DEATH: 
Cease, cease, wayward Mortal!  I dare not unveil
The shadows that float o’er Eternity’s vale;
Nought waits for the good but a spirit of Love,
That will hail their blest advent to regions above. 
For Love, Mortal, gleams through the gloom of my sway, 25
And the shades which surround me fly fast at its ray. 
Hast thou loved?—­Then depart from these regions of hate,
And in slumber with me blunt the arrows of fate. 
I offer a calm habitation to thee.—­
Say, victim of grief, wilt thou slumber with me? 30

MORTAL: 
Oh! sweet is thy slumber! oh! sweet is the ray
Which after thy night introduces the day;
How concealed, how persuasive, self-interest’s breath,
Though it floats to mine ear from the bosom of Death! 
I hoped that I quite was forgotten by all, 35
Yet a lingering friend might be grieved at my fall,
And duty forbids, though I languish to die,
When departure might heave Virtue’s breast with a sigh. 
O Death!  O my friend! snatch this form to thy shrine,
And I fear, dear destroyer, I shall not repine. 40

NOTE: 
22 o’er Esdaile manuscript; on 1858.

***

TO THE MOONBEAM.

[Published by Hogg, “Life of Shelley”, 1858:  dated 1809.  Included in the Esdaile manuscript book.]

1. 
Moonbeam, leave the shadowy vale,
To bathe this burning brow. 
Moonbeam, why art thou so pale,
As thou walkest o’er the dewy dale,
Where humble wild-flowers grow? 5
Is it to mimic me? 
But that can never be;
For thine orb is bright,
And the clouds are light,
That at intervals shadow the star-studded night. 10

2. 
Now all is deathy still on earth;
Nature’s tired frame reposes;
And, ere the golden morning’s birth
Its radiant hues discloses,
Flies forth its balmy breath. 15
But mine is the midnight of Death,
And Nature’s morn
To my bosom forlorn
Brings but a gloomier night, implants a deadlier thorn.

3. 
Wretch!  Suppress the glare of madness 20
Struggling in thine haggard eye,
For the keenest throb of sadness,
Pale Despair’s most sickening sigh,
Is but to mimic me;
And this must ever be, 25
When the twilight of care,
And the night of despair,
Seem in my breast but joys to the pangs that rankle there.

NOTE: 
28 rankle Esdaile manuscript wake 1858.

***

THE SOLITARY.

[Published by Rossetti, “Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S.”, 1870; dated 1810.  Included in the Esdaile manuscript book.]