Sweet as a muskrose upon new-made hay;
With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyes
Shut softly up alive. To speak he tries.
"Fair damsel, pity me! forgive that I
Thus violate thy bower's sanctity!
O pardon me, for I am full of grief-
Grief born of thee, young angel! fairest thief!
Who stolen hast away the wings wherewith
I was to top the heavens. Dear maid, sith
Thou art my executioner, and I feel
Loving and hatred, misery and weal,
Will in a few short hours be nothing to me,
And all my story that much passion slew me;
Do smile upon the evening of my days:
And, for my tortur'd brain begins to craze,
Be thou my nurse; and let me understand
How dying I shall kiss that lilly hand.—
Dost weep for me? Then should I be content.
Scowl on, ye fates! until the firmament
Outblackens Erebus, and the full-cavern'd earth
Crumbles into itself. By the cloud girth
Of Jove, those tears have given me a thirst
To meet oblivion."-As her heart would burst
The maiden sobb'd awhile, and then reply'd:
"Why must such desolation betide

As that thou speak'st of? Are not these green nooks

(104) Here again the draft is fuller,—thus :

Shut softly up alive-Ye harmonies
Ye tranced visions-ye flights ideal
Nothing are ye to life so dainty real
O Lady pity me!






(127) In this line we read speakst in the finished manuscript, but speakest in the first edition.

Empty of all misfortune? Do the brooks
Utter a gorgon voice? Does yonder thrush,
Schooling its half-fledg'd little ones to brush
About the dewy forest, whisper tales?—
Speak not of grief, young stranger, or cold snails
Will slime the rose to night. Though if thou wilt,
Methinks 'twould be a guilt-a very guilt-
Not to companion thee, and sigh away

The light-the dusk-the dark-till break of day!"
"Dear lady," said Endymion, “'tis past :

Canst thou do so? Is there no balm, no cure
Could not a beckoning Hebe soon allure
Thee into Paradise? What sorrowing

So weighs thee down what utmost woe could bring
This madness-Sit thee down by me, and ease
Thine heart in whispers-haply by degrees

I may find out some soothing medicine."-
"Dear Lady," said Endymion, “I pine

I die the tender accents thou hast spoken
Have finish'd all--my heart is lost and broken.
That I may pass in patience still speak :
Let me have music dying, and I seek

No more delight-I bid adieu to all.
Didst thou not after other climates call

(128) For this choice use of the word empty, compare Shakespeare, Love's Labour's Lost, Act V, Scene II, line 878:

And I shall find you empty of that fault,.....

(136) After this line the speech of Phoebe still goes on in the draft; and Endymion's answer varies,—thus :

And murmur about Indian streams-now, now—

I listen, it may save me-O my vow

Let me have music dying!" The ladye

Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree
With tears of pity sang this roundelay-



It will be remembered that this antiquated use of the word ladye was defended by Coleridge both in theory and in practice. See the Ballad of The Dark Ladye.

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I love thee! and my days can never last.
That I may pass in patience still speak:
Let me have music dying, and I seek
No more delight-I bid adieu to all.
Didst thou not after other climates call,
And murmur about Indian streams?"-Then she,
Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree,
For pity sang this roundelay-

"O Sorrow,

Why dost borrow

The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?—
To give maiden blushes

To the white rose bushes?

Or is't thy dewy hand the daisy tips?

"O Sorrow,

Why dost borrow

The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?—
To give the glow-worm light?
Or, on a moonless night,

To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry?

Now tossing Seas appeare to touch the sky,

And wrap their curles in clouds, frotht with their spry. VOL. I.






(151) In the first edition is it; but is't in the manuscript and in the corrected copy.

(154) The draft reads lover's eye for falcon-eye.

(157) Keats has been supposed to have invented the variant spry for spray for convenience of rhyming, just as Shelley has been accused of inventing for like reasons the word uprest, for example, in Laon and Cythna, Canto III, Stanza xxi. Sandys, the translator of Ovid, may not be a very good authority; but he is not improbably Keats's authority for spry, and will certainly do in default of a better. The following couplet is from Sandys's Ovid (Book XI, verses 498-9):

"O Sorrow,

Why dost borrow

The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue ?—
To give at evening pale
Unto the nightingale,

That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?

"O Sorrow,

Why dost borrow

Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?—

A lover would not tread

A cowslip on the head,

Though he should dance from eve till peep of day—

Nor any drooping flower

Held sacred for thy bower,

Wherever he may sport himself and play.

"To Sorrow,

I bade good-morrow,

And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;

She is so constant to me, and so kind :
I would deceive her

And so leave her,

But ah! she is so constant and so kind.

"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side, I sat a weeping: in the whole world wide

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(172) The draft reads However for Wherever. (174) In the finished manuscript, bad: in the first edition, bade. (181) The draft reads this line thus

But ah! she is too constant and too kind.

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There was no one to ask me why I wept,

And so I kept

Brimming the water-lilly cups with tears
Cold as my fears.

"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,
I sat a weeping: what enamour'd bride,
Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,
But hides and shrouds
Beneath dark palm trees by a river side?

"And as I sat, over the light blue hills
There came a noise of revellers: the rills
Into the wide stream came of purple hue—
'Twas Bacchus and his crew!
The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills
From kissing cymbals made a merry din-
'Twas Bacchus and his kin!

Like to a moving vintage down they came,
Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;
All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,
To scare thee, Melancholy!

O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!
And I forgot thee, as the berried holly

By shepherds is forgotten, when, in June,

Tall chesnuts keep away the sun and moon :-
I rush'd into the folly!

"Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood,
Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood,

(187) In the draft, Chill'd with strange fears.
(190) The draft gives lover for wooer.

(202-3) The draft reads down for through and my for thee.

(207) In the draft Beeches instead of chesnuts.







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