[Enter Lisander And Livia.]

LISANDER: Oh, my daughter! What?

LIVIA: What!

JUSTINA: Saw you A man go forth from my apartment now?-- I scarce contain myself!

LISANDER: A man here!

JUSTINA: Have you not seen him?

LIVIA: No, Lady.

JUSTINA: I saw him.

LISANDER: 'Tis impossible; the doors Which led to this apartment were all locked.

LIVIA [ASIDE]: I daresay it was Moscon whom she saw, For he was locked up in my room.

LISANDER: It must Have been some image of thy fantasy. Such melancholy as thou feedest is Skilful in forming such in the vain air Out of the motes and atoms of the day.

LIVIA: My master's in the right.

JUSTINA: Oh, would it were Delusion; but I fear some greater ill. I feel as if out of my bleeding bosom My heart was torn in fragments; ay, Some mortal spell is wrought against my frame; So potent was the charm that, had not God Shielded my humble innocence from wrong, I should have sought my sorrow and my shame With willing steps.--Livia, quick, bring my cloak, For I must seek refuge from these extremes Even in the temple of the highest God Where secretly the faithful worship.

LIVIA: Here.

NOTE: _179 Where Rossetti; Which 1824.

JUSTINA [PUTTING ON HER CLOAK]: In this, as in a shroud of snow, may I Quench the consuming fire in which I burn, Wasting away!

LISANDER: And I will go with thee.

LIVIA: When I once see them safe out of the house I shall breathe freely.

JUSTINA: So do I confide In thy just favour, Heaven!

LISANDER: Let us go.

JUSTINA: Thine is the cause, great God! turn for my sake, And for Thine own, mercifully to me!

***

STANZAS FROM CALDERON'S CISMA DE INGLATERRA.

TRANSLATED BY MEDWIN AND CORRECTED BY SHELLEY.

[Published by Medwin, "Life of Shelley", 1847, with Shelley's corrections in ''.]

1. Hast thou not seen, officious with delight, Move through the illumined air about the flower The Bee, that fears to drink its purple light, Lest danger lurk within that Rose's bower? Hast thou not marked the moth's enamoured flight About the Taper's flame at evening hour; 'Till kindle in that monumental fire His sunflower wings their own funereal pyre?

2. My heart, its wishes trembling to unfold. Thus round the Rose and Taper hovering came, 'And Passion's slave, Distrust, in ashes cold. Smothered awhile, but could not quench the flame,'-- Till Love, that grows by disappointment bold, And Opportunity, had conquered Shame; And like the Bee and Moth, in act to close, 'I burned my wings, and settled on the Rose.'

***

SCENES FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE.

[Published in part (Scene 2) in "The Liberal", No. 1, 1822; in full, by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.]

SCENE 1.--PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN.

THE LORD AND THE HOST OF HEAVEN.

ENTER THREE ARCHANGELS.

RAPHAEL: The sun makes music as of old Amid the rival spheres of Heaven, On its predestined circle rolled With thunder speed: the Angels even Draw strength from gazing on its glance, Though none its meaning fathom may:-- The world's unwithered countenance Is bright as at Creation's day.

GABRIEL: And swift and swift, with rapid lightness, The adorned Earth spins silently, Alternating Elysian brightness With deep and dreadful night; the sea Foams in broad billows from the deep Up to the rocks, and rocks and Ocean, Onward, with spheres which never sleep, Are hurried in eternal motion.

MICHAEL: And tempests in contention roar From land to sea, from sea to land; And, raging, weave a chain of power, Which girds the earth, as with a band.-- A flashing desolation there, Flames before the thunder's way; But Thy servants, Lord, revere The gentle changes of Thy day.

CHORUS OF THE THREE: The Angels draw strength from Thy glance, Though no one comprehend Thee may;-- Thy world's unwithered countenance Is bright as on Creation's day.

NOTE: _28 (RAPHAEL: The sun sounds, according to ancient custom, In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres. And its fore-written circle Fulfils with a step of thunder. Its countenance gives the Angels strength Though no one can fathom it. The incredible high works Are excellent as at the first day.

GABRIEL: And swift, and inconceivably swift The adornment of earth winds itself round, And exchanges Paradise-clearness With deep dreadful night. The sea foams in broad waves From its deep bottom, up to the rocks, And rocks and sea are torn on together In the eternal swift course of the spheres.

MICHAEL: And storms roar in emulation From sea to land, from land to sea, And make, raging, a chain Of deepest operation round about. There flames a flashing destruction Before the path of the thunderbolt. But Thy servants, Lord, revere The gentle alternations of Thy day.

CHORUS: Thy countenance gives the Angels strength, Though none can comprehend Thee: And all Thy lofty works Are excellent as at the first day.

Such is a literal translation of this astonishing chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum.--[SHELLEY'S NOTE.])