PRINCE ATHANASE. by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
Prince Athanase is an unfinished narrative poem about a young, talented, and profoundly sad prince who harbors a mysterious inner pain that those around him cannot comprehend or mend.
The poem
Lines 28-30. The punctuation here (“Poetical Works”, 1839) is supported by the Bodleian manuscript, which has a full stop at relief (line 28), and a comma at chief (line 30). The text of the “Posthumous Poems”, 1824, has a semicolon at relief and a full stop at chief. The original draft of lines 29, 30, in the Bodleian manuscript, runs:— He was the child of fortune and of power, And, though of a high race the orphan Chief, etc. —which is decisive in favour of our punctuation (1839). See Locock, “Examination”, etc., page 51. 2. Which wake and feed an ever-living woe,— (line 74.) All the editions have on for an, the reading of the Bodleian manuscript, where it appears as a substitute for his, the word originally written. The first draft of the line runs: Which nursed and fed his everliving woe. Wake, accordingly, is to be construed as a transitive (Locock). 3. Lines 130-169. This entire passage is distinctly cancelled in the Bodleian manuscript, where the following revised version of lines 125-129 and 168-181 is found some way later on:— Prince Athanase had one beloved friend, An old, old man, with hair of silver white, And lips where heavenly smiles would hang and blend With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light Was the reflex of many minds; he filled From fountains pure, nigh overgrown and [lost], The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child; And soul-sustaining songs of ancient lore And philosophic wisdom, clear and mild. And sweet and subtle talk they evermore The pupil and the master [share], until Sharing that undiminishable store, The youth, as clouds athwart a grassy hill Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran His teacher, and did teach with native skill Strange truths and new to that experienced man; So [?] they were friends, as few have ever been Who mark the extremes of life’s discordant span. The words bracketed above, and in Fragment 5 of our text, are cancelled in the manuscript (Locock). 4. And blighting hope, etc. (line 152.) The word blighting here, noted as unsuitable by Rossetti, is cancelled in the Bodleian manuscript (Locock). 5. She saw between the chestnuts, far beneath, etc. (line 154.) The reading of editions 1824, 1839 (beneath the chestnuts) is a palpable misprint. 6. And sweet and subtle talk they evermore, The pupil and the master, shared; (lines 173, 174.) So edition 1824, which is supported by the Bodleian manuscript,—both the cancelled draft and the revised version: cf. note above. “Poetical Works”, 1839, has now for they—a reading retained by Rossetti alone of modern editors. 7. Line 193. The ‘three-dots’ point at storm is in the Bodleian manuscript. 8. Lines 202-207. The Bodleian manuscript, which has a comma and dash after nightingale, bears out James Thomson’s (‘B. V.’s’) view, approved by Rossetti, that these lines form one sentence. The manuscript has a dash after here (line 207), which must be regarded as ‘equivalent to a full stop or note of exclamation’ (Locock). Editions 1824, 1839 have a note of exclamation after nightingale (line 204) and a comma after here (line 207). 9. Fragment 3 (lines 230-239). First printed from the Bodleian manuscript by Mr. C.D. Locock. In the space here left blank, line 231, the manuscript has manhood, which is cancelled for some monosyllable unknown—query, spring? 10. And sea-buds burst under the waves serene:— (line 250.) For under edition 1839 has beneath, which, however, is cancelled for under in the Bodleian manuscript (Locock). 11. Lines 251-254. This, with many other places from line 222 onwards, evidently lacks Shelley’s final corrections. 12. Line 259. According to Mr. Locock, the final text of this line in the Bodleian manuscript runs:— Exulting, while the wide world shrinks below, etc. 13. Fragment 5 (lines 261-278). The text here is much tortured in the Bodleian manuscript. What the editions give us is clearly but a rough and tentative draft. ‘The language contains no third rhyme to mountains (line 262) and fountains (line 264).’ Locock. Lines 270-278 were first printed by Mr. Locock. 14. Line 289. For light (Bodleian manuscript) here the editions read bright. But light is undoubtedly the right word: cf. line 287. Investeth (line 285), Rossetti’s cj. for Investeth (1824, 1839) is found in the Bodleian manuscript. 15. Lines 297-302 (the darts...ungarmented). First printed by Mr. Locock from the Bodleian manuscript. 16. Another Fragment (A). Lines 1-3 of this Fragment reappear in a modified shape in the Bodleian manuscript of “Prometheus Unbound”, 2 4 28-30:— Or looks which tell that while the lips are calm And the eyes cold, the spirit weeps within Tears like the sanguine sweat of agony; Here the lines are cancelled—only, however, to reappear in a heightened shape in “The Cenci”, 1 1 111-113:— The dry, fixed eyeball; the pale quivering lip, Which tells me that the spirit weeps within Tears bitterer than the bloody sweat of Christ. (Garnett, Locock.)
Prince Athanase is an unfinished narrative poem about a young, talented, and profoundly sad prince who harbors a mysterious inner pain that those around him cannot comprehend or mend. Shelley paints a picture of a gifted outsider—cherished by the people and mentored by a wise elder—yet weighed down by a personal grief he cannot articulate. The poem ends abruptly before Shelley discloses the nature of that sorrow, adding to its haunting quality.
Line-by-line
There was a youth whose name was Athanase / Of birth and fortune and of power possessed,
His soul had wedded Wisdom, and her dower / Is love and justice,
But, like a nerve o'er which do creep / The else-unfelt oppressions of this earth,
Nor did he lift his eyes from the dim spot / Which, like a jewel buried from the day,
Prince Athanase had one beloved friend, / An old, old man, with hair of silver white,
The youth, as clouds athwart a grassy hill / Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran
And sweet and subtle talk they evermore, / The pupil and the master, shared;
She saw between the chestnuts, far beneath, / A dark and winding river,
And sea-buds burst under the waves serene:— / The lamps of a departed night
Exulting, while the wide world shrinks below,
Tone & mood
The tone is both mournful and explorative throughout — Shelley depicts Athanase as one might depict a cherished person they couldn't rescue. There's real warmth in the depiction of the mentor-student bond, along with a deep frustration in how the poem circles around the prince's unnamed grief without ever directly addressing it. The verse flows slowly and melodically, employing Shelley's signature terza rima, which lends the entire poem a sense of momentum that is frequently interrupted by reflection. It never quite descends into self-pity, but it flirts with the edge.
Symbols & metaphors
- The buried jewel — Athanase's concealed inner life — his grief, his secret, his true self — is likened to a jewel hidden from the light of day. It's valuable and genuine, yet entirely out of reach for those around him. This imagery reflects both the worth of his inner world and the sorrow of its disconnection from everyday human interaction.
- The exposed nerve — Shelley compares Athanase to a nerve that has lost its protective covering to illustrate why he experiences more suffering than others. His sensitivity isn't a flaw; it's hyper-perception — he truly feels the world's pain because he simply can't shut himself off from it. This reflects Shelley's ongoing theme of the poet as a wound.
- Zonoras (the old mentor) — The aged teacher embodies the wealth of human wisdom—spanning philosophy, poetry, and a deep tradition of thought. His bond with Athanase illustrates how knowledge and love can flow between generations, yet it also highlights that even the greatest wisdom cannot alleviate the unique sorrow that resides within the prince.
- The dark winding river — Seen from above by the unnamed woman in the later fragments, the river represents the journey of life or fate — flowing onward, unclear about its end, and beautiful from afar. It ties together the poem's themes of time, sorrow, and the enigma of personal destiny.
- The name Athanase — Derived from the Greek word for 'immortal,' the name suggests that this character represents a type rather than just an individual — the immortal, suffering idealist. Shelley is clearly crafting a version of himself, but by choosing a Greek name, he transforms the portrayal into something more mythic, distancing it from mere autobiography.
- Clouds outrunning the wind — In the revised manuscript passage, Athanase's intellectual growth is likened to clouds racing ahead of the wind that propels them. This striking image captures a mind that has absorbed its influences so thoroughly that it now operates independently—outpacing the teacher while still acknowledging him.
Historical context
Shelley started writing *Prince Athanase* in 1817, the same year he completed *Laon and Cythna* and delved deeper into Platonic philosophy. He never finished the poem, and it was published posthumously—initially in fragments in *Posthumous Poems* (1824) and later in Mary Shelley's *Poetical Works* (1839). This poem is part of a series where Shelley aimed to create a lengthy philosophical narrative in terza rima, a form associated with Dante, which he intentionally connected to. Athanase serves as a modern Dante, a soul journeying through a world of suffering while searching for an ideal. The character also reflects Shelley's own experiences—he viewed himself as a sensitive outsider, often misunderstood by society, and motivated by a pursuit of wisdom that everyday life couldn't fulfill. The manuscript history, meticulously pieced together by C.D. Locock and others, reveals that Shelley made extensive revisions before ultimately leaving the poem unfinished, likely because he struggled to resolve his hero's unnamed sorrow.
FAQ
Shelley never finished it, and the reason remains a mystery. The most plausible explanation is that he struggled with the core narrative issue: he had crafted a hero marked by an enigmatic, unnamed grief, but he either couldn't determine what that grief was or couldn't find a poetic way to resolve it. The Bodleian manuscript reveals extensive revisions and cancellations, indicating he repeatedly attempted to find a solution but remained dissatisfied.
Athanase is primarily a self-portrait. Shelley viewed himself as someone with extraordinary sensitivity and idealism, feeling disconnected from mainstream society. He was motivated by a quest for knowledge and carried a deep, unexpressed sorrow. Mary Shelley supported this interpretation in her notes on the poem, noting that Shelley 'sheltered himself from the influence of worldly circumstances' through this character.
Zonoras is Athanase's elderly mentor and closest friend, a wise figure who has influenced the prince's thinking since childhood. While he doesn't correspond directly to any one person in Shelley's life, their relationship illustrates Shelley's deep respect for intellectual mentors and his view that the strongest friendships are formed through a mutual quest for truth.
Shelley never tells us, and that's on purpose — at least in the poem itself. Mary Shelley's note hints that it was intended to express a failed love, but the poem never gets there. This ambiguity adds to the poem's strength: the sorrow resonates universally because it remains unnamed.
'Athanase' comes from the Greek *athanatos*, which translates to 'immortal' or 'deathless.' Shelley uses this term to indicate that his hero embodies a type—the immortal idealist, a soul that's too expansive for everyday existence—rather than being merely a realistic character. This choice also ties the poem to Shelley's profound interest in Greek philosophy and Platonic concepts regarding the soul.
The poem follows the terza rima structure, an interlocking three-line rhyme scheme (ABA BCB CDC...) that Dante famously employed in the *Divine Comedy*. Shelley was among the few English poets who seriously and extensively embraced this form. This style fosters a feeling of ongoing progression, which perfectly aligns with the theme of a soul that is perpetually searching but never truly arrives.
It sits at the heart of Shelley's major period. The image of the exposed nerve comes up again in *Adonais*. The mentor-student dynamic reflects relationships found in *Prometheus Unbound*. Shelley recycled lines from the manuscript drafts directly into *Prometheus Unbound* and *The Cenci*, highlighting how much he valued the material even after setting the poem aside.
Because the fragments we have show some of Shelley's most psychologically honest writing. He isn’t building an argument or a myth here — instead, he’s exploring his own inner life through a fictional double. The incompleteness feels fitting: the poem addresses a sorrow that remains unnamed and unresolved, mirroring the poem's own refusal to name or resolve it.