not from the same MS. which contains the prefatory fragments,
but from some of Shelley's notebooks.

+Stanza 1,+ 1. 1. _And the green paradise_, &c. The green paradise is
the 'Emerald Isle'--Ireland. This stanza refers to Thomas Moore, and
would have followed on after st. 30 in the body of the poem.

+Stanza 2,+ 1. 1. _And ever as he went he swept a lyre Of unaccustomed
shape._ 'He' has always hitherto, I think, been understood as the 'one
frail form' of st 31--i.e. Shelley himself. The lyre might be of
unaccustomed shape for the purpose of indicating that Shelley's poetry
differs very essentially, in tone and treatment, from that of other
writers. But I incline to think that Shelley, in this stanza, refers not
to himself but to Moore. Moore was termed a 'lyrist,' and here we are
told about his lyre. The latter would naturally be the Irish harp, and
therefore 'of unaccustomed shape': the concluding reference to
'ever-during green' might again glance at the 'Emerald Isle.' As to
Shelley, he was stated in st. 33 to be carrying 'a light spear': if he
was constantly sweeping a lyre as well, he must have had his hands
rather full.

1. 3. _Now like the ... of impetuous fire_, &c. Shelley compares
the strains of the lyre--the spirit of the poetry--to two things:
(1) to a conflagration in a forest; and (2) to the rustling of wind
among the trees. The former image may be understood to apply
principally to the revolutionary audacity and fervour of the ideas
expressed; the latter, to those qualities of imagination, fantasy,
beauty, and melody, which characterise the verse. Of course all
this would be more genuinely appropriate to Shelley himself than
to Moore: still it would admit of _some_ application to Moore, of
whom our poet spoke highly more than once elsewhere. The
image of a forest on fire is more fully expressed in a passage
from the _Lines written among the Euganean Hills_, composed by
him in 1818:--

'Now new fires from antique light
Spring beneath the wide world's might,--
But their spark lies dead in thee [i.e. in Padua],
Trampled out by Tyranny,
As the Norway woodman quells,
In the depths of piny dells,
One light flame among the brakes,
While the boundless forest shakes,
And its mighty trunks are torn,
By the fire thus lowly born;--
The spark beneath his feet is dead;
He starts to see the flames it fed
Howling through the darkened sky
With a myriad tongues victoriously,
And sinks down in fear;-so thou,
O