"Who chosen is their queen,—with her fine head
Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red:
"For there the lilly, and the musk-rose, sighing,
Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying:
Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble,
A bunch of violets full blown, and double,
Serenely sleep :-she from a casket takes
"A little book,—and then a joy awakes

re

;

About each youthful heart,—with stifled cries, "And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes: "For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears "One that I foster'd in my youthful years: "The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep, "Gush ever and anon with silent creep, "Lur'd by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest "Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast,

Be lull'd with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu ! "Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view: Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions, "Far from the narrow bounds of thy dominions. "Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air,

90

95

100

105

"That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair,

And warm thy sons!" Ah, my dear friend and brother,

Could I, at once, my mad ambition smother,

110

For tasting joys like these, sure I should be

Happier, and dearer to society.

At times, 'tis true, I've felt relief from pain

When some bright thought has darted through my brain :
Through all that day I've felt a greater pleasure
Than if I'd brought to light a hidden treasure.

115

As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them,
I feel delighted, still, that you should read them.
Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment,
Stretch'd on the grass at my best lov'd employment

120

Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought
While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.
E'en now I'm pillow'd on a bed of flowers
That crowns a lofty clift, which proudly towers
Above the ocean-waves. The stalks, and blades,
Chequer my tablet with their quivering shades.
On one side is a field of drooping oats,

125

Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats;
So pert and useless, that they bring to mind
The scarlet coats that pester human-kind.

118. The first transcript reads 'will' for 'should'.
125. The first transcript reads, 'ocean's waves'.

130

And on the other side, outspread, is seen

Ocean's blue mantle streak'd with purple, and green.
Now 'tis I see a canvass'd ship, and now

Mark the bright silver curling round her prow.

I see the lark down-dropping to his nest,

135

And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest;

For when no more he spreads his feathers free,
His breast is dancing on the restless sea.
Now I direct my eyes into the west,

Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest :
Why westward turn? 'Twas but to say adieu !
'Twas but to kiss my hand, dear George, to you!
August, 1816.

140

TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE.

OFT have you seen a swan superbly frowning,
And with proud breast his own white shadow crowning ;
He slants his neck beneath the waters bright

So silently, it seems a beam of light
Come from the galaxy: anon he sports,-
With outspread wings the Naiad Zephyr courts,
Or ruffles all the surface of the lake

In striving from its crystal face to take

Some diamond water drops, and them to treasure
In milky nest, and sip them off at leisure.

10

But not a moment can he there insure them,
Nor to such downy rest can he allure them;

For down they rush as though they would be free,
And drop like hours into eternity.

Just like that bird am I in loss of time,
Whene'er I venture on the stream of rhyme ;

15

139. The first transcript reads 'towards the west'.

1. Charles Cowden Clarke was born at Enfield on the 15th of December 1787; so that he was in his twenty-ninth year when this epistle was addressed to him. He died at Villa Novello, Genoa, on the 13th of March 1877, in his ninetieth year. He assisted his father in the school where Keats was educated.

Hunt remarks in 'The Examiner'- "The Epistle to Mr. Clarke is very amiable as well as poetical, and equally honourable to both parties,-to the young writer who can be so grateful towards his teacher, and to the teacher who had the sense to perceive his genius, and the qualities to call forth his affection. It consists chiefly of recollections of what his friend had pointed out to him in poetry and in general taste; and the lover of Spenser will readily judge of his preceptor's qualifications, even from a single triplet, in which he is described, with a deep feeling of simplicity [lines 35-7]."

With shatter'd boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent
I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent;
Still scooping up the water with my fingers,
In which a trembling diamond never lingers.
By this, friend Charles, you may full plainly see
Why I have never penn'd a line to thee:
Because my thoughts were never free, and clear,
And little fit to please a classic ear;
Because my wine was of too poor a savour
For one whose palate gladdens in the flavour
Of sparkling Helicon :-small good it were
To take him to a desert rude, and bare,
Who had on Baia's shore reclin'd at ease,
While Tasso's page was floating in a breeze
That gave soft music from Armida's bowers,
Mingled with fragrance from her rarest flowers:
Small good to one who had by Mulla's stream
Fondled the maidens with the breasts of cream;
Who had beheld Belphobe in a brook,
And lovely Una in a leafy nook,
And Archimago leaning o'er his book:
Who had of all that's sweet tasted, and seen,
From silv'ry ripple, up to beauty's queen;
From the sequester'd haunts of gay Titania,
To the blue dwelling of divine Urania :

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25

30

35

40

One, who, of late, had ta'en sweet forest walks
With him who elegantly chats, and talks—
The wrong'd Libertas,-who has told you stories

Of laurel chaplets, and Apollo's glories;

45

Of troops chivalrous prancing through a city,

And tearful ladies made for love, and pity:

With many else which I have never known.

Thus have I thought; and days on days have flown
Slowly, or rapidly-unwilling still

50

For you to try my dull, unlearned quill.

Nor should I now, but that I've known you long

That you first taught me all the sweets of song:
The grand, the sweet, the terse, the free, the fine;
What swell'd with pathos, and what right divine :
Spenserian vowels that elope with ease,

55

And float along like birds o'er summer seas;

Miltonian storms, and more, Miltonian tenderness;

Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve's fair slenderness.

Who read for me the sonnet swelling loudly

60

Up to its climax and then dying proudly?

Who found for me the grandeur of the ode,

44. 'Libertas'-Leigh Hunt. See page 15.

Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its load?
Who let me taste that more than cordial dram,
The sharp, the rapier-pointed epigram?
Show'd me that epic was of all the king,

65

Round, vast, and spanning all like Saturn's ring?
You too upheld the veil from Clio's beauty,
And pointed out the patriot's stern duty;

The might of Alfred, and the shaft of Tell;

70

The hand of Brutus, that so grandly fell

Upon a tyrant's head. Ah! had I never seen,

Or known your kindness, what might I have been?

What my enjoyments in my youthful years,
Bereft of all that now my life endears?

75

And can I e'er these benefits forget?

And can I e'er repay the friendly debt?

No, doubly no ;—yet should these rhymings please,

I shall roll on the grass with two-fold ease:

For I have long time been my fancy feeding

80

With hopes that you would one day think the reading
Of my rough verses not an hour misspent ;
Should it e'er be so, what a rich content!

Some weeks have pass'd since last I saw the spires
In lucent Thames reflected :—warm desires

85

To see the sun o'erpeep the eastern dimness,

And morning shadows streaking into slimness
Across the lawny fields, and pebbly water;

To mark the time as they grow broad, and shorter ;
To feel the air that plays about the hills,
And sips its freshness from the little rills;
To see high, golden corn wave in the light

90

When Cynthia smiles upon a summer's night,
And peers among the cloudlets jet and white,

As though she were reclining in a bed

95

Of bean blossoms, in heaven freshly shed.
No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures
Than I began to think of rhymes and measures:
The air that floated by me seem'd to say
"Write! thou wilt never have a better day.”

100

And so I did. When many lines I'd written,

Though with their grace I was not oversmitten,

Yet, as my hand was warm, I thought I'd better
Trust to my feelings, and write you a letter.
Such an attempt requir'd an inspiration
Of a peculiar sort,-a consummation ;-

105

Which, had I felt, these scribblings might have been
Verses from which the soul would never wean :

82 & 94. The first edition reads 'mispent' and 'cloudlet's'.

But many days have passed since last my heart
Was warm'd, luxuriously by divine Mozart;
By Arne delighted, or by Handel madden'd;
Or by the song of Erin pierc'd and sadden'd :
What time you were before the music sitting,
And the rich notes to each sensation fitting.
Since I have walk'd with you through shady lanes
That freshly terminate in open plains,
And revel'd in a chat that ceased not

When at night-fall among your books we got:
No, nor when supper came, nor after that,-

Nor when reluctantly I took my hat;

No, nor till cordially you shook my hand

110

115

120

Mid-way between our homes :-your accents bland
Still sounded in my ears, when I no more
Could hear your footsteps touch the grav❜ly floor.
Sometimes I lost them, and then found again;
You chang'd the footpath for the grassy plain.
In those still moments I have wish'd you joys
That well you know to honor :
"Life's very toys
"With him," said I, "will take a pleasant charm ;
It cannot be that ought will work him harm.'
These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might :-
Again I shake your hand,-friend Charles, good night.

September, 1816.

125

130

130. Hunt says ('Examiner'), in evident allusion to Keats's prowess as a boxer and readiness to back his friends-"we can only add, without any disrespect to the graver warmth of our young poet, that if Ought attempted it, Ought would find he had stout work to do with more than one person. If The student will probably turn to the posthumous poems and compare these epistles with that to John Hamilton Reynolds written in 1818.