and pine woods, and overlooking a wide extent of country:  or settling still farther in the maritime Apennines, at Massa.  Several of his slighter and unfinished poems were inspired by these scenes, and by the companions around us.  It is the nature of that poetry, however, which overflows from the soul oftener to express sorrow and regret than joy; for it is when oppressed by the weight of life, and away from those he loves, that the poet has recourse to the solace of expression in verse.

Still, Shelley’s passion was the ocean; and he wished that our summers, instead of being passed among the hills near Pisa, should be spent on the shores of the sea.  It was very difficult to find a spot.  We shrank from Naples from a fear that the heats would disagree with Percy:  Leghorn had lost its only attraction, since our friends who had resided there were returned to England; and, Monte Nero being the resort of many English, we did not wish to find ourselves in the midst of a colony of chance travellers.  No one then thought it possible to reside at Via Reggio, which latterly has become a summer resort.  The low lands and bad air of Maremma stretch the whole length of the western shores of the Mediterranean, till broken by the rocks and hills of Spezia.  It was a vague idea, but Shelley suggested an excursion to Spezia, to see whether it would be feasible to spend a summer there.  The beauty of the bay enchanted him.  We saw no house to suit us; but the notion took root, and many circumstances, enchained as by fatality, occurred to urge him to execute it.

He looked forward this autumn with great pleasure to the prospect of a visit from Leigh Hunt.  When Shelley visited Lord Byron at Ravenna, the latter had suggested his coming out, together with the plan of a periodical work in which they should all join.  Shelley saw a prospect of good for the fortunes of his friend, and pleasure in his society; and instantly exerted himself to have the plan executed.  He did not intend himself joining in the work:  partly from pride, not wishing to have the air of acquiring readers for his poetry by associating it with the compositions of more popular writers; and also because he might feel shackled in the free expression of his opinions, if any friends were to be compromised.  By those opinions, carried even to their outermost extent, he wished to live and die, as being in his conviction not only true, but such as alone would conduce to the moral improvement and happiness of mankind.  The sale of the work might meanwhile, either really or supposedly, be injured by the free expression of his thoughts; and this evil he resolved to avoid.

Note on poems of 1822, by Mrs. Shelley.

    This morn thy gallant bark
    Sailed on a sunny sea: 
    ’Tis noon, and tempests dark
    Have wrecked it on the lee. 
    Ah woe! ah woe! 
    By Spirits of the deep
    Thou’rt cradled on the billow
    To thy eternal sleep.