BERKELEY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 uni>/er'sity. of 
 
 CALIFCRNlAy 
 
POSTHUMOUS' FRAGMENTS OF MARGARET NICHOLSON. 
 
 Edited by H. Buxton Fokmax, 
 
 and printed for private distribution. 
 
 MDCCCLXXVII. 
 
[A full account of this vohune is to lie t'ouiul in Hogg's fAfc of 
 Skdley, Vol. 1, pp. 260 et seq. ; but it had already been inaccurately referred 
 to by Medwiu, both in The SJtdlei/ Paj)ers and in his Life of Shelley. Too 
 much reliance must not be placed on Hogg's account, because, writing from 
 memory, he is certainly inaccurate in some points that can be checked by 
 reference to the book itself ; and this shews that his memory was not to 
 be trusted implicitly. His talent for the picturesque, combined with this 
 want of exactness, may easily have led him far from the facts, without any 
 intention on his part to depart from them. Hogg's account is that the 
 poems were originally written by Shelley hond fide, with the exception of 
 the first, of which "the MS. was confided to Shelley by some rhymester 
 of the day," — that Shelley shewed them to his future biographer in proof, 
 and that the two friends eventually worked upon them to make them into 
 burlesques. "\Mien this was effectually done, the printer who was to have 
 published the volume at Shelley's cost, offered to do so at his own, and it 
 was issued under the name of the poor washerwoman who had attempted the 
 life of George III., and who was still alive, confined as a lunatic. So success- 
 ful was the hoax, says Hogg, that "we used to meet gownsmen in High- 
 street reading the goodly volume as they walked — pensive with a gi-ave and 
 sage delight. ... It was indeed a kind of fashion to be seen reading it in 
 public, as a mark of a nice discernment, of a delicate and fastidious taste 
 in poetry, and the very criterion of a choice spunt. Nobody suspected, or 
 could suspect, who was the author ; the thing passed off as the genuine 
 production of the would-be regicide." I agi-ee with Mr. Rossetti in thinking 
 that the traces of this process of burlesquing are not at all obvious. The poems, 
 with one exception, do not strike me as more extravagant than others wTitten 
 by Shelley as a youth. If the account is correct ; the first poem should 
 stand in its place for the sake of Shelley's share in burlesquing it : if 
 incorrect, it is as likely to be his own as the rest ; and I must say that I 
 think it more likely Shelley produced the whole volume substantially, sub- 
 mitting to the process of burlesquing only to a very small extent, and 
 probably in the Epithalamiiim of Ravaillac and Charlotte Corday alone. 
 The volume, of which the title-page is reproduced in the present re- 
 print, is a quarto, consisting of flj'-title, title, a third leaf bearing the 
 " Advertisement," and text pp. 7 to 29. I suspect it was issued as a 
 stabbed iiamphlet, — as the copies I have seen bear the usual traces of 
 such issue. I have not thought it worth while to make, notice, or suggest 
 any revisions of text, but have given that of the quarto rcrhatim ct literatim, 
 excei>t in one ca.se of a letter accidentally dropi)ed. — H. B. F.] 
 
POSTHUMOUS FRAGMENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 MARGARET NICHOLSON. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fragmeposthumousshelrich 
 
POSTHUMOUS FRAGMENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 MARGARET NTCHOLSOiN; 
 
 BEING P0EM8 FOUND AMONGST THE PAPERS OF THAT 
 
 NOTED FEMALE WHO ATTEMPTED THE LIFE 
 
 OF THE KING IN 1786. 
 
 KDITED BY 
 
 mwM jFii^^vm^mi. 
 
 OXFOBl) : 
 I'RINTKI) AND SOLD J'.V .1. MrXDAY. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 The oio'i/ij and native genius of these. Fragments, must he the 
 only apology which the Editor can make for thus intruding 
 them on the Public Notice. The first I fmnd with no title, 
 and have left it so. It is intimately connected with the 
 dearest interests of universal happiness ; and much as ive 
 may deplore the fatal and enthusiastic tendency which the 
 ideas of this poor femcde had acquired, we cannot fail to 
 pay the tribute of unequivocal regret to the departed memory 
 of genius, ivhich, had it been rightly organized, would have 
 made that intellect, which has since become the victim of 
 phrenzy and despair, a most brilliant ornament to society. 
 
 In case the sale of these Fragments evinces that the Picblic 
 have ccny curiosity to be pi-esented ivith a more copious 
 collediwi of my unfortunate Aunt's Poems, I have other 
 jxtpers in my ijossession, lohicli shall, in that case, be 
 subjected to their notice. It may be supposed they require 
 much arrangement; but I send the following to the press in 
 the same state in which they came into my p)Ossession. 
 
 J. F. 
 
 895 
 
POSTHUMOUS FRAGMENTS. 
 
 A^rBiTiox, power, and avarice, now have liiuTd 
 Death, fate, and ruin, on a bleeding workl. 
 See ! on yon heath what countless victims lie. 
 Hark! what loud shrieks ascend thro' yonder sky ; 
 Tell then the cause, 'tis sure the avenger's rage 
 Has swept these myriads from life's crowded stage : 
 Hark to that groan, an anguisli'd hero dies, 
 He shudders in death's latest agonies ; 
 Yet does a fleeting hectic flush his cheek. 
 Yet does his parting breath essay to speak — 
 
 " Oh God ! my wife, my children — Monarch thou 
 " For whose support this fainting frame lies low ; 
 " For whose support in distant lands I bleed, 
 "Let his friends' welfare be the warrior's meed. 
 " He hears me not — ah ! no — kings cannot hear, 
 " For passion's voice has dull'd their listless ear. 
 "To thee, then, mighty God, I lift my moan, 
 "Thou wilt not scorn a suppliant's anguisli'd groan. 
 " Oh ! now I die — but still is death's fierce pain — 
 " God hears my prayer — we meet, we meet again." 
 He spake, reclin'd him on death's bloody bed. 
 And with a 'parting groan his sx)irit fled. 
 
 Oppressors of mankind to yoic we owe 
 The baleful streams from whence these miseries flow 
 
12 
 
 For you liow nuuiy a iiiotlier weeps her son, 
 Snatch'd from life's course ere lialf liis race ^vas run ! 
 For you how many a widow drops a tear, 
 In silent anguish, on her husband's bier ! 
 
 " Is it tlien tliine, Almighty Power," she cries, 
 " Whence tears of endless sorrow dim tliese eyes ? 
 " Is tliis the system which thy powerful sway, 
 "Which else in shapeless chaos sleeping lay, 
 "Form'd and appro v'd ? — it cannot be — but oh! 
 "Forgive me Heaven, my brain is warp'd by woe." 
 
 'Tis not — he never bade the war-note swell, 
 He never triumpli'd in the work of hell — 
 Mouarchs of earth ! thine is the baleful deed. 
 Thine are the crimes for which thy subjects bleed. 
 Ah ! when will come the sacred fated time, 
 When man unsullied by his leaders' crime. 
 Despising ^vealtli, ambition, pomp, and pride, 
 Will stretch him fearless by his foemen's side ? 
 Ah ! when will come the time, when o'er the plain 
 No more shall death and desolation reign ? 
 When Avill the sun smile on the bloodless field, 
 And the stern warrior's arm the sickle wield ? 
 Not whilst some King, in cold ambition's dreams, 
 Plans for the field of death his plodding schemes ; 
 Not whilst for private pique the public fall, 
 And one frail mortal's mandate governs all. 
 Swell'd with command and mad with dizzying sway 
 Who sees unmov'd his myriads fade away. 
 Careless who lives or dies — so that he gains 
 Some trivial point for which he took the pains. 
 What then are Kings ? — I see the trembling crowd, 
 I hear their fulsome clamours echoed loud; 
 Their stern oppressor pleas'd appears awhile, 
 
13 
 
 J5ut April's suiisluuc is a Muuarch's smile — 
 
 Kings are but dust — the last eventful day 
 
 Will li'vrl all and make tlieni lose their sway; 
 
 AN'ill dash the sceptre from the Monarch's hand, 
 
 .Vud from the warrior's grasp wrest the ensanguin'd brand 
 
 Oh ! Peace, soft peace, art thou for ever gone, 
 Is thy fair form indeed for ever flown ? 
 And love and concord hast thou swept away, 
 As if incongruous witli thy parted sway ? 
 Alas I fear thou hast, for none appear. 
 Now o'er the palsied earth stalks giant Fear, 
 With War, and Woe, and Terror, in his train; 
 List'niug he pauses on the embattled plain. 
 Then speeding swiftly o'er the ensanguin'd heath, 
 Has left the frightful work to hell and death. 
 See ! gory Kuin yokes his blood-stain'd car. 
 He scents the battle's carnage from afar ; 
 Hell and destruction mark his mad career, 
 He tracks the rapid step of hurrying Fear ; 
 AMiilst ruin'd towns and smoaking cities tell, 
 Tluit thy work, ]\Ionarch, is the work of hell. 
 It is thy work ! I hear a voice repeat, 
 Shakes the broad basis of thy blood-stained seat ; 
 And at the orphan's sigh, the widow's moan. 
 Totters the fabric of thy guilt-stanied throne — 
 " It is thy work, Monarch ;" now the sound 
 Fainter and fainter yet is borne around, 
 Yet to enthusiast ears the murmurs tell 
 That heaven, indignant at the work of hell. 
 Will soon the cause, the hated cause remove, 
 AVhich tears from earth peace, innocence, and love. 
 
14 
 
 FKAGMENT. 
 
 SUPPOSED TO BE AN EPITHALAMIUM OF FRANCIS RAVAILLAC 
 AND CHARLOTTE CORDE. 
 
 'Tis midniglit now — athwart the murky air, 
 
 Dank lurid meteors shoot a livid gleam ; " 
 From the dark storm-clouds flaslies a fearful glare, 
 
 It shews the bending oak, the roaring stream. 
 I ponder'd on the woes of lost mankind, 
 
 I ponder'd on the ceaseless rage of Kings; 
 My rapt soul dwelt upon the ties that bind 
 
 The mazy volume of commingling things. 
 When fell and wild misrule to man stern sorrow brings. 
 
 I lieard a yell — it was not the knell, 
 When the blasts on the wild lake sleep, 
 
 That floats on the pause of the summer gale's swell. 
 O'er the breast of the waveless deep. 
 
 I thought it had been death's accents cold 
 
 That bade me recline on the shore ; 
 I laid mine hot head on the surge-beaten mould, 
 
 And thought to breathe no more. 
 
 But a heavenly sleep 
 That did suddenly steep 
 
 In balm my bosom's pain, 
 Pervaded my soul. 
 And free from control, 
 
 Did mine intellect range again. 
 
15 
 
 ]\leLliuu^ht euLliroird 11^)011 a silvery cloud, 
 
 AVhicli floated 'inid a strange and brilliant light ; 
 ]\Iy form upborne l)y viewless ajther rode, 
 
 And spurn'd the lessening realms of earthly night. 
 AVliat heavenly notes burst on my ravish'd ears, 
 
 What beauteous spirits met my dazzled eye ! 
 Hark ! louder swells the music of the spheres, 
 
 More clear the forms of speechless bliss float by. 
 And heavenly gestures suit tethereal melody. 
 
 But fairer than the spirits of the air, 
 
 More graceful than the Sylj)h of synnnetry, 
 Than the enthusiast's fancied love more fair, 
 
 Were the bright forms that swept the azure sky. 
 Enthron'd in roseate light, a heavenly band 
 
 Strew'd flowers of bliss that never fade away ; 
 They welcome virtue to its native land, 
 
 And songs of triumph greet the joyous day 
 When endless bliss the woes of fleeting life repay. 
 
 Congenial minds Mill seek their kindred soul. 
 
 E'en though the tide of time has roU'd between ; 
 They mock weak matter's impotent control. 
 
 And seek of endless life the eternal scene. 
 At death's vain summons iltis will never die. 
 
 In nature's chaos tliis will not decay — 
 These are the bands which closely, warmly, tie 
 
 Thy soul, Charlotte, 'yond this chain of clay. 
 To him who thine must be till time shall fade away. 
 
 Yes Francis ! tliine was the dear knife that tore 
 A tyrant's heart-strings from his guilty breast, 
 
 Tliine was the daring at a tyrant's gore, 
 To smile in triumph, to contemn the rest ; 
 
 ^Vnd thine, lov'd glory of thy sex ! to tear 
 
16 
 
 rrom its base slirine a despot's haughty soul, 
 To laugh at sorrow in secure despair, 
 
 To mock, with smiles, life's lingering control, 
 And triumph 'mid the griefs that round thy fate did roll. 
 
 Yes! the fierce spirits of the avenging deep 
 
 With endless tortures goad their guilty shades. 
 I see the lank and ghastly spectres sweep 
 
 Along the burning length of yon arcades ; 
 And I see Satan stalk athwart the plain ; 
 
 He hastes along the burning soil of hell. 
 "Welcome thou despots to my dark domain, 
 
 "With maddening joy mine anguish'd senses swell 
 "To welcome to their home the friends I love so well." 
 
 Hark ! to those notes, how sweet, how thrilling sweet 
 They echo to the sound of angels feet. 
 
 if # if -H- * v.- # * 
 
 Oh haste to the bower where roses are spread, 
 Tor there is prepared thy nuptial bed. 
 Oh haste — hark ! hark ! — they're gone. 
 
 Choeus of Spirits. 
 
 Stay ye days of contentment and joy, 
 Whilst love every care is erasing. 
 
 Stay ye j)leasures that never can cloy, 
 
 And ye spirits that can never cease pleasing. 
 
 And if any soft passion be near. 
 
 Which mortals, frail mortals, can know, 
 
 Let love shed on the bosom a tear, 
 And dissolve tlie chill ice-drop of woe. 
 
17 
 
 SYMrHONY. 
 
 Fkaxcis 
 
 " Soft, my dearest aiigel stay, 
 
 " Oh ! you suck my soul away ; 
 
 " Suck on, suck on, I glow, I glow ! 
 
 " Tides of maddening passion roll, 
 
 " And streams of rapture drown my soul. 
 
 " Xow give me one more billincj kiss, 
 
 " Let your lips now repeat the bliss, 
 
 " Endless kisses steal my breath, 
 
 " Xo life can equal such a death." 
 
 Charlotte. 
 
 " Oil ! yes I will kiss thine eyes so fair, 
 
 " And I will clasp thy form ; 
 " Serene is the breath of the balmy air, 
 
 " But I think, love, thou feelest me warm. 
 " And I will recline on thy marble neck 
 
 " Till I mingle into thee. 
 " And I will kiss the rose on thy cheek, 
 
 " And thou shalt give kisses to me. 
 "For here is no morn to flout our delight, 
 
 " Oh ! dost thou not joy at this ? 
 " And here we may lye an endless night, 
 
 "A long, long night of bliss." 
 
 Spirits ! when raptures move, 
 Say what it is to love, 
 When passion's tear stands on the cheek, 
 "When bursts the unconscious sigh ; 
 
18 
 
 And tlie tremulous lips dare not speak 
 What is told by the soul-felt eye. 
 
 But what is sweeter to revenge's ear 
 Than the fell tyi-ant's last expiring yell? 
 
 Yes! than love's sweetest blisses 'tis more dear 
 To drink the floatings of a despot's knell. 
 
 I wake — 'tis done — 'tis o'er. * * 
 
 DESPAIPt. 
 
 And can'st thou mock mine agony, thus calm 
 
 In cloudless radiance, Queen of silver night ? 
 Can you, ye flow'rets, spread your perfumed balm 
 
 'Mid pearly gems of dew that shine so bright ? 
 And you wild winds, thus can you sleep so still 
 
 Whilst throbs the tempest of my breast so high ? 
 Can the fierce night-fiends rest on yonder hill. 
 
 And, in the eternal mansions of the sky, 
 Can the directors of the storm in powerless silence lie ? 
 
 Hark ! I hear music on the zephyr's wing, 
 
 Louder it floats along the unruffled sky ; 
 Some fairy sure has touch'd the viewless string — 
 
 Now faint in distant air the murmurs die, 
 Awhile it stills the tide of agony. 
 
 Now — now it loftier swells — again stern woe 
 Arises with the awakening melody. 
 
 Again fierce torments, such as demons know, 
 In bitterer, feller tide, on this torn bosom flow. 
 
 Arise ye sightless spirits of the storm, 
 Ye unseen minstrels of the aerial song, 
 
10 
 
 i'our the licrrc tiile aruuiid this lonely Inriii, 
 And roll the tempests Avildest swell along. 
 
 Dart the red liglitniiig, wing the forked flash, 
 
 I'our from thy clotid-form'd hills the thunder's roar; 
 
 Arotise the whirlwind — and let ocean dash 
 In fiercest tunuilt on the rocking shore, 
 
 Destroy thi.s life or let earth's fabric be no more. 
 
 Yes ! every tie that links nie here is dead ; 
 
 Mysterious fate thy mandate I obey, 
 Since hope and peace, and joy, for aye are tied, 
 
 I come, terrific power, T come away. 
 Then o'er this ruin'd soul let spirits of hell, 
 
 In triumph, laughing wildly, mock its pain ; 
 And though with direst pangs mine heart-strings swell, 
 
 I'll echo back their deadly yells again. 
 Cursing the power that ne'er made aught in vain. 
 
 FKAGMENT. 
 
 Yes ! all is past — swift time has fled away. 
 
 Yet its swell pauses on my sickening mind ; 
 How long will horror nerve this frame of clay? 
 
 I'm dead, and lingers yet my soul behind. 
 Oh; powerful fate, revoke thy deadly spell. 
 
 And yet that may not ever, ever be, 
 Heaven will not smile upon the work of hell ; 
 
 Ah ! no, for heaven cannot smile on me ; 
 Fate, envious fate, has seal'd my wayward destiny. 
 
 I sought the cold brink of the midnight surge, 
 I sigh'd beneath its wave to hide my woes. 
 
20 
 
 Tlie rising tempest sung a funeral dirge, 
 
 And on the blast a frightful yell arose. 
 Wild flew the meteors o'er the madden'd main, 
 
 Wilder did grief athwart my bosom glare ; 
 Still'd was the unearthly howling, and a strain, 
 
 Swell'd 'mid the tumult of the battling air, 
 'Twas like a spirit's song, but yet more soft and fair. 
 
 I met a maniac, like he was to me, 
 
 I said — " Poor victim wherefore dost thou roam ? 
 "And canst thou not contend with agony, 
 
 " That tlius at midnight thou dost quit thine home ?" 
 " Ah there she sleeps : cold is her bloodless form, 
 
 " And I will go to slumber in her grave ; 
 "And then our ghosts, whilst raves the madden'd storm, 
 
 "Will sweep at midnight o'er tlie wilder'd wave; 
 "Wilt thou our lowly beds with tears of pity lave?" 
 
 " Ah ! no, I cannot shed the pitying tear, 
 
 " This breast is cold, this lieart can feel no more ; 
 
 " But I can rest me on thy chilling bier, 
 
 " Can shriek in horror to the temj^est's roar." 
 
 THE SPECTKAL HOKSEMAK 
 
 What was the shriek that struck fancy's ear 
 As it sate on the ruins of time that is past ? 
 Hark! it floats on the fitful blast of the wind, 
 And breathes to the pale moon a funeral sigh. 
 It is the Benshie's moan on the storm, 
 Or a shivering iiond lliat tliirsting I'or sin, 
 
21 
 
 Seeks uiunlev aiitl ,miilt when vii'tue sleeps, 
 
 "WiiiU-'d Nvitli the ])owev of soiiici rutliless kin^', 
 
 And sweeps o'er the breast of the prostrate ])]a'm. 
 
 Tt was not a fiend from the regions of hell 
 
 Tlial poured its low moan on tlie stillness of night : 
 
 Tt was not a ghost of tlie guilty dead, 
 
 Nor a yelling vampire reeking with gore ; 
 
 But aye at the close of seven years' end, 
 
 That voice is mixed with the swell of the storm 
 
 And aye at the close of seven years' end, 
 
 A shapeless shadow that sleeps on the hill 
 
 Awakens and floats on the mist of the heath. 
 
 It is not the shade of a murdered man, 
 
 Who has rushed uncalled to the throne of his God, 
 
 And howls in the pause of the eddying storm. 
 
 This voice is low, cold, hollow, and chiU, 
 
 'Tis not heard by the ear, but is felt in the soul. 
 
 'Tis more frightful far than the death-demon's scream, 
 
 Or the laughter of fiends when they howl o'er the corpse 
 
 Of a man who has sold his soul to hell. 
 
 It tells the approach of a mystic form, 
 
 A white courser bears the shadowy sprite; 
 
 ]\Iore thin they are than the mists of the mountain. 
 
 When the clear moonlight sleeps on the waveless lake. 
 
 ]\Iore pale his cheek than the snows of Nithona 
 
 AVhen winter rides on the northern blast. 
 
 And howls in the midst of the leafless wood. 
 
 Yet when the fierce swell of the tempest is raving, 
 
 And the whirlwinds howl in the caves of InisfaUen, 
 
 Still secure 'mid the wildest war of the sky. 
 
 The phantom courser scours the waste, 
 
 And his rider howls in the thunder's roar. 
 
 O'er him the fierce bolts of avenging heaven 
 
 Pause, as in fear, to strike his head. 
 
22 
 
 The meteors of midnight recoil from his figure, 
 
 Yet the wihlered peasant tliat oft passes by, 
 
 With wonder behokls tlie l)hie flash tliro' his form : 
 
 And his voice, though faint as the sighs of tlie dead. 
 
 The startled passenger sliudders to hear, 
 
 More distinct than the thunder's wiklest roar. 
 
 Then does tlie dragon, who chain'd in the caverns 
 
 To eternity, curses the champion of Erin, 
 
 ]\Ioan and yell loud at the lone hour of midnight, 
 
 And twine his vast wreathes round the forms of the demons; 
 
 Then in agony roll his death-swimming eye-balls. 
 
 Though wilder'd by death, yet never to die ! 
 
 Then he shakes from his skeleton folds the nightmares, 
 
 Who, shrieking in agony, seek the couch 
 
 Of some fevered wretch who courts sleep in vain ; 
 
 Then the tombless ghosts of the guilty dead 
 
 In horror pause on the fitful gale. 
 
 They float -on the swell of the eddying tempest, 
 
 And scared seek the ca^'es of gigantic * * 
 
 Where their thin forms pour unearthly sounds 
 
 On the blast that sweeps the breast of the lake. 
 
 And mino'les its swell with the moonlight air. 
 
 MELODY TO A SCENE OF FOEMER TIMES. 
 
 Art thou indeed for ever gone, 
 
 For ever, ever, lost to me ? 
 Must this poor l^osom lieat alone, 
 
 Or beat at all, if not for thee ? 
 Ah ! wliy was love to mortals given. 
 To lift them to the height of heaven, 
 Or dash them to the depths of liell ? 
 
 Yet I do not reproach thee dear ! 
 
23 
 
 All! 11(1, tlif agonies that swell 
 
 This panting- breast, this frenzied brain 
 
 flight wake my 's slumb'ring tear. 
 
 Oh ! heaven is witness I did love, 
 And heaven does know I k»ve thee still, 
 Does know the fruitless sick'ning thrill, 
 
 AVhen reason's judgment vainly strove 
 To l.ilot thee from my memory ; 
 r)Ut which might never, never l)e. 
 Oh ! I appeal to that blest day 
 "When passion's wildest ecstacy 
 Was coldness to the joys I knew, 
 When every sorrow sunk away. 
 Oh ! I had never liv'd liefore, 
 liut now those blisses are no more. 
 And now I cease to live again, 
 I do not blame thee love ; ah no ! 
 The breast that feels this anguish'd woe 
 Throbs for thy happiness alone. 
 Two years of speechless bliss are gone, 
 I thank thee dearest for the dream. 
 'Tis night — what foint and distant scream 
 Comes on the wild and fitful blast ? 
 It moans for pleasures that are past, 
 It moans for days that are gone by. 
 Oh ! lagging hours how slow you fly ! 
 
 I see a dark and lengthen'd vale, 
 The l)lack view closes with the tomb ; 
 But darker is the lowering gloom 
 
 That shades the intervening dale. 
 In visioned slumber for awhile 
 I seem again to share tliy smile, 
 I seem to hang upon thy tone. 
 
 Again vou say, "confide in me. 
 
24 
 
 "¥ov I am tliiiie, and thine alone, 
 " And thine must ever, ever be." 
 But oh ! awak'ning still anew, 
 Athwart my enanguish'd senses flew 
 A fiercer, deadlier agonv ! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Jliiiiday, Printer, Oxford. 
 
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