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...