FRAGMENT:  OMENS.

[Published by Medwin, “Shelley Papers”, 1833; dated 1807.]

Hark! the owlet flaps his wings
In the pathless dell beneath;
Hark! ’tis the night-raven sings
Tidings of approaching death.

***

EPITAPHIUM.

[LATIN VERSION OF THE EPITAPH IN GRAY’S ELEGY.]

[Published by Medwin, “Life of Shelley”, 1847; dated 1808-9.]

1. 
Hic sinu fessum caput hospitali
Cespitis dormit juvenis, nec illi
Fata ridebant, popularis ille
Nescius aurae.

2. 
Musa non vultu genus arroganti 5
Rustica natum grege despicata,
Et suum tristis puerum notavit
Sollicitudo.

3. 
Indoles illi bene larga, pectus
Veritas sedem sibi vindicavit, 10
Et pari tantis meritis beavit
Munere coelum.

4. 
Omne quad moestis habuit miserto
Corde largivit lacrimam, recepit
Omne quod coelo voluit, fidelis 15
Pectus amici.

5. 
Longius sed tu fuge curiosus
Caeteras laudes fuge suspicari,
Caeteras culpas fuge velle tractas
Sede tremenda. 20

6. 
Spe tremescentes recubant in illa
Sede virtutes pariterque culpae,
In sui Patris gremio, tremenda
Sede Deique.

***

IN HOROLOGIUM.

[Published by Medwin, “Life of Shelley”, 1847; dated 1809.]

Inter marmoreas Leonorae pendula colles
Fortunata nimis Machina dicit horas. 
Quas MANIBUS premit illa duas insensa papillas
Cur mihi sit DIGITO tangere, amata, nefas?

***

A DIALOGUE.

[Published (without title) by Hogg, “Life of Shelley”, 1858; dated 1809.  Included in the Esdaile manuscript book.]

DEATH: 
For my dagger is bathed in the blood of the brave,
I come, care-worn tenant of life, from the grave,
Where Innocence sleeps ’neath the peace-giving sod,
And the good cease to tremble at Tyranny’s nod;
I offer a calm habitation to thee,—­ 5
Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber with me? 
My mansion is damp, cold silence is there,
But it lulls in oblivion the fiends of despair;
Not a groan of regret, not a sigh, not a breath,
Dares dispute with grim Silence the empire of Death. 10
I offer a calm habitation to thee,—­
Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber with me?

MORTAL: 
Mine eyelids are heavy; my soul seeks repose,
It longs in thy cells to embosom its woes,
It longs in thy cells to deposit its load, 15
Where no longer the scorpions of Perfidy goad,—­
Where the phantoms of Prejudice vanish away,
And Bigotry’s bloodhounds lose scent of their prey. 
Yet tell me, dark Death, when thine empire is o’er,
What awaits on Futurity’s mist-covered shore? 20