On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame; _55
And with curses as wild
As e'er clung to child,
He devotes to the blast,
The best, loveliest and last
Of his name! _60
NOTES: _28 And though]Though editions 1839. _57 clung]cling editions 1839.
***
TO —.
[Published by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.]
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory—
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, _5
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
***