Percy Byssbe Sbelley

was born at Field Place, near Horsham, in 1792. In his school-days he distinguished himself as an author, but a tract called The Necessity of Atheism led to his expulsion from Oxford in 1811. Shelley was engaged to his cousin, but the engagement was cancelled. He seems to have been genuinely affected by this event, but within six months he eloped with Harriet Westbrook, the daughter of a retired coffee-house proprietor. There was more chivalry than love on the part of Shelley, for Harriet, though a pretty and agreeable girl, seems to have aroused his sympathies in a large degree by a desire to free her from an oppressive home life. They were an ill-matched pair. Harriet had no understanding of the artistic yearnings of the young poet, nor of his notions for the betterment of mankind. They parted, Shelley finding a congenial and helpful companion in Mary Godwin, a woman of rare powers. Harriet was in despair, and ultimately drowned herself. Then Shelley and Mary married. A life full of incident, brief, but productive of a vast amount of great and enduring work, closed in 1822, when the poet was drowned.

Love's Philosophy

THE fountains mingle with the river,
And the river with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single!

All things, by a law divine,
In another's being mingle-
Why not I with thine?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

See the mountains kiss high heaven,

And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother :

And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;
What are all those kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

Lines to an Indian Air

I ARISE from dreams of thee,

In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I arise from dreams of thee,

And a spirit in my feet

Has led me- -who knows how?-
To thy chamber window, sweet.

The wandering airs they faint

On the dark and silent stream,

The Champak odours fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream.

The nightingale's complaint,

It dies upon her heart,

As I must upon thine,

O beloved as thou art!

O lift me from the grass!

I die, I faint, I fail; Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white alas! My heart beats loud and fast; Oh! press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last.

Good-night

GOOD-NIGHT? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite ;

Let us remain together still,

Then it will be Good-night.

How can I call the lone night good,

Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? Be it not said, thought, understood, That it will be Good-night.

To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my Love,
They never say Good-night.

Felicia Dorothea Hemans

née Browne, the daughter of a Liverpool merchant, was born in 1793. Her first book appeared when she was only fourteen years of age, and in some quarters it was severely criticised. In 1812 she married Captain Hemans, but the union was not a happy one, and they separated in 1818. Besides a large body of verse, Mrs. Hemans made some translations. Her later works consisted of hymns and sonnets. She suffered from palpitation of the heart, and in 1835 she died. 'That holy spirit, sweet as the spring, as ocean deep,' says Wordsworth; but Sir Walter Scott is more critical: 'Mrs. Hemans is somewhat too poetical for my taste -too many flowers, I mean, and too little fruit; but that

may be the cynical criticism of an elderly gentleman.'

Oh! if thou wilt not give thine heart

OH! if thou wilt not give thine heart,

Give back mine own to me,

Or bid thine image thence depart,
And leave me lone, but free.

Yet no! this mournful love of mine

I would not from me cast!

Let me but dream 'twill win me thine
By its deep truth at last.

Can aught so fond, so faithful live

Through years without reply?
Oh! if thine heart thou wilt not give,
Give me a thought, a sigh !

Jobn keats

The promising career of this great poet was curtailed by misfortunes, by sickness, and by early death, and it is said (though the statement is disputed) that the savagery which was the leading feature of the reviews of some of his best work bent his spirit, and, acting on a very delicate constitution, hastened his end. Joseph Severn, the painter, was his faithful friend, and together they lie buried in the Protestant cemetery at Rome. Keats also included among his friends Charles Wells, Leigh Hunt, and Shelley. He was born in 1795, and died in 1821.

On a Picture of Leander

COME hither, all sweet maidens soberly,
Down-looking aye, and with a chasten'd light,
Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white,
And meekly let your fair hands joinèd be,
As if so gentle that ye could not see,

Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright,
Sinking away to his young spirit's night,
Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea :
'Tis young Leander toiling to his death;

Nigh swooning, he doth purse his weary lips
For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile.
O horrid dream! see how his body dips
Dead heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile.
He's gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath.