Clearfield Republican. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1851-1937, 1868-09-24
IN. rirrinI OF sAeIIep.


And weep away this life of carc,
which have borne and yet must bear
Tin death. Ike sloep, should steal DER me-
And should feel, 10 the calm ar
Nv cheek gov pale, and hear IN. sea
Bresthe o or my dying brain he last monotony''
A few summers hence, and tho stor-
my waters of the Mediterranean en-
quilted his weltering body, and breath
ed their last monotony over his dying
brain
He wasa disappointed man, seeking
solace in travel and by gratifying his
asthetic tastes. But the amenities oi
domestic affection, the loveliest OF
Italian skies, and the classic grandeur
of the old Italian cities, had failed TO
dispel the gloom that overcast his
mind. lie was ambitious 20 under
mine the popular confidence in Chris
tianitv. and to place in its stead an
airy philosophy ofhis own. His opin-
ions separated him from the world
he found his philosophy unsatisfying;
and, without human sympathy, with
out God and the hopes and consola-
ton ofreligion there was in his heart
a perpetual signing, a longing for
something unattained
His had heen checkered life. His
atheism bad caused him an expulsion
from college; his infdolity to the
wife of his earlier years had brought
her to a suicides grave; and his impie-
ties, as expressed in his poems, had
made him hapless wanderer among
mankind. His beautiful ehild-the
idol of his heart, the tair-haired
Willie-had pined and died, and been
laid away from doting eyes forever
amid the mouldering ruins OF Rome.
Although not yet thirty years of age,
accumulating sorrows had silvered
his locks and stolen the freshness from
his youthful beauty; and the impress
sion must have crept over him at
times that bis life was in "the sere
and yellow leaf" He had won asud-
den and respendent fame, and been
dazzled for time by its glare; but
the charms of poetry had lost much
of their early attraction. He once
wrote TO his wife in the following
despondent manner, in these altered
days:
aMy greatest comfort would be ut
terly TO desert human society; | would
retire with you and our children to II
solitary island in the sea; would build
a boat, and shut upon my retreat the
flood gates of the world. ] would
read no reviews; | would talk with
no authors. If | dared trust my i'm
Imagination, it would tell me that
there are one or two chosen compan-
ions besides yourself whom | should
desire. But to this ] would not listen.
Where two or three are gathered to-
gether, the devil is among them"
His last days were passed chiefly at
Villa Magni, on the desolate beach of
the magnificent Gulf of Spezzia. II
was the summer of 1922 His mind
was much occupied in the project Of
publishing a periodical devoted to
liberal politics and to atheism. He
left Villa Magin in July, to join his
old friend, Leigh Hunt, at Leghorn ;
and in the delights ofrestored friend
ship, these two susceptible and sympa-
thetic spirits journeyed together 10
Pias Here they met Lord Byron.
Shelley, unconscious that the wheels
of his destiny were so soon and so
suddenly to be arrested, spent some
felicitous hours with those chosen
companions. He took leave of his
brother poets, TO return over the
waters of the Mediterranean TO Villa
Magni. A violent storm arose, and
the shallop in which he embarked was
lost.
His body was cast ON shore near
Via Reggie, on the Mediterranean.
1t was unsightIy and decomposed /;
and, as the quarantine regulations de-
manded that everything drifting
ashore should be burned, his friends
resolved to reduce his body TO ashes
before removing it to Rome. Byron
and Leigh Hunt gathered with a few
friends around the distorted remains,
feeling the hopelessuess of worldly
hope and the uncertainty of human
schemes. Here, on the wild beach of
the Mediterranean, with their dead
companion in view, the cherries
philosophy of these two speculative
poets was put TO the severest test.
They must have felt the hollowness
Of those wayward reasonings that roD
the soul Of its virtue, of its spiritual
reunion with God, and of its eternal
hope. But this disquieting provi-
danoa ,rbflo - orol-an.d tlot,. -.
only steeled their hearts, and led
them TO seek for solace in reveling
and hilarty- the only consolation
that atheism extends 10 the stricken
soul A funeral pile was erected after
the manner of the ancients, and the
body of Shelley was laid thereon.
The wood was kindled, frankincense
was poured upon the pile, and the
flames curled up and perfume filled
the air. 1t was a serene summer day.
The winds were hushed, and the
bosom Of the sea scarce revealed its
pulses. The Mediterranean lay in
front, resplendent with sunny Hands.
Behind, the clitfy Apprentices rose to
heaven, their skirts dark with forests
and sequestered shades. On the
right were the gold-tipped waves of
the Bay Of Spezziaj and on the left
the distant spires Of Leghorn, glm-
mored in the sun.
The hamc died away at last, and
these antique obsequies ended. Byron,
Leigh Hunt, and their friends, now
gave loose reins to their turbulent pas.
sions. "When the duty was done.
and the ashes collected, says Gait, in
his life of Lord Byron, ''they dined
and drank much together; and hurs-
ting from the calm mastery with
which they had repressed their feel.
ings during the solemnity, they gave
way to frantic exultation. They were
drunk, they shouted and their ba-
rouche was driven like a whirlwind
through the forest" The aches of
shelley were inferred in Rome, by the
slde OF his own dear Willie. lie has
been called the "poet ofpoets," and on
MS memorial stone is inscribed,
"CoR CoRnIuM."