I like Jane more and more, and I find Williams the most amiable of companions.

She has a taste for music, and an eloquence of form and motions that compensate in some degree for the lack of literary refinement." Two lyrics of this period may here be introduced, partly for the sake of their intrinsic beauty, and partly because they illustrate the fecundity of Shelley's genius during the months of tranquil industry which he passed at Pisa.

The first is an Invocation to Night:-- Swiftly walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, Which make thee terrible and dear,-- Swift be thy flight! Wrap thy form in a mantle grey Star-inwrought! Blind with thine hair the eyes of day, Kiss her until she be wearied out.
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thin opiate wand-- Come, long-sought! When I arose and saw the dawn, I sighed for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee.
Thy brother Death came, and cried, "Wouldst thou me ?" Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noon-tide bee, "Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me ?"--and I replied, "No, not thee!" Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon-- Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night-- Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon! The second is an Epithalamium composed for a drama which his friend Williams was writing.

Students of the poetic art will find it not uninteresting to compare the three versions of this Bridal Song, given by Mr.Forman.

(Volume 4 page 89.) They prove that Shelley was no careless writer.
The golden gates of sleep unbar Where strength and beauty, met together, Kindle their image like a star In a sea of glassy weather! Night, with all thy stars look down-- Darkness, weep thy holiest dew! Never smiled the inconstant moon On a pair so true.
Let eyes not see their own delight; Haste, swift Hour, and thy flight Oft renew.
Fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her! Holy stars, permit no wrong! And return to wake the sleeper, Dawn, ere it be long.
O joy! O fear! what will be done In the absence of the sun! Come along! Lyrics like these, delicate in thought and exquisitely finished in form, were produced with a truly wonderful profusion in this season of his happiest fertility.