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Note on Poems of 1820


We spent the latter part of the year 1819 in Florence, where Shelley
passed several hours daily in the Gallery, and made various notes on
its ancient works of art. His thoughts were a good deal taken up also
by the project of a steamboat, undertaken by a friend, an engineer, to
ply between Leghorn and Marseilles, for which he supplied a sum of
money. This was a sort of plan to delight Shelley, and he was greatly
disappointed when it was thrown aside.

There was something in Florence that disagreed excessively with his
health, and he suffered far more pain than usual; so much so that we
left it sooner than we intended, and removed to Pisa, where we had some
friends, and, above all, where we could consult the celebrated Vacca as
to the cause of Shelley's sufferings. He, like every other medical man,
could only guess at that, and gave little hope of immediate relief; he
enjoined him to abstain from all physicians and medicine, and to leave
his complaint to Nature. As he had vainly consulted medical men of the
highest repute in England, he was easily persuaded to adopt this
advice. Pain and ill-health followed him to the end; but the residence
at Pisa agreed with him better than any other, and there in consequence
we remained.

In the Spring we spent a week or two near Leghorn, borrowing the house
of some friends who were absent on a journey to England. It was on a
beautiful summer evening, while wandering among the lanes whose
myrtle-hedges were the bowers of the fire-flies, that we heard the
carolling of the skylark which inspired one of the most beautiful of
his poems. He addressed the letter to Mrs. Gisborne from this house,
which was hers: he had made his study of the workshop of her son, who
was an engineer. Mrs. Gisborne had been a friend of my father in her
younger days. She was a lady of great accomplishments, and charming
from her frank and affectionate nature. She had the most intense love
of knowledge, a delicate and trembling sensibility, and preserved
freshness of mind after a life of considerable adversity. As a
favourite friend of my father, we had sought her with eagerness; and
the most open and cordial friendship was established between us.

Our stay at the Baths of San Giuliano was shortened by an accident. At
the foot of our garden ran the canal that communicated between the
Serchio and the Arno. The Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking
its bounds, this canal also overflowed; all this part of the country is
below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was that it was
speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the Square of the Baths, in
the lower part of which our house was situated. The canal overflowed in
the garden behind; the rising waters on either side at last burst open
the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height of six feet.
It was a picturesque sight at night to see the peasants driving the
cattle from the plains below to the hills above the Baths. A fire was
kept up to guide them across the ford; and the forms of the men and the
animals showed in dark relief against the red glare of the flame, which
was reflected again in the waters that filled the Square.

We then removed to Pisa, and took up our abode there for the winter.
The extreme mildness of the climate suited Shelley, and his solitude
was enlivened by an intercourse with several intimate friends. Chance
cast us strangely enough on this quiet half-unpeopled town; but its
very peace suited Shelley. Its river, the near mountains, and not
distant sea, added to its attractions, and were the objects of many
delightful excursions. We feared the south of Italy, and a hotter
climate, on account of our child; our former bereavement inspiring us
with terror. We seemed to take root here, and moved little afterwards;
often, indeed, entertaining projects for visiting other parts of Italy,
but still delaying. But for our fears on account of our child, I
believe we should have wandered over the world, both being passionately
fond of travelling. But human life, besides its great unalterable
necessities, is ruled by a thousand lilliputian ties that shackle at
the time, although it is difficult to account afterwards for their
influence over our destiny.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

    Volume 1

    Volume 2 - Early Poems 1814-1815

    Poems Written in 1816

    Poems Written in 1817

    Poems Written in 1818

    Poems Written in 1819

    Poems Written in 1820

    Poems Written in 1821

    Poems Written in 1822

    Volume 3

    Volume 3 - Juvenilia

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