Prince Athanase

A FRAGMENT.

(The idea Shelley had formed of Prince Athanase was a good deal
modelled on "Alastor". In the first sketch of the poem, he named it
"Pandemos and Urania". Athanase seeks through the world the One whom
he may love. He meets, in the ship in which he is embarked, a lady who
appears to him to embody his ideal of love and beauty. But she proves
to be Pandemos, or the earthly and unworthy Venus; who, after
disappointing his cherished dreams and hopes, deserts him. Athanase,
crushed by sorrow, pines and dies. 'On his deathbed, the lady who can
really reply to his soul comes and kisses his lips' ("The Deathbed of
Athanase"). The poet describes her [in the words of the final
fragment, page 164]. This slender note is all we have to aid our
imagination in shaping out the form of the poem, such as its author
imagined. [Mrs. Shelley's Note.])

[Written at Marlow in 1817, towards the close of the year; first
published in "Posthumous Poems", 1824. Part 1 is dated by Mrs.
Shelley, 'December, 1817,' the remainder, 'Marlow, 1817.' The verses
were probably rehandled in Italy during the following year. Sources of
the text are (1) "Posthumous Poems", 1824; (2) "Poetical Works" 1839,
editions 1st and 2nd; (3) a much-tortured draft amongst the Bodleian
manuscripts, collated by Mr. C.D. Locock. For (1) and (2) Mrs. Shelley
is responsible. Our text (enlarged by about thirty lines fro the
Bodleian manuscript) follows for the most part the "Poetical Works",
1839; verbal exceptions are pointed out in the footnotes. See also the
Editor's Notes at the end of this volume, and Mr. Locock's
"Examination of Shelley Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library", Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1903.]

PART 1.

There was a youth, who, as with toil and travel,
Had grown quite weak and gray before his time;
Nor any could the restless griefs unravel

Which burned within him, withering up his prime
And goading him, like fiends, from land to land. _5
Not his the load of any secret crime,

For nought of ill his heart could understand,
But pity and wild sorrow for the same;--
Not his the thirst for glory or command,

Baffled with blast of hope-consuming shame; _10
Nor evil joys which fire the vulgar breast,
And quench in speedy smoke its feeble flame,

Had left within his soul their dark unrest:
Nor what religion fables of the grave
Feared he,--Philosophy's accepted guest. _15

For none than he a purer heart could have,
Or that loved good more for itself alone;
Of nought in heaven or earth was he the slave.

What sorrow, strange, and shadowy, and unknown,
Sent him, a hopeless wanderer, through