PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 



THERE was a time when it would have been the height of impru- 

 dence to have bestowed praise upon the poetical genius of Shelley, 

 or to have judged with lenity his frailties as a man : but Time has 

 already done justice to the former, and the " remorseless deep/ 7 in 

 closing over the head of Lycidas, has now left no more of the latter 

 for his enemies to triumph over. What a solemn and tender thing is 

 Death ! How many prejudices are laid at rest when their object has 

 found a shelter from the bitter tempests of the world in the shadow 

 of the tomb ! Even those who waged fiercest contention with him 

 when alive, seldom deny their tribute to the glory of a man of genius 

 when he is at length gathered to the Kings of thought. The appear- 

 ance of " The Masque of Anarchy," and of some other touching memo- 

 rials of Shelley's brief career, will enable us to form a more correct 

 estimate of his character and history than we could have done at any 

 former period; and the more that is added to these remains, the more 

 proofs do we find of his beautiful and mysterious genius, and the 

 more refined traits of his amiable disposition. 



The imaginative literature of Britain was graced a few years ago 

 with a number of writers, like Maturin and Shelley, whose works 

 betray the fondness for German literature, which at that period was 

 fashionable and which nourished the romantic ideas that agitated 

 their brief ekistence. Of all these, the fame of Shelley is alone post- 

 humous : for it is only since the waves of the Mediterranean have 

 "wafted him to sweet Parthenope," that it is generally conceded to 

 his former admirers that he was a true poet. The reaction is strong, 

 and the desire of doing justice to his merit daily becomes more and 

 more extended. 



The few remarks which we have to make have been partly suggested 

 by the appearance of the new and original portrait which adorns the 

 Illustrations to Lord Byron's works. It represents Shelley when 

 very young, and does not convey an accurate idea of what he really 

 was at the period of his lamented decease. It is to be regretted that 

 no more authentic bust or picture of the poet exists. The expression 

 of his features was mild and good. His complexion was fair and his 

 cheek coloured. His eyes were large and lively, and the whole turn 

 of his face, which was small, was graceful and full of sensibility. 

 The upper part was not perfectly regular, yet his expression was not 

 unworthy of the Angel, whom Milton describes as "holding a reed 

 tipt with fire." He was a man of a feeble constitution, and of an 

 ardent and ill-regulated imagination, greedy of all sorts of novel- 

 ties. This immoderate taste for whatever was new is displayed rather 

 too much in his writings, and leads him often beyond the end he 

 wishes to attain. He sacrifices all to the idea which rules him for the mo- 

 ment, or to the effect he is desirous of producing. If he makes a smiling 

 description, he multiplies epithets until we are lost in their brilliancy. 

 He scatters a luxury of words which fatigue the mind in the same 

 manner, as colours, too glowing and varied, fatigue the sight. If, as 



