or less unlikely. 

Page 72. " The ahle and willing author," 

This refers to William Hazlitt, who reviewed Shelley's 
Posthumous Poems in the Edinburgh Review. The " opposite 



Aristarchus " doubtless refers to the critic of the Quarterly 

Page 76. ^'Thus there is, blindly woven throv^h t?ie web of our 

being. ^* 

" — that sustaining love 
Which through the web of being blindly wove 
By man and beast and earth and air Mid sea, 
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of 
The fire for which all thirst ; — " 


Page 80. " There is, indeed, a vjoe too deep /or tears.'' 

" It is a woe too * deep for tears,' when all 
Is reft at once, when some surpassing Spirit, 
Whose light adorned the world around it, leaves 
Those who remain behind, not sobs or groans, 
The passionate tumult of a clinging hope ; 
But pale despair and cold tranquillity. 
Nature's vast frame, the web of human things. 
Birth and the grave, that are not as they were." 


Page 81. ** Which does not disdain to rega/rd^' kc. 

There seems to be some error in this sentence which renders 
its meaning obscure, if not unintelligible. I suspect it should 
read, " which disdains to regard even the greatest of heroes, of 
catastrophes, and of geniuses," &c. 

Page 83. " * Mr, Shelley's poetry^ says a biographer," 

This passage is quoted from Leigh Hunt's Lord Byron 
and Some of his Contemporaries. 

NOTES. 115 

Page 89. " Shout I for the worM^s young mom is, as a snakes, 


" The world's great age begins anew, 
The golden years return, 
The earth doth like a snake renew 
Her winter weeds outworn." 


Page 89. " Jfr. Shelley when he died,** 

This also is a quotation from Hunt's Lord Byron cmd Some 
of his ConteTnpora/ries. 

Page 87. '* He used to say that he had lived.** 

See one of the notes to Que&a Mob, where this idea is dwelt 
upon at length. One sentence in this note was an unconscious 
prediction. **Thus, the life of a man of virtue and talent 
who should die in his thirtieth yea/r, is, with regard to his own 
feelings longer than that of a priest-ridden slave, who dreams 
out a century of dulness." A few days before his death, he 
said to Mrs. Hunt, " If I die to-morrow, I have lived to be 
older than my father ; I am ninety years of age." 

Page 91. " *Tis mowmfvl when the deadliest hate,** 

It is very singular that these interesting lines do not 
appear in the poem, as published in Fraser, I can only 
suppose that they were cut out in the process of condensation 
which the poem seems to have undergone before it was 
printed. This is very unlucky, for they arouse curiosity, 
and lead one to think that the passage from which they are 
taken must have been the best in the poem, because a direct 
transcript from the author's experience, and not a mere 
reflex of his reading. 

Richard Clat and Sons, 
londoh avd bunoay. 

February 10th, 1887.] 

You are invited to join 


The Yearly Subscription (which constitutes Membership) 

is One Guinea, due every first of January, beginning 

January 1st, 1886, and should be paid to either the Honorary 


James Stanley Little, Esq., 

76, Clarendon Road, Holland Park, W., 

or to the Chairman of Gommitteey 

William Michael Rossetti, Esq., 

5, Endsleigh Gardens, Euston Road, London, N.W. 

(The American Subscription is $5.25, and may be paid as 
above, or to any Local Hon. Sec. in the United States : see p. 2.) 

This Subscription entitles a Member to one copy of all 
the Publications of the Society during the current year (with 
a second copy of the Note-Booh ^) ; to attend, and introduce a 
friend to, all the Society's Meetings ; and to admission to the 
Society's performances of Shelley's Cenci or Hellas, or (if the 
Society's funds allow of it) to both. 

The following seven books will form the first issue of the 
Society's Publications for 1887. A list of those further 
proposed will be found on pages 21 and 22. 

1. The Wandering Jev), a Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Edited by 
Bertram Dobell. [Issued, 

2. The Shelley Primer^ by H. S. Salt, M.A. [Issued, 

3. The Pianoforte Score of Dr. W. C. Selle's Choruses and Recitations, 
composed for the Society's performance of Shelley's Hellas in November, 
1886. [Issued. 

4. An Address to the Irish People, by Percy Bysshe Shelley. A Type- 
facsimile Reprint on Hand-made Paper. Edited by Thomas J. Wise. 

[Ready immediately. 
ey. A Type-facsimile 
Reprint on Hand-made Paper. Edited by Thomas J. Wise. 

[Ready immediately, 

6. The Masque of Anarchy, by Percy Bysshe Shelley. A Type-facsimile 
Reprint on Hand -made paper. Edited by Thomas J. Wise. 

[Ready immediately. 

7. Epipsychidion, by Percy Bysshe Shelley. A Type-facsimile Reprint 
upon Hand-made Paper, with an Introduction by the Rev. Stopford A. 
Brooke, M.A., and a Note by Algernon Charles Swinburne. Edited by 
Robert A. Potts. [Ready immMiately. 

1 That is, one copy in separate numbers, and a second copy as a complete Part. 



William K A. Axon. 

Miss Mathilde Blind. 

Rev. Stopford A. Brooke, M.A. 

Bertram Dobell. 

F. S. Ellis. 

Alfred Forman. 

H. Buxton Forman. 

( Treasurer,) 

Charles Gordon Hall. 

Rev. W. a. Harrison, M.A. 

Prop. A. S. Napier, M.A., Ph.D. 

Robert Alfred Potts. 

William Michael Rossbtti. 

H. S. Salt. 

Qabriel Sarrazin. 

William Bell Scott. 

Henry Sweet, M.A., PluD. 

W. B. Teoetmeibr. 

John Todhunter, M.D 

A. W. Verrall, M.A. 

Hermann Vezin. 

Thomas J. Wise. 

Hon, Sec, J James Stanley Little, 76, Clarendon Road, Holland Park, 

London, W. 

Bank : London and County, Holbom Branch, 324, High Holbom, W.C. 
Publishers: Reeves and Turner, 196, Strand, London, W.C. 

Agents : Charles Hutt, Clement's Inn Gateway, Strand, London, W.C. 

Bertram Dobell, 66, Queen's Crescent, Haverstock Hill, 
London, N.W. 

Printers: R. Clay and Sons, Bread Street Hill, London, E.C. 


Auckland, New Zealand : Prof. H. M. Posnett, University. 

Birmingham : W. Kineton Parkes, Summerfield Crescent, Edgbaston. 

Cambridge : H. C. Marillier, Peterhouse. 

Cambridge, Massachusetts, U,S,A, : Prof. J. M. Peirce, 4, Kirkland Place. 

Hackney : E. Berdoe, Tynemouth House, Victoria Park Gate. 

Manchester : T. C. Abbott, Eastlegh, Queen's Road, Bowdon. 

Melbourne, Victoria : Frank Scrtvenor, 28, Market Square, Collins Street 

Newcastle^on-Tyne : Fred. Grahame Aylward, 51, Westmoreland Road> 

New York {Northern) : Addision Child, Childwold. 

New York : Charles W. Frederickson, 741, Lexington Avenue. 

Oxford : 

Reading : J. J. Rossiter, 12, Abbot's Walk, Forbury Gardens. 

Uxbridge : Alfred Fountain, Highfield, Hillingdon. 

The Committee wish to see a large number of Branch Shelley Societies and 
Local Shelley Reading Clubs established, out of London, and in its suburbs. 
They will be glad to appoint as Local Honorary Secretaries such persons as 
will undertake to do what they can to promote the study of Shelley in 
their different localities. 


The Society's Meetings and Papers during its Second Session, 1887, 
will be at University College, Oower Street, at 8 p.m. on Wednesdays. 

Jan. 26. First Annual General Meeting. 

Feb. 9. " On The Triumph of Life^' by John Todhunter, M.D. 

March 9. " Miss-Alma Murray as * Beatrice Cenci,' " by B. L. Mosely, LL.B 

April 13. " On The Revolt of Islam" by Alex. Qalt Ross, B. A. 

May 11. Concert of Shelley Songs. 

June 8. " Lord Beaconsfield and Shelley," by Dr. R. Garnett. 

Oct. 12. 

Nov. 9. 

Dec. 14. 


A Lecture on "The Poetical and Dramatic Treatment of Shelley's 
Prometheus Unbound" will be delivered by Mr. W. M. Rossetti during 
the Session 1887-8. The date will be duly announced. Miss Blind is also 
preparing for the same session a Lecture on " Shelley's Women." 

Offers of Papers are desired, and should be made to the Chairman of 
Committee, Mr. W. M. Rossetti, or the Honorary Secretary, Mr. James 
Stanley Little. 

The following Papers were read before the Society dnring its 
First Session, 1886 :— 

March 10. Inaugural Address on "Shelley," by the Rev. Stopford A. 
Brooke, M.A. 

April 14. **0n the Vicissitudes of Queen Mab" by H. Buxton Forman. 

May 12. " On the Religion of Shelley," by F. J. Maynard, of St. John's 

College, Oxford.^ 
Nov. 10. "Shelley's View of Nature contrasted with Darwin's," by 

Miss Mathildb Blind. 

Dec. 15. "A Study of Prometheus Unbound,'^ by William Michael 

The Committee hope that some Members will give the 
Society other Facsimile Eeprints, in addition to those already 
promised. An estimate of the cost of reproducing all the 
original editions of Shelley's different works will be given shortly 
in the Society's Note-Book, or may be had at once upon applica- 
tion. Two or more friends may well join in the gift of a book. 

Shelley's Autobiography, by Mr. W. M. Rossetti — (see p. 10, 
Series IV., No. 7) — has long been prepared, and can be revised, 
completed, and sent to press, as soon as the Society has 
money enough to print it. This could be in 1888 if the 
Society's membership reaches the number of 500 in 1887. 

1 This was substituted at a few minutes' notice for the Paper previously promised for the 
evening, viz., "On the Primitiveiiess of Shelley's View of Nature, its Parallelism with that of 
the Vedas. and its contrast with that of Shakspere and other Poets," by Hy. Swket, M.A. 

2 In order to promote discnssiun at the Meeting, this Paper was printed, and advance copies 
were issued to Members on November 1st. 


{Original Prospectus, with slight revision,) 

This Society is started to gather the chief admirers of the 
Poet into a body which will work to do his memory honour, by 
meeting to discuss his writings, qualities, opinions, life, and 
doings; by getting his plays acted; by reprinting the rarest 
of his original editions; by facsimileing such of his MSS 
as may be accessible; by compiling a Shelley Lexicon 
or Concordance ; by getting a Shelley Primer published ; by 
generally investigating and illustrating his genius aud per- 
sonality from every side and in every detail ; and by extending 
liis influence. 

The charm and power of Shelley as poet, essayist, letter- 
writer and man, are too widely acknowledged to need dwelling 
on here. No more attractive figure than his beams from 
the gallery of our literature. The present age is beginning 
to do justice to the high qualities of his genius, and it is but 
natural that those men and women who appreciate it should 
desire to band themselves into a Shelley Society, in which they 
can commune together and take steps to reach ends which, 
individually, they could not attain. 

One of these is the performance of Shelley's plays. He 
himself wanted to have his Cenci on the stage, with Miss 0*Neil 
as Beatrice. Macready, after he had retired from the boards, 
declared he would come back to them if he had the chance of 
playing Count Cenci. Now the Shelley Society can get the 
play acted early next May. Miss Alma Murray, whose charm- 
ing performances of Constance and Colombo in Browning's 
In a Balcony and Colomhe's Birthday have so delighted the 
Browning Society, has kindly promised to play Beatrice Cenci, 
and Mr. Hermann Vezin has been good enough to undertake 
Count Cenci. They will use their influence with other good 
actors to volunteer for the other parts. Hellas may perhaps 
follow The Cenci in November, 1886, as Dr. W. C. Selle is 
setting its choruses to music for the Society. 

Many points to be discussed in Shelley's works and life, his 
religion, politics, sociology views of nature and art, mythology. 


metre, revisions, development, &c., &c., will occur to every 
student, as also the need of a reprint of his first editions, of old 
articles on him, and the facsimileing of his MSS. No one 
doubts that when a set of Shelley students get together, they 
will find plenty of work for their Shelley Society to do, and 
that their Papers and Discussions can be kept clear of any of 
the old odium theologicum and the like. Dispassionate treat- 
ment of all Shelley topics is now easy, and is consistent with 
the entire frankness of expression which the Society will 
always allow in its Meetings and publications. 

It is proposed that the Committee consist of Shelley 
workers, Messrs. W. M. Rossetti, H. Buxton Forman, T. J. 
Wise, Todhunter, B. Dobell, and other students of Shelley, 
like the Rev. Stopford A. Brooke, the Rev. W. A. 
Harrison, Mr. Alfred Forman, Mr. Henry Sweet (who 
suggested the formation of a Shelley Society) and Dr. 
FuRNiVALL (the founder of the Society), whose father knew 
and liked Shelley, as Shelley liked him. The number of the 
Committee will be twenty-four. This Committee will manage 
the Society till January 1887, and then suggest to Members 
the future Rules and Officers of the Society. (The Society 
is constituted for ten years only.) The Society's publishers 
are Messrs. Reeves and Turner, of 196, Strand, London, 
W.C. ; its printers, Messrs. R. Clay and Sons, of Bread Street 
Hill, London, E.C., and Bungay, Suffolk. 

The Society's Meetings will be held at University College, 
Gower Street, W.C, at 8 p.m., on the second Wednesday 
in March, April, May, November and December, 1886, &c. 
The first performance of The Cenci was at the Grand Theatre, 
Islington, on the afternoon of May 9th, 1886. 

The Annual Subscription, which constitutes Membership, is One 
Guinea, due every 1st of January, Members' Names and Sub- 
scriptions should be sent at once to W. M. Rossetti, Esq., 
5, Endsleigh Gardens, London, N.W., or to the Hon. Sec, 
James Stanley Little, 76, Clarendon Road, Holland ParK, W. 

Sth December, 1885. 


The Society's Publications will be issued in Five (four 
Ordinary and one Extra), Series: — 

Series I. will consist of the Papers read hefore the Society, and an 
Abstract of any which are not printed in full, together with Reports of 
the Discussions at the Society's Meetings. The Abstracts and Reports will 
appear in *' The Shelley Society's Note-Book" which will be edited by the 
Honorary Secretary, and will contain Shelley *^ Notes and Queries" and 
* News,' for both of which, contributions from Members are desired. The 
Papers and Note-Book will be issued both singly and in Parts. Each set 
will be formed into separate Parts and Volumes of convenient size. 

Series II. will be a set of Type-Facsimile Reprints of the original editions 
of Shelley's works, with full bibliographical Introductions. A list of 
these will be found on page 7. Gifts of Reprints are much desired. 

Series III. will consist of Reprints of the most important Magazine 
Articles on Shelley and his Works : 

§ 1. Biographical^ beginning with Hogg's seven important articles on 
" Shelley at Oxford," &c., in The New Monthly Magazine, 1832 and 1833. 

§ 2. Contemporary Criticisms of Shelley's Works. (The abusive tone 
of most of these constitutes their main interest to Shelley students. The 
amusing ones in The Gentleman's Magazine of 1822 appeared in the 
Society's Note-Book, No. 2.) 

§ 3. Critical Articles in later periodicals on Shelley and his Works. 
Though tliese will be mainly from journals of the last ten years (see the 
list on pages 8, 9), yet such Reviews as those of Shelley's Posthumous 
Poems in The Edinburgh Review of July 1824 (vol. xl. pp. 494-514, by 
Hazlitt), in the Quarterly of June 1826 (voL xxxiv. pp. 148-153), in the 
Metropolitan Quarterly Magazine (No. 3), 1826, and The Mirror (vol. vii. 
pp. 215-217), 1826, and on Shelley in The Censor, 1829 (pp. 38-9,49-51, 86), 
will not be excluded. 

(The reproduction of Copyright Articles will of course depend on the 
consent of the copyright owners being obtained. The Committee trust that 
the generosity usual in like cases will be extended to the Shelley Society.) 

Series IV. will be a Miscellaneous one, and will include an edition of 
The Cenci for the Society's performances of the play ; Mr. Rossetti's 
Memoir of Shelley; Shelley's Autobiography; a Shelley Primer (by 
Mr. H. S. Salt); a Concordance to Shelley^ s Poetical Works (by the Society's 
Volunteers,and edited byMr.F.S.Ellis) ; AWord- and Subject-Index to his Prose 
Works and Letters, and such other works as may hereafter be decided on. 

Series V. (Extra Series) will include a cheap reprint of Hellas, for 
the Society's performance of the drama ; cheap excerpts from some of 
the Society's larger works ; photo-lithographic reprints of Shelley's original 
manuscripts, &c. Full details of this series will be found on p. 22. 



Series I. Papers and Note-Book, 

Papers. — Part I. The Inaugural Address of the Rev. Stopford A. Brooke, 
M.A., and other Papers of the Session 1886. [At press. 

Note-Book. — Part I. Abstracts of the Discussions, Shelley ** Notes and 
Queries^^ * News/ &c. Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 are already issued. 

Series II. Type-Facsimile Reprints of Shelley'' s Original Editions, 

1. Adonais, 4to. Pisa, 1821. Edited by Thomas J. Wise. [Isstted, 

2. Shelley's Review of Hogg's Memoirs of Prince Alexy Baimxitoff 
in the Critical Review for December 1814 (not in facsimile), with Prof. 
Dowden's Article on it.^ Edited by Thomas J. Wise. Crown Bvo. 


3. Alastor. Fcap. 8vo. 1816. Edited by Bertram Dobell. [Ismed. 

4. A Vindication of Natural Diet, 12mo. 181 3.^ [Issued, 

5. Hellas, a Lyrical Drama, 8vo. 1822. (Edited by Thomas J. Wise. 
Presented by Mr. F. S. Ellis.) [Issued. 

6. An Address to the Irish People, 8vo. 1812. Edited by Thomas 
J. Wise. Presented by Mr. Walter B. Slater. [Ready immediately, 

7. Epipsychidion, 8vo. 1821. Presented by Mr. R. A. Potts. 

[Ready immediately, 

8. The Necessity of Atheism. 12mo. (Notdated, but 1811.) Edited and 
Presented by Mr. Thomas J. Wise. [Ready immediately. 

9. Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson, 4to. 1810. [At press, 

10. A Letter to Lord Ellenborough, Crown 8vo. (Not dated, but 1812.) 

[At press. 

11. A Refutation of Deism. 8vo. 1814. [At press, 

12. The Wandering Jew. 8vo. Edited, with an Introduction, by 
Bertram Dobell. [Issued. 

13. The Masque of Anarchy. Fcap. 8vo. Written in 1819, first pub- 
lished in 1832. Edited by Thomas JT. Wise. [Ready shortly. 

14. (Edipus Tyrannus. 8vo. 1820. 

15. Proposals for an Association of Philanthropists. 8vo. (Not dated, 
but 1812.) 

16.-4 Proposal for putting Reform to the Vote. 8vo. 1817. 

17. Rosalind and Helen, 8vo. 1819. 

18. Prometheus Unbound. 8vo. 1821. 

19. Lax)nandCythna. 8vo. 1818. With Shelley's MS. alterations of it 
into The Revolt of Islam. Edited by H. Buxton Forman. [Preparing. 

20. Queen Mab, Crown 8vo. 1813. With Shelley's MS. alterations. 
Edited by H. Buxton Forman. 

21. Zastrozzi. 12mo. 1810. 

22. St. IrvynCf or the Rosicrucian, 12mo. 1811. 

23. Posthumous Poems, 8vo. 1822. 

24. Essay Sy Letters from Abroad, dc. 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 1841. 

1 From "Some Early Writings of Shelley," in The Contemporary Review^ September, 1884. 
^ 500 copies of the cheap reprint of this tract have been presented to the Society by Mr. 
W. E. A. Axon. 


Series III. Magazine Articles. 

(Many of the most important contributions to Shelley Biography are to 
be found in Periodical Literature. The following are those chiefly needed 
to fill up the gaps in the story of the Poet's life, and to correct the many 
inaccuracies of Hogg, Medwin, and other of his earlier biographers.) 

Section 1. — Biographical. 

Part 1. — Statements by writers personally acquainted with Shelley. 
Edited, with an Introduction, by Thomas J. Wise. 
With two Portraits. Now at press, 

1 . " Percy Bysshe Shelley," in Stockdale's Budget, 1826-7. 

2. Hogg's "Shelley at Oxford," ^ in The New Monthly Magazine^ 
January, February, April, July, October, and December, 1832, pp. 90-96, 
136-144, 343-352, 65-73, 321-330, 505-513. 

3. Ho^'s " The History of Percy Bysshe Shelley's Expulsion from Ox- 
ford," in The New Monthly Magazine, for May, 1833, pp. 17-29. 

4. "A Newspaper Editor's Reminiscences," in Eraser, No. cxxviii. 
June, 1841, pp. 699-710. 

5. Peacock's "Memoirs of Shelley," in Fraser, No. cccxlii., June, 1858 
pp. 643-659 ; No. ccclxi., January, 1860, pp. 92-109 ; No. ccclxiii., March, 
] 860, pp. 301-319 ; No. ccclxv., May, 1860, p. 738 ; and No. ccclxxxvii. 
March, 1862, pp. 343-346. 

6. " Shelley, by One who Knew Him," by Thornton Hunt, in The 
Atlantic Monthly, February, 1863, pp. 184-204. 

The Committee would be glad if members who may possess the holographs 
of any of Shelley's Letters printed in either of the above articles, would 
kindly allow the editor to collate them. 

Part II. — Statements by later writers. 

1. " Notes on Shelley's Birthplace," by W. Hale White, in Macmillan^s 
Magazine, No. 233, vol. xxxix. pp. 461-465. 

2 " On the Drowning of Shelley," by R H. Home, in Fraser, Nov. 1870, 
pp. 618-625. 

3. " Shelley in 1812—13 : An Unpublished Poem," by W. M. Rossetti, 
in The Fortnightly Review, January, 1.871, pp. 67-85. 

4. "Shelley's Last Days," by Dr. Garnett, in The Fortnightly Revieio, 
June 1, 1878, pp. 850-866. 

5. " Improvvisatore Sgricci in Relation to Shelley," by H. Buxton 
Forman, in The Gentleman^ 8 Magazine, January, 1880, pp. 115-123. 

6. " Shelley's Life near Spezzia, his Death and Burials," by H. Buxton 
Forman, in Macmillan^s Magazine, No. 247, May, 1880, pp. 43-58. 

7. " Shelley and Mary," in The Edinburgh Review, No. 320, October, 
1882, pp. 472-507. 

1 The sijt articles under this title ("Shelley at Oxford"), and the supplementary article 
reeouiiting the Expulsion of Bhelley and himself from Oxford, contributed by Hogg to The New 
Monthly Magazine, In 1882 and 1833, form perhaps the most valuable portion of the two volumes 
which Hogg afterwards issued in 1858. 


Series III. Section 2. — Contemporary G^iticisms of Shelley 

and Ms Works. 

1. Review of " Zastrozzi '* in The Critical Review, November, 1810, 

vol. xxi. 3rd series, 1811. 

2. „ " St. Irvyne " in The British Critic, January, 1811. 

3. „ " Poems by Victor and Cazire " in The Poetical Register, 

vol. viii., 1810-11, p. 617. 

4. „ " Poems by Victor and Cazire" in The British Orific, April, 

1811, vol. xxxvii. p. 408. 

5. „ " Queen Mab " in The Theological Inquirer, 1815. 

6. „ Poems in The Mirror, 1819. 

7. „ " Alastor " in BlachwoocPs Magazine, November, 1819. 

8. „ "Laon and Cythna," ''The Eevolt of Islam" in The 

Quarterly, No. xlii., September, 1819, pp. 460-471 (and 
"Rosalind and Helen," p. 470). 

9. „ "Rosalind and Helen," and "Alastor" in Blackwood^ s 

Magazine^ June and Nov., 1819; and "Adonai8,"in 
Dec, 1821. 

"The Cenci" in The Literary Gazette, No. 167, April 1, 

1820, pp. 209-210. 

"Prometheus Unbound" in The Literary Gazette, No. 
190, September 9, 1820, pp. 580-582. 

**The Cenci" in The New Monthly Magazine, May, 1820. 

"The Cenci " in The London Magazine, No. 5, May, 1820. 

14. " The Honeycomb,'' No. 9. Saturday, August 12, 1820. ** Portraits 
of the Metropolitan Poets,'' No. iii. Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley pp. 65-71. 

15. Review of '' Queen Mab " in The Literary Gazette, No. 226, May 19, 

1821, pp. 305-308. 

16. „ " Epipsychidion," in The Gossip, June, 1821. 

17. „ "Adonais" in The Literary Gazette, December 8, 1821, 

pp. 772-773. 

18. „ " Prometheus Unboimd " in The Quarterly, No. xli., 

Decembet, 1821, pp. 168-180. 

19. Leigh Hunt's * Reviews ' in The Eaxtminer. 

Series III. Section 3. 

The most important critical articles — not necessarily excluding reviews — 
which have been contributed to later periodicals. 

1. "The Life and Poetry of Shelley," by David Masson, in Macmillan's 
Magazine, June, 1860, pp. 338-350. 

2. "The Poems of Shelley," in The North British Review, No. cv., 
October, 1870, pp. 30-58. 

3. " Shelley's Metaphysics," by A. Cordery, in the Dark Blue^ June, 1872, 
pp. 478-488. 

4. " Shelley's * Prometheus Unbound,' " by Arthur Clive, in The Gentle- 
man's Magazine, No. Ixxi., April, 1874, pp. 421-437. 

5. Mr. W. M. Rossetti's two Lectures on Shelley, in the Dublin 
University Magazine, February and March, 1878, pp. 138-155, 262-277. 










6. ** Some Thoughts on Shelley," by Stopford A. Brooke, in Macmillav^s 
Magazine^ No. 248, June, 1880, pp. 124-135. 

7. '' The Prometheus of iEschylus and of Shelley," by the Kev. W. A. 
O'Conor, B. A., in The Manchester Quarterly, No. i., January, 1882, pp. 29-45. 

8. "Shelley as a Teacher," by H. S. Salt, in Temple Bar, Ko. 264, 
November, 1882, pp. 365-377. 

9. *'A Note on Shelley," by James Thomson (B.V.) in Progress^Yol, iii., 
No. 2, February, 1884, pp. 113-117. 

10. "Some Early Writings of Shelley," by Professor Dowden, in The 
Contemporary Review^ September, 1884, pp. 383-396. 

11. "Shelley's Philosophical View of Reform," by Professor Dowden, 
in The Fortnightly Review^ November 1886, No. ccxxxix.. New Series, 
pp. 543-562. 

Series IV. Miscellaneous. 

1. " A Shelley Bibliography." Part I. Edited by H. Buxton Forman. 
(This work is published by Reeves and Turner.) [^Issued, 

2. "A Memoir of Shelley" (reprinted from Mr. Rossetti's edition of Ms 
Works), with a fresh Preface by W. M. Rossetti, and a full Index, [Issued, 

3. " The Cenci " : a cheap edition for the Society's performance of the 
Tragedy in May, 1886, with an etched portrait of Beatrice, an Intro- 
duction by Alfred Forman and H. Buxton Forman, and a Prologue by Dr. 
John Todhunter. [Issued, 

4. **A Shelley Primer." By H. S. Salt, M.A. (Messrs. Reeves and 
Turner, 196, Strand, W.C., published this early in 1887, and the 
Society took a copy for each of its Members.) [Issued, 

5. Tlie Pianoforte Score of Dr. W. C. Sellers Choruses and Recitatives, 
composed for the Society's performance of Shelley's Hellas in November, 
1886 : with an Introduction by the Composer. Imperial 8vo. Wrappers, 


6. " Shelley's Autobiography : " Cor Cordium. A collection of all pas- 
sages (poetry or prose) by Shelley relating to himself and his works, with 
annotations by Wm. Michael Rossetti. [Preparing, 

7. "A Concordance to Shelley's Poetical TFbrA-s," and "a General and 
Subject Index to his Prose Works and Letters." Mr. F. S. Ellis has been 
good enough to undertake the editorship of these. Mrs. H. Buxton Forman 
has kindly placed her material for the former portion of this work at tha 
Society's disposal. The Committee ask for volunteer help in both portions. 
Specimens are ready. Offers of help are to be sent to Mr. F. S. Ellis, 
The Red House, Chelston, Torquay. [Preparing, 

8. A reprint, in one volume, of Peacock's Four Ages of Poetry y and 
Shelley's Defence of Poetry, 

9. " A Memoir of Shelley," by Leigh Hunt. 

10. Extracts from books relating to Shelley, compiled under the super- 
intendence of H. Buxton Forman. 

Members are invited to forward suggestions for such additional Publi- 
cations as they may consider it desirable for the Society to produce. 

Note. — A few Large-Paper copies (Quarto size) of some of the Society's 
Publications have been privately printed ; they can be obtained by 
Members upon application to Mr. Bertram Dobell, 66, Queen's 
Crescent, Haverstock Hill, London, N.W. 



Abbott, T. C, Eastlegh, Queen's Road, Bowdon, Manchester. 

Abercrombie, W., The Manor House, Ashton-upon-Mersey. 

Alexander, P. F., 5, Ship Street, Oxford. 

Alexander, Professor W. J., care of Reeves & Turner, 196, Strand, W.C. 

Allan, Hugh, 33, Crescent Road, Plumstead, Kent. 

Angell, E. A., c/o Messrs. Angell and Webster, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A. 

Arkwright, Wm., Sutton, Scarsdale, Chesterfield. 

Armour, George A., 116, Home Insurance Buildings, Chicago, U.S.A. 

Ashbee, C. R. A., 53, Bedford Square London, W.C. 

Axon, Wm. E. A., 66, Murray Street, Higher Broughton, Manchester. 

Ay 1 ward, F. Graham e, 51, Westmoreland Road, Newcastle-on-Tyne. 

Badley, J. H., Trinity College, Cambridge. 

Baddeley, St. Clair, 5, Albert Hall Mansions, Kensington Gore, S.W. 

Bain, Andrew, 17, Athole Gardens, Kilvinside, Glasgow. 

Bangs, Lemuel W., 188, Fleet Street, London, E.C. 

Barnard, Mrs. Jas. Munson, Milton Hill, Milton, Mass., U.S.A. 

Beaumont, Hubert, 144, Piccadilly, London, W. 

Becker, Mrs. C, 9, Museum Mansions, Great Russell Street, London, W.C. 

Bell, J. M., Heddan House, Isleworth, London, W. 

Bell, Rev. Canon, D.D., Cheltenham. 

Bell, Matthew, Temple Works, Cursitor Street, London, E.C, 

Bell, Mrs. J. M., 24, Chestnut Street, Boston, Mass., L^.S.A. 

Bennett, Miss F. E., Ogontz P. 0., Montgomery Co., Pa., U.S.A. 

Berdoe, E., Tynemouth House, Victoria Park Gate, London, E. 

Best, John Vincent, 42, Lansdowne Gardens, South Lambeth, S.W. 

Bierstadt, Edward H., 2, Wall Street, New York City, U.S.A. 

Binney, Mrs., Hillfield, Hampstead, London, N. 

Binns, J. Arthur, 31, Manor Road, Bradford. 

Bird, Miss Laura, 105, Great Russell Street, London, W.C. 

Bird, W. S., 105, Great Russell Street, London, W.C. 

Birnstingl, Avigdor, 18, Old Broad Street, London, E.C. 

Black, T. Eraser, 7, Mount View Road, Crouch Hill, London, N. 

Bland, Hubert, Bowater Crescent, Woolwich Hill. 

Blind, Miss Mathilde, 27, Manchester Street, London, W. 

Booker, John L., 128, Piccadilly, London, W. 

Boston Athenaeum, c/o Messrs. Triibner & Co., 57 & 59, Ludgate Hill, E.C. 

Boston Public Library, c/o Messrs. Triibner, 57 & 59, Ludgate Hill. 

Bo wring, Walter A., Meadow Lodge, Kingston Hill, Surrey. 

Bradley, Mrs. Jerram, 3, Park Terrace, Northampton. 


Bradley, Miss Emily T., Deanery, Westminster, London, S.W. 

Brandl, Professor Dr. A., 3, Stephangasse, Prag, Bohemia. 

Brice, Seward, 5, Bedford Square, London, W.C. 

Britton, John James, Heath House, Alcester, Warwickshire. 

Brooke, Rev. St^pford A., 1, Manchester Square, London, W. 

Brooksbank, Mrs. Thos., 7, Chester Place, Regent's Park, London, N.W. 

Brown, John, 2, St James's Place, Billhead, Glasgow. 

Browning, Oscar, King's College, Cambridge. 

Bucke, R. Maurice, MD., Asylum for the Insane, London, Ont., Canada. 

Burd, Mrs. T. H., Campion House, Shrewsbury. 

Burgess, Mrs. Boughey, 78, Tyrwhitt Rofid, St. John's, S.E. 

Burgin, Geo. B., 7, Dryden Road, Bush Hill Park, Enfield, London, N. 

Butler, R. F., London Institution, Finsbury Circus, London, E.C. 

Cabot, Mrs. Arthur T., 3, Marlborough Street, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 

Call, Major, R.E., 26, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, London, S.W. 

Call, Mrs. C. F., 26, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, London, S.W. 

Call, W. M. W., 9, Addison Gardens, Kensington, London, W. 

Call, Mrs. W., 9, Addison Gardens, Kensington, London, W. 

Campbell, J. Dykes, 29, Albert Hall Mansions, Kensington Gore, S.W. 

Candy, Hugh, University Hall, Gordon Square, London, W.C. 

Carter, William, Parkeston, Dorset. 

Cass, A. M., Lime Grove, Longsight, Manchester. 

Cave, Geo., 15, Montague Road, Richmond, London, S.W. 

Cawthorn, James, 19, Selbome Road, Brighton. 

Cazalet, Mrs. W. Clement, Grenehurst, Dorking, Surrey. 

Chawner, G., King's College, Cambridge. 

Child, Addison, Childwold, St. Lawrence Co., New York. 

Clarke, B.A., Hampden House, Crouch End, London, N. 

Clough, William, 55, High Street, Chorlton-upon-Medlock. 

Clulow, George, 51, Belsize Avenue, Hampstead, London, N.W. 

Coates, Miss A. E., Hart Street, Henley-on-Thames. 

Cobden, Miss, 17, Canfield Gardens, West Hampstead, London, N.W. 

Coffin, T. W., 22, Upper Park Road, Haverstock Hill, London, N.W. 

Coles, C. B. Cowper, 95, Wigmore Street, London, W. 

Comins, Herbert, Queen's Cottage, Chingford. Essex. 

Comyn, Mrs. M., 12, Aldridge Road Villas, Bayswater, London, W. 

Cook, Sam., 14, Gloucester Road, Queen's Road, Finsbury Park, N. 

Cooper, F. S., Royal Grammar School, Lancaster. 

Craig, W. J., 18, Edwardes Square, London, W. 

Craik, G. Lillie, 29 & 30, Bedford Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C. 

Crane, Walter, Beaumont Lodge, Shepherds Bush, London, W. 

Craufurd, W. D., 41, Cadogan Terrace, Sloane Street, London, S.W. 

Crouch, E. Heath, East London, Cape Colony, South Africa. 

Cyriax, Jules, 33, Douglas Road, Canonbury, London, N. 

Dale, Andrew, 12, The Terrace, Camberwell Park, London, S.E. 

Dallas-Glyn, Mrs., 13, Mount Street, Grosvenor Square, London, W. 

Davenport, Mrs. Mary S., 108, Sinclair Road, West Kensington, W. 

Davey, Richard, 14, Rathbone Place, London, W.C. 

Dawson, Miss, 30, Devonshire St., Portland Place, London, W. 

Denny, Daniel, jun., 31, Little's Block, Cambridge, Mass. U.S.A. 

Donald, T, F., 146, Buchanan Street, Glasgow, N.B. 

Dillon, Arthur, Tripp Hill, Fittleworth, Pulborough. 


Dobell, Bertram, 66, Queen's Crescent, Haverstock Hill, London, N.W. 

Donkin, H. B., 60, Upper Berkeley Street, London, W. 

Dowdeswell, Chas., Brautwood, Macaulay Road, Clapham Common, S.W. 

Draper, E. Herbert, 52, Doughty Street, London, W.C. 

Druitt, Miss l^mily, 447, Mile End Eoad, Bow, London, E. 

Dyer, Prof. Louis, 104, Mount Auburn Street, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 

Eckenstein, T., 29, Douglas Road, London, N. 

Edgcumbe, R., 33, Tedworth Square, Chelsea, London, S.W. 

Edmiston, Miss E., 4, Endsleigh Street, Euston Road, London, W.C. 

Ellis, F. S., The Red House, Chelston, Torquay. 

Emrys-Jones, A., M.D., Oak Hill, Fallowfield, Manchester. 

Fagan, Mrs., 26, Manchester Square, London, W. 

Farren, J. W., 8, Lansdowne Road, Clapham Road, London, S.W. 

Fea, J. F., War Office, Pall Mall, London, S.W. 

Field, Michael, care of Messrs. Baker and Sons, The Mall, Clifton. 

Firth, E. Harding, Leigh Side, Leigh Woods, Clifton, Bristol. 

Forman, Alfred, 7, Holbeck Road, Stockwell, London, S.W. 

Forman, George, 1, Upper Phillimore Place, Kensington, London, W 

Forman, H. Buxton, 46, Marlborough Hill, St. John's Wood, N.W. 

Forman, Mrs., 5, Wilton Terrace, Camberwell Grove, London, S.E. 

Foster, Fred. W., Neckinger Mills, Bermondsey, London, S.E. 

Foss, G. R., 26, Great Ormond Street, London, W. C. 

Fothergill, Miss Alice, 109, Abbey Road, London, N.W. 

Fountain, Alfred, Highfield, Hillingdon, Uxbridge, Middlesex. 

Franks, Walter J., Highview, Upper Norwood, London, S.E. 

Frederickson, Charles W., 741, Lexington Avenue, New York City, U.S.A. 

Frederickson, Mrs. C. W., 741, Lexington Avenue, New York City, U.S. A. 

Frost, H. F., 6, Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C. 

Fry, R. E. (King's College), 3, Pear Hill, Cambridge. 

Fumivall, Dr. F. J., 3, St. George's Sq., Primrose Hill, N.W. (Treasurer.) 

Galway, John, care of H. S. Sotheran & Co., 136, Strand, London, W.C. 

Garden, Hugh, Heathcote, Lichfield Road, Kew Gardens, London, S.W. 

Gardner, Mrs. John L., 152, Beacon Street, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 

Gibbs, J. W. M., 34, Southampton Road, Haverstock Hill, London, N.W. 

Goulden, W., 45, St. Peter's Street, Canterbury. 

Graham, Thomas, Laurel Bank, 20, Hilldrop Road, London, N. 

Gray, George, Blairtoun Park, Rutherglen, N.B. 

Green, T. E., 106, St. Paul's Road, Camden Square, London, N.W. 

Grierson, G. G., St. Peter's College, Cambridge. 

Grigsby, W. E., LL.D., 49, Chancery Lane, London, W.C. 

Griswold, D. P., 47, Brattle Street, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 

Guildhall Library, London, E.C. (W. H. Overall, Librarian.) 

Hadrill, Hy. Jno., 53, Belsize Avenue, London, N.W. 

Hainsworth, L., 118, Bowling Old Lane, Bradford, Yorkshire. 

Hales, Prof. J. W., 1, Oppidans Road, Primrose Hill, London, N.W. 

Hall, C. Gordon, Union Club, Trafalgar Square, London, W. 

Hall, Richard Thomas, care of James Dalgaison, Esq., General Post Office, 

Sydney, N.S.W. 
Hanson, E., 42, York Terrace, Regent's Park, N.W. 
Harden, W. Tyas, Hamlet Road, Upper Norwood, London, S.W. 
Harrison, Rev. W. A., St. Ann's Vicarage, S. Lambeth, London, S.W, 
Hart, Horace, Controller, University Press, Oxford. 


Tliirvard College, c/o Triibne.r & Co., 57, Ludj^'atc Hill, London, RC. 

llatchard, Mrs. II. Gibbons, Sylvanus Villa, '211, Maida Vale, London, W. 

Hatchard, Miss Marion L., Sylvanus Villa, 211, Maida Vale, London, W, 

tiawthorne, Miss, c/o George Temple, Esq., 7, High Street, Bloomsbury 

Haynes, W. 13., 137, King's Cross lioad, London, W.C. 

Hemery, Mrs., Charles, Gladsnuiir, Barnet, Herts. 

Hibbs, Reginald R., 13, St. Lawrence Road, North Kensington, W. 

Higginson, 3rd. George, 32, Little's Block, Cambridge, Mass. U.S.A. 

Hill, Mrs. Eardley, 6, Oxford S(iuare, Hyde Park, London, W. 

Hillier, A. C, 6, Phillimore Gardens, Kensington, London, W. 

Hole, Jas., 1, Great College Street, Westminster, London, S.W. 

Holyoake, Percy, Fairbourne, King's Road, Clapham Park, London, S.W. 

Home, F. Wyville, 1, Gordon Villas, Woodside, London, S.E. 

Hope, Miss, 14, Airlie Gardens, Campden Hill, London, N. 

Hora, Whinfield, IC, The Terrace, Peckham Road, London, S.E. 

Horniraan, Emslie John, Surrey Mount, Forest Hill, London, S.E. 

Horsford, Miss Lilian, 27 Craigie Street, Cambridge, Mass. U.S.A. 

Howell, F. F., St. John's College, Cambridge. 

Hudson, John E., 334, Marlborough Street, Boston, Mass. 

Hnelfer, Mrs., 72, Elsham Road, Addison Road, Kensington, London, W. 

Hugell, J. Snell, 24, Regent's Square, London, W.C. 

Hughes, Arthur S., 37, Old Jewry, London, E.C. 

Hutt, A. Granger, 8, Oxford Road, Kilburn, London, N.W. 

Hutt, Charles, 30, Hargrave Park Road, Junction Road, London, N. 

Ingram, John H., Howard House, Stoke Newington Green, London, N. 

Jack, Adolphus A., 10, The University, Glasgow. 

Jackson, Miss, North London Collegiate School for Girls, Sandall Road, N.W, 

Jacob, H. P. (of Bombay), Elm Grove, Dawlish. 

Jarvis, J. W. Junr., 19, Bardolph Road, Tufnell Park, London, N. 

Jersey, The Countess of, 3, Great Stanhope Street, Mayfair, London, W. 

Johnson, Charles Plumptre, 9, New Square, Lincoln's Inn, W.C. 

Jones, Hy. A., The Hill House, Chalfont St. Peter, Slough, Bucks. 

Jones, Mrs. Charles, Jesmond Dene, Newcastle-on-Tyne. 

Joyce, Miss A., 27, Park Road, Haverstock Hill, London, N.W. 

Justice, Philip M., 55, Chancery Lane, London, W.C. 

Kendal, Mrs., 145, Harley Street, London, W. 

Kerr, Mrs., Northbank, Altrincham, Cheshire. 

Kerr, Mrs. Alexr., 19, Warwick Road, South Kensington, London, S.W. 

Kerr, Mrs. William, Glan William, Tan-y-Bwlch, Merioneth. 

Kloos, Willem, Hemonystraat, 13, Amsterdam, Holland. 

Knight, H. J., 30, George Street, Hampstead Road, London, N.W. 

Lassiter, Francis Rives, Tavern Club, 1, Park Square, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 

Latham, Mrs. G., 18, Arundel Gardens, London, W. 

Lawson, H. L., M.P., 32, Grosvenor Square, London, W. 

Lee, A. Collingwood, Waltham Abbey, Essex. 

Lee, Sidney L., 26, Brondesbury Villas, Kilburn, London, N.W. 

Le Gallienne, Richard, Woodstock, Prenton Lane, Birkenhead. 

Leveson, E. J., Cluny, Anerley, London, S.E. 

Levy, Jonas, 55, Tavistock Square, London, W.C. 

Lewis, Enoch, c/o The Pennsvlvania R. R. Co., 233, South Fourth Street, 

Philadelphia, Pa. , U.S.A." 
Lewis, W. B., African Steamship Company, 31, James Street, LiverpooL 


Lindsay, W. A., St. Peter's College, Cambridge. 

Linton, Mrs. Lynn, Queen Anne's Mansions, St. James's Park, S.W. 

Lisle, Miss Underwood, 5,Comwall Residences, Clarence Qate,W. {Hon, Sec.) 

Little, Jas. Stanley, 76, Clarendon Road, Holland Park, London, W. 

Locke, F. S., 1, New Court, St. John's College, Cambridge. 

Lodge, Mrs. Henry Cabot, 65, Mount Vernon Street, Boston, Mass. U.S.A. 

Lodge, Mrs. J. E., 31, Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. U.S.A. 

Lounsbury, Prof. T. R., New Haven, Conn., U.S.A. 

Low, Miss Marie A., 60, Park Road, Haverstock Hill, London, N.W. 

Lowell, Hon. J. Russell, 40, Clarges Street, Piccadilly, London, W. 

Lyndon, Miss Eleanor, 186, Adelaide Road, South Hampstead, N.W. 

Lyster, Thomas W., 10, Harcourt Terrace, Dublin. 

Macalister, Miss, Alceater, Warwickshire. 

Macey, F. H., 268, Strand, London, W.C. 

MacGeorge, B., 19, Woodside Crescent, Glasgow. 

MacKee, Thomas J. 237 West 24th Street, New York City, U.S.A. 

Macleod, Miss E., 17, Gloucester Walk, Campden Hill, Kensington, W. 

Macmillan, Alexander, 29, Bedford Street, Covent Garden, London, W.C. 

Maier, Gustav, Bankcommandite, Gustav Maier & Co., Frankfurt-am - 

Main, Deutschland. 
Main, David M., 18, Exchange Square, Glasgow. 
Manchester Public Free Libraries (C. W. Sutton, Esq., Librarian). 
Marillier, H. C, Peterhouse, Cambridge. 

Marsh, B. J., Devoncroft, Fairfield, Kingston-on-Thames, London, S.W. 
Mathie, Mrs. J. Forlong, 49, Comeragh Road, West Kensington, London, W. 
Matthew, Miss, 14, St. Thomas Road, South Hackney, London, N. 
Matthews, W. H.. c/o Messrs. Matthews & Brooke, Sun Buildings, Bradford. 
Mauchlen, Rev. J., Aden House, Ennerdale Road, Kew, London, S.W.' 
Maw, William, Secretary Bradford Infirmary, Bradford, Yorkshire, 
May, Mrs. S. L., Macro's Cottage, Bumham Beeches, Slough. 
McArthur, A. G., Raleigh HaJI, Brixton Rise, London, S.W. 
Meller, Miss, Rothley Villa, Macaulay Road, Clapham, London, S.W. 
Mercer, F. J., North Warren, Gainsborough. 
Meriscord, H., 27, Russell Street, London, W.C. 
Millar, A., Holly hurst, Clapham Common, London, S.W. 
Milligan, Miss A., 13, Cromwell Grove, W. Kensington Park, London, W. 
Milner, George, 59a, Morley Street, Manchester. 
Monkhouse, A. N., Bexton Road, Knutsford. 
Moore, Mrs., Wedderbum House, Hampstead, London, N.W. 
Morgan, E. Del mas, Union Club, Trafalgar Square, London, S. W. 
Morrison, G. E., care of W. Earle, 8, Cathcart Road, S. Kensington, S.W. 
Mosely, B. L., 55, Tavistock Square, London, W.C. 
Mugliston, Rev. John, Newick House, Cheltenham. 
Muir, James, 27, Huntley Gardens, Glasgow. 
Muir, Wm., 9, Angel Place, Edmonton, London, N. 
Munn, George F., Arts Club, Hanover Square, London, W. 
Murray, Miss Alma, 7, Holbeck Road, Stockwell, London, S.W. 
Murray, Mrs., Brambledowu, Crouch Hill, London, N. 
Murray, Frank, Moray House, Derby. 
Napier, Prof. A. S., Headington Hill, Oxford. 
National Library of Ireland, Dublin. 
Neate, Mrs., 53, Belsize Park, London, N.W. 


Nesmith, H. E. jun., 28, South Street, New York, U.S.A. 

Newell, E. J., The College, Dumfries Place, Cardiff. 

Nichols, George L. jnr., 146, Broadway, New York, U.S.A. 

Nicolls, Jasper H. E., Art Club, Bennet Park, Blackheath, London, S.E. 

Norman, Henry, 10, Northumberland Street, London, W.C. 

Oakeshott, J. F., New Bamet, Middlesex. 

O'Connor, T. B., 168, Piccadilly, London, W. 

Offor, George, Peak Hill Villa, Sydenham, S E. 

Overton, Mrs. A. M.,246,Port8down Road, Maida Hill, London, W. 

Owens, Mrs., Holestone, Doagh, Belfast. 

Pagliardini, Signor Tito, 75, Upper Berkeley Street, Portman Square, W. 

Palmer, W. J., 11, Pemberton Gardens, Upper Holloway, London, N, 

Parker, Robert John, 27, Brunswick Gardens, Kensington, London, W. 

Parkes, W. Kineton, Summerfield Crescent, Edgbaston, Birmingham. 

Parks, Frank, Oberlin, Kansas, U.S.A. 

Paton, Sir Joseph Noel, R.S.A., 33, George Square, Edinburgh. 

Payne, John, 5, Lansdowne Place, Brunswick Square, London, W.C. 

Peirce, Prof. Jas. Mills, 4, Kirkland Place, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 

Peile, G. Greenwood, Shotley Bridge, County Durham. 

Perkins, Rev. Thos., Grammar School, Shaftesbury, Dorset. 

Perry, Thomas Sergeant, 312, Marlborough Street, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 

Phillips, Rev. T. Lloyd, The Abbey, Beckenham, Kent. 

Pinsent, Hume C, 6, Hyde Park Mansions, Marylebone Road, N.W. 

Ploetz, R. A., Eton College, Windsor, Berks. 

Pocock, Mrs. Alfred, Charisholme, Palace Road, Streatham Hill, S.W, 

Posnett, Prof. H. Macaulay, Auckland University, New Zealand. 

Potts, R. A., 26, South Audley Street, London, W. 

Power, Robert, Moorhead Villas, Shipley, Yorks. 

Power, P. le Poer, Winter's Buildings, 32, St. Ann's Street, Manchester. 

Prentice, Mrs. Ridley, Wedderbum House, Hampstead, London, N.W. 

Preston, Herbert P., 88, Eaton Place, London, S.W. 

Preston, Mrs., 88, Eaton Place, London, S.W. 

Preston, Sydney E., 88, Eaton Place, London, S.W. 

Prideaux, Colonel W. P., 4, Alipore Lane, Calcutta. 

Radford, Charles H., West Axton, Horrabridge, South Devon. 

Radford, Ernest W., 9, The Terrace, Hammersmith, London, W. 

Radford, George R., 2, Addison Road, Bedford Park, London, W. 

Read, Carveth, 38, Leamington Road Villas, Westboume Park, London, W. 

Read, Miss Edith, 1, St. George's Square, Primrose Hill, London, N.W. 

Rees, J. Rogers, Brecon Old Bank House, Cardiff. 

Reeves, W., 196, Strand, London, W.C. 

Reid, James, Chapel Allerton, Leeds. 

Reinagle, Mrs., 15, Twyford Place, Tiverton, N. Devon. 

Revell, Wm. F., 58, Oxford Gardens, Notting Hill, London, W. 

Rhys, Ernest, 59, Cheyne Walk, Chelsea, London, S.W. 

Richards, W. R., 2, Marlborough Street, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 

Richmond, John, Silverbank Villa, Cambuslang, Glasgow. 

Riesco, E., Wool Exchange, Coleman Street, London, E.C. 

Roe, Bassett, 25, Richmond Road, Thornhill Crescent, London, N. 

Ross, A. G., 8, Ashburn Place, Cromwell Road, Kensington, London, W. 

Ross, R. B., 8, Ashburn Place, Cromwell Road, S.W. 

Rossetti, Wm. M., 5, Endsleigh Gardens, Euston Road, N.W. {Chairman,) 


Rossiter, J. J., 12, Abbot's Walk, Forbury Gardens, Reading. 

Rowley, Charles, The Glen, Harperbury, Manchester. 

Russell, Earl, Ferishtah, Hampton, Middlesex. 

Ruston, Miss, Monks' Manor, Lincoln. 

Sabin, Frank T., 10, Garrick Street, London, W.C. 

Salt, H. S., Tilford, Farnham, Surrey. 

Samelson, A., M.D., 15, John Street, Manchester. 

Sampson, Gerald N., Exeter College, Oxford. 

Sarrazin, Gabriel, Lyc^e de Nancy, Meurthe-et-Moselle, France. 

Schlengemann, E., 8, Wilberforce Road, Finsbury Park, London, N. 

Scoffem, Mrs. Alice, 107, Clapham Road, London, S.W. 

Scott, William Bell, Penkill Castle, Girvan, Ayrshire, N.B. 

Scott, R. P., 135, East India Road, Poplar, London, E. 

Sears, Miss Mary, 85, Mount Vernon Street, Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 

Sea well. Miss M., c/o Miss Burrow, 29, Addison Road, Kensington, W. 

Sebley, F. J., 7, Pulling Terrace, Cambridge. 

Selle, W. C, Mus. Doc, 5, Old Palace Terrace, Richmond, S.W. {Hon, 

Member. ) 
Sellon, Miss M. G., The Hall, Sydenham, London, S.E. 
Sharp, ^Vm., 46, Talgarth Road, West Kensington, London, W. 
Shaw, George Bemawi, 36, Osnaburgh Street, London, N. W. 
Sheldon, Edw. W., University Club, Madison Square, New York, U.S.A. 
Shelley, Sir Percy F., Bart., Boscombe Manor, Bournemouth, Hants. 
Shelley, Lady, Boscombe Manor, Bournemouth, Hants. 
Shipley, Conway, Kelly College, Tavistock, Devon. 
Shorter, Clement K., 2, Gresley Road, Hornsey Lane, London, N. 
Sickert, Mrs. E. M., 54, Broadhurst Gardens, South Hampstead, N.W. 
Silsbee, Edward, Salem, Mass., U.S.A. 
Simpson, Mrs. Jane H., 8, Park Place Villas, London, W. 
Skipwith, Grey Hubert, 4, Upper College Street, Nottingham. 
Slark, John, 12, Busby Place, Camden Road, London, N.W. 
Slater, Walter B., 249, Camden Road, London, N. 
Smart, Miss M. 8, Derby Villas, Forest Hill, London, S.E. 
Smith, G. A., 92, Carleton Road, Tufnell Park, London, N. 
Smith, W. J., 41. 43, North Street, Brighton. 
Smithson, Mrs. Edward W., 13, Lendal, York. 
Somerset, A., Frimley, Surrey. 

Sotheran, Messrs. Henry, and Co., 136, Strand, London, W.C. 
Stanley, Miss Sara, 3, Stirling Mansions, Compayne Gardens, South 

Hampstead, N.W. 
Stevenson, A. L., St. Andre wes, Clevedon. 
Stirling, James, 14, Rugby Road, Belfast. 

Stock, Elliot, Fern Lodge, Millfield Lane, Highgate Rise, London, N. 
Stockley, W. F., University of New Brunswick, Fredericton, N. B., 

Stokes, J. Scott, Kew Cottage, Caterham, Surrey. 
Story, John B., 24, Lower Baggot Street, Dublin. 
Stringham, Professor Irving, University of California, Berkelev, California, 

Sullivan, T. R., 10, Charles Street, Boston, Mass, U.S.A. 
Sutton, Albert, 130, Portland Street, Manchester. 
Sweet, Hy., Mansfield Cottage, Heath Street, Hampstead, London, N.W. 


Sweetland, Mrs., 18, Nottingham Place, London, W. 

Syraona, J. H., 9, Alwyne Place, London, N. 

Tee, W. F., Blagrave Street, Beading. 

Tegetmeier, W. B., 16, Alexandra Grove, North Finchley, London, N.W, 

Tegetmeier, Miss, 16, Alexandra Grove, North Finchley, London, N.W. 

Tegetmeier, Miss Ida, 16, Alexandra Grove, North Finchley, Loudon, N.W. 

Tempest, Adolphus Vane, 112, Bond Street, London, W. 

Thicknesse, Ralph, 1, Stone Buildings, Lincoln's Inn, London, W.C. 

Thin, Q. T., 32, Grange Road, Edinburgh. 

Thompson, Chas. E., care of Messrs. P. Putnam's Sons, 27, King William 

Street, London, W.(y. 
Thom-Drury, G., Lamb Buildings, Temple, London, E.G. 
Thwaites, E. W,, 16, Durham Villas, Kensington, London, W. 
Todhunter, Dr. J., Orchardcroft, Bedford Park, London, W. 
Toynbee Hall Library, Commercial St., Whitechapel, E. {By grant.) 
Tozer, Rev. Henry Fanshawe, 10, Norham Gardens, Oxford. 
Tregaskis, James, 4, Vernon Chambers, Southampton Row, London, W.C. 
Trinity College, Library, Dublin 

Tumley, E. J., Secretaries' Office, Inland Revenue, Somerset House, W 0. 
Tutin, J. R., Savile Street, Hull. 

Tyrer, C. E., Manchester and Salford Bank, Manchester. 
University College Library, Gower St., London, W.C. {By grant) 
Unwin, T. Fisher, 26, Paternoster Square, London, E.C. 
Verrall, A. W., 3, Newnham Terrace, Cambridge. 
Vezin, Hermann, 10, Lancaster Place, Strand, London, W.C. 
Vian, Alfred, 17, Claverton Street, London, S.W. 
Vian, Alsager, 3, Craven Street, Strand, London, W.C. 
Waldron, Laurence A., 13, Raglan Road, Dublin. 

Walford, Osbom, 42, St. Augustine's Road, Camden Square, London, N.W. 
Walhouse, M. J., 9, Randolph Crescent, Maida Vale, London, W. 
Walker, John, Lees House, Dewsbury. 
Walker, W., 18, Yonge Park, Finsbury Park, London, N. 
Waller, Alfred Rayney, Low Ousegate, York. 
Warren, Miss K. M., 205, Euston Road, N.W. 

Warren, Mrs. Gouveneur K., Newport, Rhode Island, New York, U.S.A. 
Way, W. Irving, Topeka, Kansas, U.S.A. 
Weir, P. Jenner, Cherbury, Beckenham, Kent. 

Wellesley College, Wellesley, c/o H. Sotheran & Co., 136, Strand, W.C. 
Wemham, Ernest J., Secretary's Office, General Post Office, London, E.C. 
Whale, Geo., Denholm, Shrewsbury Lane, Shooter's Hill, Kent. 
Wharton, Henry T., 39, St. George's Road, Kilbum, London, N.W. 
Whistler, Joseph Swift, 19, Holyoke House, Cambridge, Mass., U.S.A. 
White, A. Cromwell, 3, Harcourt Buildings, Temple, London, E.C. 
White, W. Hale, Park Hill, Carshalton, Surrey. 

Whitehead, Miss Francis H.,31, Fitzjohns Avenue, South Hampstead, N.W. 
Whiteley, George, 40, Liverpool Street, London, W.C. 
Wilkinson, T. R., Manchester and Salford Bank, Manchester. 
Williams, W. R., The Ryleys, Alderley Edge, Manchester. 
Wilmot, J. G., Junior Carlton Club, Pall Mall, London, S.W. 
Wilson, H., Heathcote, Red Hill, Surrey. 
Wilson, Mrs., 3, Portland Terrace, Regent's Park, London, N.W. 
Wise, T. J., 127, Devonshire Road, Holloway, London, N. 


Withers, Alfred, Kingsgate, Cricklewood, London, N.W. 

Woodberry, G. E., Beverly, Mass., U.S.A. 

Woods, Mrs. H. G., 28, Holywell, Oxford. 

Woolnough, W. W., 12, Canterbury Road, East Brixton, London, S.W. 

Worcester Free Library, Mass., U.S.A., c/o Messrs. Triibner & Co. 57, 

Ludgate HiD, London, E.G.. 
Yale College Library, Yale University, New Haven, Conn., U.S.A. (given 

by Professor T. R. Lounsbury). 
Yeo, Gerald, University College, Oxford. 

(402 Member 8.) 

The Committee appeal to every Member to use his best 
eflforts to increase the Society's numbers, which should reach 
500 by the end of 1887. Personal canvassing of all likely 
well-wishers is what is needed. 



The following are the Society's Publications for 1886 : — 

1. Shelley's Adonais : an Elegy on the Death of John Keats. Pisa, 4to, 
1821. A Type-Facsimile Keprint on hand-made Paper; edited, with a 
Bibliographical Introduction, by Thomas J. Wise. {Third Edition^ 
Revised.) Price 10«. Boards, [Issued, 

2. Shelley's Hellas, a Lyrical Drama. London, 8vo, 1822. A Type- 
Facsimile Reprint on hand-made Paper ; together with Shelley's Prologue 
to Hellas, and Notes by Dr. Gamett and Mary W. Shelley. Edited, with 
an Introduction, by Thos. J. Wise. Presented by Mr. F. S. Ellis. {Third 
Edition.) Price Ss. Boards. [Issued. 

3. Shelley's Alastor, or The Spirit of Solitude; and other Poems, 
London, fcap. 8vo, 1816. A Type-Facsimile Reprint on hand-made Paper, 
with a new Preface by Bertram Dobell. {Second Edition, Revised.) 
Plaice 6s. Boards. [Issued, 

4. Shelley's Cenci (for the Society's performance in May), with a prologue 
by Dr. John Todhunter ; an Introduction and Notes by Harry Buxton 
Forman and Alfred Forman ; and a Portrait of Beatrice Cenci. Crown Bvo. 
Price 28. 6d. Boards, [Issued, 

5. Shelley's Vindication of Natural Diet. London, 12mo, 1813. A 
Reprint, 1882, with a Prefatory Note by H. S. Salt and W. E. A. Axon. 
Presented by Mr. Axon. (Second Edition.) [Issued, 

6. Shelley's Review of Hogg's novel, "Memoirs of Prince Alexy 
Haimatoff." Now first reprinted from The Critical Review, Dec. 1814, 
on hand-made Paper, with an Extract from Prof. Dowden's article, 
"Some Early Writings of Shelley" {Contemp. Rev., Sept. 1884). Edited, 
with an Introductory Note, by Thos. J. WLse. {Third Edition, Revised,) 
Crown 8vo. Price 2s. Qd. Boards. [Issued, 

7. A Memoir of Shelley, with a fresh Preface, by William Michael 
Rossetti ; a Portrait of Shelley ; and an engraving of his Tomb. {Second 
Edition, with Contents and a full Index.) Crown 8vo. Boards. [Issued. 

8. The Shelley Library : an Essay in Bibliography. London, 8vo, 
1886. Part I. ' First Editions and their Reproductions.' By H. Buxton 
Forman. Boards. [Issued, 


The Shelley Society's Note-Booh, Part I, edited by the Honorary 
Secretary. Part I, Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 are already published. Nos. 6 
and 7 will be issued in due course. Other Numbers will follow as material 
comes in. Part I. of Mr. T. J. Wise's Trial-List of Shelleyana (including 
all books of Shelleyan Biography, Bibliography, and Criticism ; Magazine 
articles ; Songs set to Music ; Reviews ; Notices ; &c., &c.) will appear in 
an early number of the Note-Book. 

A Paper on Prometheus Unbound, by W. M. Rossetti. [Issued. 

All these Publications of the Society for 1886 are kept 
in stock, and new Members can be supplied with them upon 
payment of the back subscription. Additional copies of such 
as are on sale can be obtained from the Society's Publishers or 
Agents, or through any bookseller. 



The Society's Publications for 1887 will be so many of the 
following as the funds at their disposal enable the Committee to 
produce. The first seven will be ready early in the new year, and 
will be sent out to Members as each pays his subscription : — 

1. The Wandering Jew, a Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Edited, with 
an Introduction, by Bertram Dobell. 8vo. Price 8». Boards. [Issued, 

2. The Shelley Primer^ by Mr. H. S. Salt. This is published by Reeves 
and Turner, and the Society has taken a copy for eachof its Members. 

[Issued . 

3. The Pianoforte Score of Dr. W. C. Selle's Choruses and Recitatives, 
composed for the Society's performance of Shelley's Hellas in November, 
1886. Imperial 8vo. Wrappers. Price 48. [Issued. 

4. Shelley's Address to the Irish People. Dublin, 8vo, 1812. A Type- 
Facsimile Reprint on hand- made Paper. Edited, with an Introduction, 
by Thos. J. Wise. Presented by Mr. Walter B. Slater. Price 5«. Boards, 

[Ready immediately. 

5. Shelley's Necessity of Atheism. Worthing, 12mo, (n.d. but 1811). A 
Type-Facsimile Reprint on hand-made Paper. Edited, with an Introduction, 
by Thos. J. Wise. Presented by the Editor. PiHce 3s. Boards. 

[Ready immediately. 

6. Shelley's Masque of Anarchy. Small 8vo, written in 1819, published 
in 1832. A Type-Facsimile Reprint on hand-made Paper, with full col- 
lations and fresh readings (including a hitherto unpublished stanza) from 
Shelley's lately discovered holograph manuscript which is now in the 
Editor's possession. Edited, with an Introduction, by Thomas J. Wise. 
Price 5s. Boards. [Ready immediately. 

7. Shelley's Epipsychidion. London, 8vo, 1821. A Type-Facsimile 
Reprint on hand-made Paper ; with an Introduction by the Rev. Stopford 
A. Brooke, M.A., and a Note on the text of the poem by Algernon C. Swin- 
burne. Edited by Robert A. Potts. Presented by the Editor. Price 6«. 
Boards. [Ready immediately, 

8. The Shelley Society's Papers^ Part I. by the Rev. Sto^ord A. Brooke, 
M.A. ; Mathilde Blind ; W. M. Rossetti ; ^ and H. Buxton Forman. Part I, 
Nos. 1, 2, and 3, are now at press. 

9. The Shelley Society's Note-Book, Part I. Edited by the Honorary 

10. Biographical Articles on Shelley, Part I : those by Stockdale, from 
his -Bt^^e^ 1826-7 ; by Hogg, from The New Monthly Magazine, 1832-3 ; by 
a Newspaper Editor, from Fraser, June, 1841 ; by Thornton Hunt, from 
The Atlantic Monthly, February, 1863 ; and by Peacock, from Eraser, 1858, 
1860, and 1862. With two Portraits. Edited, with a Preface, by Thomas 
J. Wise. On hand-made paper. Octavo. Pnce 128. Boards. [Preparing. 

11. Robert Browning's Essay and Poems on Shelley. (Reprinted by per- 
mission of the Author.) With a Portrait of Mr. Browning, and Forewords 
by Dr. F. J. Furnivall. Octavo. Boards. [Preparing. 

\'2,. Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson. 4to. 1810. A Type- 
Facsimile Reprint on hand-made Paper. Prepared from the copies of the 
excessively rare original, in the possession of Mr. F. Locker-Lampson, and in 
the British Museum. Edited, with an Introduction, by Thomas J. Wise. 
With a Portrait of Margaret Nicholson. Piice 10s. Boards. [Preparing. 

* Advance copies of Mr. Rossetti's Lecture on Prometheus Unbound have already been issued 
to Members. 


13. SheUeys Refutation of Deism, London, 8 vo. 1814. A Type-Facsimile 
Keprint on hand-made Paper, prepared from the excellent copy of the 
original in the possession of Dr. Richard Gamett. Edited hy Thomas J. 
Wise. Price 7«. Boards. [Freparing. 

14. A Letter to Lord Ellenborough, Crown 8vo. (Not dated, but 1812.) A 
Type-Facsimile Reprint on hand-made Paper ; edited by Thomas J. Wise. 
Reproduced from the unique copy of the original in the possession of Sir 
Percy F. Shelley, Bart. Price 5«. Boards, [^Preparing, 

1 5. Proposals for an Association of Philanthropists. 8vo. j[Not dated, 
but 1812.) A Type-Facsimile Reprint on hand-made Paper : edited by 
Thomas J. Wise. 

16. A Facsimile of Mr. H. Buxton Forman*s copy of Laon and Cythna as 
corrected by Shelley into the Revolt of Islam. Edited, with an Intro- 
duction, by H- Buxton Forman. [Preparing, 

17. The Shelley Society's Papers^ Part II, containing the chief Papers 
read during 1887. 

18. The Shelley Society's Note-Book^ Part II, edited by the Honorary 


The Committee, finding it to be impossible with the funds at present 
placed at their disposal to distribute free to Members many books which it 
is deemed advisable to print at once, have decided, rather than postpone 
indefinitely the production of such works, to issue them as an " Extra 
Series * ' of the Society's Publications. At the same time the Committee 
wish it to be distinctly understood that this Series will include no book 
(such as a reprint of one of Shelley's original editions, &c.) which is an 
actual necessity, or which was originally promised gratis to Members in re- 
turn for their annual subscriptions. The Series will be formed, for the most 
part, of photo-lithographic reproductions of Shelley's manuscripts, volumes 
of illustrations, and other publications which are interesting rather than 
necessary. It will also include cheap excerpts from some of the Society's 
larger books ; for instance a half-crown edition of Hogg's Shelley at Oxford, 
reprinted from Section I., Series III. of the Society's Publications. Each 
Member will be entitled to purchase one copy of any book appearing in this 
Series at one-half the published price ; extra copies can be procured from 
the Society's Publishers and Agents, or through the trade in the usual way. 

1. The Pianoforte Score of Dr. W. C. Selle's Choruses and Recitatives, 
composed for the Society's performance of Shelley's Hellas in November, 
1886 : with an Introduction by the Composer. ^ Imperial 8vo. Wrappers. 
Price 48. [^Issued. 

2. A cheap edition of Hellas, prepared for the Society's performance of 
the drama. Edited (with a brief Introduction) by Thomas J. Wise. 
8vo. Price 38. in hoards (on fine paper, with a Portrait of Shelley, one 
hundred copies only printed), or 28. in wrappers. [Issued. 

3. Shelley's Hymn of Pan, set to music by his son, Sir Percy F. 
Shelley, Bart., in 1864. This has not hitherto been on sale, but one hundred 
copies have now been printed by Sir Percy's permission. Folio. Price 3*. 

4. Shelley's Masque of Anarchy. Small 8vo, 1832. An exact reproduc- 
tion in photo-lithography (by W. Griggs, of Elm House, Peckham) of the 
recently-discovered holograph manuscript, now in the possession of Mr. 
Thomas J. Wise. With an Introduction by H. Buxton Forman. 4to. 
Price 10s. Boards. {Five Hundred copies only will be printed. No more 
will at any time be produced ) [Ready shortly. 

1 This work has been transferred to the Fourth Series (No. 4), and lias been issued free to 
Members amongst the Ptiblieations of 1887. 


5. Shelley's Proposal for Putting Reform to the Vote throughout the 
Kingdom, 8vo. 1817. An exact reproduction in photo-lithography (by W. 
Griggs, of Elm House, Peckham) of the original holograph manuscript in the 
possession of Mr. Thomas J. Wise, who has supplied an Introduction. (A 
detailed account of this manuscript will be found in The Shelley Library^ 
pp. 65-6.) 4to. Price 10». Boards, {Five Hundred copies only have been 
printed. No more will at any time be produced.) [Ready immediately. 

6. Shelley at Oxford, by Thomas Jefferson Hogg. A cheap edition, 
reprinted from the Society's Publications, Series III., Section 1., Part I. 
8vo. Wrappers, Price 2s. 6d, 

7. Memoirs of Shelly, by Thomas Love Peacock. A cheap Edition, 
reprinted from the Society's Publications, Series III., Section I., Part I. 
8to. Wrappers, Price 2s. 6d, 


The Committee have arranged for a musical soiree on the evening of 
May 11th, next, when several songs selected from Shelley's writings, set 
heretofore or for the occasion, by various composers, will be sung at 
University College. 


The Society's performance of The Cenci, the first since the tragedy was 
written in 1821, was held in the presence of 2,300 Memlers and guests, 
at the Grand Theatre, Islington, London, N., on Friday, May 7th, 1886, at 
2 p.m. Dr. Todhunter's Prologue, written for the occasion, preceded the 

Beatrice Cenci Miss Alma Murray, 

Count Francesco Cenci Mr. Hermann Vezin, 

&c &c. &c. &c. 

The Cenci will be repeated in 1888, after having been carefully revised, 
compressed, and adapted for the stage. 


Shelley's Hellas is so plainly not an acting drama that the Committee 
resolved to perform it with recitations of the solo parts, and music for the 
choruses. They accepted the offer of Dr. W. C. Selle to compose the music ; 
and under his conductorship, Mr. Podmore reciting, Hellas was performed 
at St. James's Hall, with a full band and chorus, on the evening of 
Tuesday, November 16th, 1886, before an audience of some 3,000 people 
by whom it was well received. The Committee, however, have resolved 
not to repeat the experiment. 


Mr. T. J. Wise's Trial List of Shelley ana is now approaching completia 
and will appear shortly in the Note- Book. Mr. Wise will be glad if the 
Members who have been collecting lists of Revievs, Notices, &c., w 
kindly send them to him at an early date in order that they may be i 
corporated at once, and thus save the printing of additional short lii 
which, in addition to the extra expense incurred, would be less easy 
reference than if complete in one single mass. 



New Skakspere, founded by Dr. Fumivall in 1873, to promote the in- 
telligent study of Shakspere, and to print his Works in their original 
Spelling, with illustrative Treatises. President, Bobebt Browning. 
Directory F. J. Fubnivall. Hon, Sec, K. Qrahame, 65, Chelsea Gardens, 
Chelsea Bridge Road, London, S.W. Subscription One Guinea a year. 

Chaucer J founded by Dr. Fumivall in 1868, to print all the best Chaucer 
MSS., &c. Editor in chief, F. J. Fumivall. Hon, Sec., W, A, Dalziel, 
67, Victoria Road, Finsbury Park, London, N. Subscription Two Guineas 
a year. 

Wyclif, founded by Dr. Fumivall in 1882, to print Wyclif s Latin Works. 
EditoTH, F. D. Matthew, Reginald Lane Poole, Dr. Rudolf Buddensieg, 
Prof. Loserth, &c. Hon, Sec, J, W. Standerwick, General Post Office, 
London, E.C. Subscription, One Guinea a year. 

Early English Text, founded by Dr. Fumivall in 1864, to print all Early 
English literary MSS. Director, F, J. Fumivall. Hon. Sec.yf, A. Dalziel, 
67, Victoria Road, Finsbury Park, London, N. One Guinea a year for the 
Original Series of prints of MSS. only, and One Guinea for the Extra 
Series of prints from MSS. or black-letters of Texts before printed. 

Ballad, founded by Dr. Fumivall in 1868, to print all early English MS. 
Ballads, and reprint the Roxburghe, Bagford and other collections of 
printed Ballads. Editor in chief. The Rev. J. W. Ebsworth, M.A. 
Hon. Sec, W. A. Dalziel, 67, Victoria Rd., London, N. £1 Is. a year. 

Browning, founded in July 1881, by Dr. Fumivall and Miss E. H. Hickey, 
to further the study of Robert Browning's poems, and to print papers on 
them and Illustrations of them. Subscription, One Guinea a year. 
^071. Sec, Walter B. Slater, 249, Camden Road, London, N. 

Philological, founded in 1842, to investigate the Structure, the AfiSnities, 
and the History of Languages. Hon. Sec, F. J. Fumivall, 3, St George's 
Square, London, N.W. One Guinea entrance, and one a year. Parts I. 
and II. of the Society's English Dictionary, for which material has 
been ^^collecting for 30 years, have been lately issued, edited by Dr. J. 

A. H. Murray, and publisht by the Clarendon Press, Oxford. 

Wagner, to promote the study of his Musical and other works, and the 
performance of his Operas at Bayreuth. Hon, Sec, for England, B. L. 
Mosely, 55, Tavistock Square, London, W.C. Subscription, Ten Shillings 
a year. 

Shakspere Quarto Facsimiles, 10«. 6^. each, or 6«. if the whole series of 
fourty is taken, edited by Dr. F. J. Fumivall, Prof. Dowden, Mr. 
P. A. Daniel, Mr. H. A. Evans, Mr. Arthur Symons, Mr. T. Tyler, the 
Rev. W. A. Harrison, and other Shakspere scholars. To be had of 

B. Quaritch, 15, Piccadilly, London, W. (Thirty Facsimiles have 
been publisht, and ten more will be ready soon. The Series will be 
completed in 1887.)