Mary Shelley Page #3

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Alone, alone

All alone

Upon the wide, wide sea

And God will not take pity

on my soul in agony

[laughing]

- This weather.

- Ah, stop complaining.

It's Scotland,

what do you expect?

So I say to you, if all

things come from God...

...and we all come from God,

are we not part of God?

When we think, do we not

behold the very thoughts of God?

Can't say I feel like

much of a god.

Your body is tired, Baxter,

but your spirit,

it longs to soar.

What of you, Miss Godwin?

Do you think you are of God...

...like the great

poet Coleridge?

[birds chirping]

I'll admit...

...I thought Coleridge

was much more captivating

when I was a child.

There you go.

I'm surprised you can

remember back that far.

[Coleridge] Behold the

majesty of God's creation...

Well just how old are you then,

dear ancient one?

Old enough to know

why you are asking.

Ah.

[Coleridge] It's inspirational,

don't you think?

- I'm 16.

- Hmm.

How about you?

A wise old man indeed.

[laughter]

[Shelley, voiceover] As mountain

springs under the morning sun

We shall become the same

We shall be one spirit

within two frames

Oh, wherefore two?

One passion in twin hearts

which grows and grew

Till like two meteors

of expanding flame

Those spheres instinct

with it become the same

Touch, mingle

Are transfigured ever still

[knock on the door]

Burning, yet inconsumable

[gentle, melancholy music ]

Mary...

...I'm afraid I have some

terrible news from London.

It's your sister Claire.

[Mary]

May I ask you...

...could you tell Mr. Shelley

I said goodbye?

Of course.

[chatter]

Was Scotland everything

I said it would be?

Were you happy?

[Mary]

I was.

You will live again, Mary.

You have your mother's spirit.

You won't be confined for long.

She's been like this for weeks.

Claire?

Thank God!

You're finally back!

So you aren't dying?

Only from boredom.

You mean you weren't sick

at all?

Well... maybe a little bit.

[chatter]

[light music ]

[Shelley, voiceover]

Poor captive bird!

Who, from thy narrow cage

Pourest such music,

that it might assuage

The rugged hearts of those

who prisoned thee

Were they not deaf towards

sweet melody

This song shall be thy rose,

its petals pale

Are dead, indeed,

my adored Nightingale!

[horse whinnies]

[chatter]

It seems my mother's

latest reverie

is a young protg

for your father.

We are all to be

on our best behavior

at dinner tonight

to win him over.

He's wealthy, evidently.

She's a woman

of indomitable hope,

I can't deny her that.

[Godwin clears his throat]

[Godwin]

Mr. Percy Shelley,

may I present Mrs. Godwin,

my wife.

And our children,

William, Claire and Mary.

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