Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" Plain
Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
A higher summons:-still didst thou betake
Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
Which undone, these our latter days had risen
On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison,
Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets
Our spirit's wings: despondency besets
Our pillows; and the fresh to-morrow morn
Seems to give forth its light in very scorn
Of our dull, uninspir'd, snail-paced lives.
Long have I said, how happy he who shrives
To thee! But then I thought on poets gone,
And could not pray :-nor can I now-so on
I move to the end in lowliness of heart.-

"Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid! Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!

(13) In the finished manuscript, in vain they cry'd. (14) The draft gives from the Island.

(16) The draft reads In self surpassing summons.

(17) Originally an Alexandrine, in both the manuscripts

15

21

25

30

Thee to thyself and to thy hopes. O thou hast wonbut altered in the second manuscript so as to correspond with the

text.

(19) In the draft, thus—

Which wanting all these latter days had dawnd...

(20) The draft reads Oh Muse, not Great Muse. (31) The draft reads With for From.

To one so friendless the clear freshet yields
A bitter coolness; the ripe grape is sour:
Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hour
Of native air-let me but die at home."

"Is no one near to help me? No fair dawn
Of life from charitable voice? No sweet saying
To set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?
No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet
That I may worship them? No eyelids meet
To twinkle on my bosom? No one dies
Before me, till from these enslaving eyes
Redemption sparkles!-I am sad and lost."

Endymion to heaven's airy dome Was offering up a hecatomb of vows,

When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bows 40
His head through thorny-green entanglement

Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,
Ánxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.

(34-6) In the draft lines 34 and 36 read thus—

Where no friends are, the very freshet yields...
Then take my life, great Gods! for one short hour...

35

In the finished manuscript this last line originally began with And, which is struck out and replaced by Yet. (41-2) Cancelled readings from the draft

thro' ever rough entanglement

No eyelids meet
To twinkle on my bosom ! false ! 'twas false
They said how beautiful I was! who calls

45

50

(45) The draft reads hope for life; but neither manuscript affords any help to this ailing line.

(48-54) In place of this passage the draft has the following:

Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tost
Into a whirlpool. Vanish into air,
Warm mountaineer! for canst thou only bear
A woman's sigh alone and in distress?
See not her charms! Is Phoebe passionless?
Phœbe is fairer far-O gaze no more :—
Yet if thou wilt behold all beauty's store,
Behold her panting in the forest grass!
Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass
For tenderness the arms so idly lain
Amongst them? Feelest not a kindred pain,
To see such lovely eyes in swimming search
After some warm delight, that seems to perch
Dovelike in the dim cell lying beyond
Their upper lids?—Hist!

"O for Hermes' wand,
To touch this flower into human shape!
That woodland Hyacinthus could escape
From his green prison, and here kneeling down
Call me his queen, his second life's fair crown!
Ah me, how I could love!-My soul doth melt

Me now divine? Who now kneels down and dies
Before me till from these enslaving eyes
Redemption sparkles. Ah me how sad I am!
Of all the poisons sent to make us mad
Of all death's overwhelmings "-Stay Beware
Young Mountaineer !

I presume it was intended to read Ah me how I am sad! (55) In the draft—

A woman's sigh in the luxury of distress? (63) The draft reads fruitless for swimming. (70) According to the draft, living's crown.

55

60

65

70

For the unhappy youth-Love! I have felt
So faint a kindness, such a meek surrender

To what my own full thoughts had made too tender,
That but for tears my life had fled away!-
Ye deaf and senseless minutes of the day,
And thou, old forest, hold ye this for true,
There is no lightning, no authentic dew
But in the eye of love: there's not a sound,
Melodious howsoever, can confound
The heavens and earth in one to such a death
As doth the voice of love: there's not a breath
Will mingle kindly with the meadow air,
Till it has panted round, and stolen a share
Of passion from the heart!"-

Upon a bough He leant, wretched. He surely cannot now

(72-3) The draft reads these two lines thus :

After some beauteous youth—Who, who hath felt
So warm a faintness, such a meek surrender...

and there is a cancelled opening for line 73, As I do now. (74) In the draft, fair for full.

(76-7) The draft reads as follows:

Sweet shadow, be distinct awhile and stay
While I speak to thee-trust me it is true...

(85) The draft has the following passage at this point :

Of passion from the heart-Where love is not
Only is solitude-poor shadow ! what

I say thou hearest not! away begone

75

80

85

(79) Cancelled reading of the manuscript, a Lover's eye instead of the eye of Love.

(82) The draft reads, correspondingly with the cancelled reading of the finished manuscript in line 79,

As will a lover's voice: there's not a breath...

Thirst for another love: O impious,

That he can even dream upon it thus !—

Thought he, "Why am I not as are the dead,
Since to a woe like this I have been led

90

Through the dark earth, and through the wondrous sea?
Goddess! I love thee not the less: from thee
By Juno's smile I turn not-no, no, no-

While the great waters are at ebb and flow.—
I have a triple soul! O fond pretence—
For both, for both my love is so immense,
I feel my heart is cut for them in twain."

And so he groan'd, as one by beauty slain.
The lady's heart beat quick, and he could see
Her gentle bosom heave tumultuously.
He sprang from his green covert there she lay,

And leave me prythee with my grief alone!"
The Latmian lean'd his arm upon a bough,
A wretched mortal: what can he do now?
Must he another Love? O impious...

While the fair moon gives light, or rivers flow
My adoration of thee is yet pure

As infants prattling. How is this-why sure
I have a tripple soul !

(97) In the first edition this line is

95

(89-91) In the finished manuscript, the note of interrogation is at

the end of line 89 and a full-stop at the end of line 91.

(92) The draft reads Mine own for Goddess.

(94) At this point the draft shows the following variation :

100

I feel my heart is cut in twain for them.

And it is left so in the corrected copy. It was originally written so in the finished manuscript, where, however, the inversion of the last four words is directed in pencil, so that the right reading, that of the text, must have been lost through a series of oversights.