Percy Bysshe Shelley

Aug. 4, 1792 - July 8, 1822


The Fugitives

by Percy Bysshe Shelley


The waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The lightnings are glancing,
The hoar-spray is dancing --

The whirlwind is rolling,
The thunder is tolling,
The forest is swinging,
The minster bells ringing --
Come away!

The Earth is like Ocean,
Wreck-strewn and in motion:
Bird, beast, man and worm
Have crept out of the storm --
Come away!


Our boat has one sail,
And the helmsman is pale; --
A bold pilot I trow,
Who should follow us now,
Shouted he --

And she cried: Ply the oar!
Put off gaily from shore!
As she spoke, bolts of death
Mixed with hail, specked their path
O'er the sea.

And from isle, tower and rock,
The blue beacon-cloud broke,
And though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast
From the lee.


And Fear'st thou? and Fear'st thou?
And Seest thou? and Hear'st thou?
And Drive we not free
O'er the terrible sea,
I and thou?

One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover --
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low; --

While around the lashed Ocean,
Like mountains in motion,
Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered and shifted
To and fro.


In the court of the fortress
Beside the pale portress,
Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame;

On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit,
Stands the gray tyrant father,
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame;

And with curses as wild
As e'er cling to child,
He devotes to the blast,
The best, loveliest and last
Of his name!

Published 1824.


The Lyrics and Shorter Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley
Copyright 1907, reprinted 1913
London: J.M. Dent and Sons, Ltd.
New York: E.P. Dutton and Co.
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