A third composition of the year 1821 was inspired by the visit of Prince Mavrocordato to Pisa.  He called on Shelley in April, showed him a copy of Prince Ipsilanti’s proclamation, and announced that Greece was determined to strike a blow for freedom.  The news aroused all Shelley’s enthusiasm, and he began the lyrical drama of “Hellas”, which he has described as “a sort of imitation of the ‘Persae’ of Aeschylus.”  We find him at work upon it in October; and it must have been finished by the end of that month, since the dedication bears the date of November 1st, 1821.  Shelley did not set great store by it.  “It was written,” he says, “without much care, and in one of those few moments of enthusiasm which now seldom visit me, and which make me pay dear for their visits.”  The preface might, if space permitted, be cited as a specimen of his sound and weighty judgment upon one of the greatest political questions of this century.  What he says about the debt of the modern world to ancient Hellas, is no less pregnant than his severe strictures upon the part played by Russia in dealing with Eastern questions.  For the rest, the poem is distinguished by passages of great lyrical beauty, rising at times to the sublimest raptures, and closing on the half-pathetic cadence of that well-known Chorus, “The world’s great age begins anew.”  Of dramatic interest it has but little; nor is the play, as finished, equal to the promise held forth by the superb fragment of its so-called Prologue. (Forman, 4 page 95.) This truly magnificent torso must, I think, have been the commencement of the drama as conceived upon a different and more colossal plan, which Shelley rejected for some unknown reason.  It shows the influence not only of the Book of Job, but also of the Prologue in Heaven to Faust, upon his mind.

The lyric movement of the Chorus from “Hellas”, which I propose to quote, marks the highest point of Shelley’s rhythmical invention.  As for the matter expressed in it, we must not forget that these stanzas are written for a Chorus of Greek captive women, whose creed does not prevent their feeling a regret for the “mightier forms of an older, austerer worship.”  Shelley’s note reminds the reader, with characteristic caution and frankness, that “the popular notions of Christianity are represented in this Chorus as true in their relation to the worship they superseded, and that which in all probability they will supersede, without considering their merits in a relation more universal.”

    Worlds on worlds are rolling over
    From creation to decay,
    Like the bubbles on a river
    Sparkling, bursting, borne away. 
    But they are still immortal
    Who, through birth’s orient portal,
    And death’s dark chasm hurrying to and fro,
    Clothe their unceasing flight
    In the brief dust and light
    Gathered around their chariots as they go;
    New shapes they still may weave,
    New gods, new laws receive;
    Bright or dim are they, as the robes they last
    On Death’s bare ribs had cast.