OF

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY,

BY

CHARLES W. FREDERICKSON.


Amid the ruins of majestic Rome,
That told the story of its countless years,
I stood, and wondered by the silent dust
Of the "Eternal Child." Oh, Shelley!
To me it was not given to know thy face,
Save through the mirrored pages of thy works;
Those whisper'd words of wood and wave, are to mine ears,
Sweet as the music of ocean's roar, that breaks on sheltered shores.
Thy sterner words of Justice, Love and Truth,
Will to the struggling soul a beacon prove,
And barrier against the waves of tyranny and craft.
Then rest, "_Cor Cordium_," and though thy life
Was brief in point of years, its memory will outlive
The column'd monuments around thy tomb.

* * * * *


NEW YORK, _Nov_. 25, 1875.