From the Original Draft of the Poem to William Shelley

The world is now our dwelling-place; Where'er the earth one fading trace Of what was great and free does keep, That is our home!... Mild thoughts of man's ungentle race Shall our contented exile reap; For who that in some happy place His own free thoughts can freely chase By woods and waves can clothe his face In cynic smiles? Child! we shall weep.

This lament, The memory of thy grievous wrong Will fade... But genius is omnipotent To hallow...