And from Pleasure still they hold _45 All it circles, as of old. When, as summer lures the swallow, Pleasure lures the heart to follow-- O weak heart of little wit! The fair hand that wounded it, _50 Seeking, like a panting hare, Refuge in the lynx's lair, Love, Desire, Hope, and Fear, Ever will be near. *** FRAGMENTS WRITTEN FOR HELLAS. [Published by Dr. Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862.] 1. Fairest of the Destinies, Disarray thy dazzling eyes: Keener far thy lightnings are Than the winged [bolts] thou bearest, And the smile thou wearest _5 Wraps thee as a star Is wrapped in light. 2. Could Arethuse to her forsaken urn From Alpheus and the bitter Doris run, Or could the morning shafts of purest light _10 Again into the quivers of the Sun Be gathered--could one thought from its wild flight Return into the temple of the brain Without a change, without a stain,-- Could aught that is, ever again _15 Be what it once has ceased to be, Greece might again be free! 3. A star has fallen upon the earth Mid the benighted nations, A quenchless atom of immortal light, _20 A living spark of Night, A cresset shaken from the constellations. Swifter than the thunder fell To the heart of Earth, the well Where its pulses flow and beat, _25 And unextinct in that cold source Burns, and on ... course Guides the sphere which is its prison, Like an angelic spirit pent In a form of mortal birth, _30 Till, as a spirit half-arisen Shatters its charnel, it has rent, In the rapture of its mirth, The thin and painted garment of the Earth, Ruining its chaos--a fierce breath _35 Consuming all its forms of living death. *** FRAGMENT: 'I WOULD NOT BE A KING'. [Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 2nd edition.] I would not be a king--enough Of woe it is to love; The path to power is steep and rough, And tempests reign above. I would not climb the imperial throne; _5 'Tis built on ice which fortune's sun Thaws in the height of noon. Then farewell, king, yet were I one, Care would not come so soon. Would he and I were far away _10 Keeping flocks on Himalay! *** GINEVRA. [Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824, and dated 'Pisa, 1821.']