And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd:
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me
My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd:
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea

Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness un

quell'd.

him-get rid of all the dones and dids and thou and thines you possibly can.

"For ever and a day yours
"Joseph."

In Tom Keats's copy-book this sonnet is headed "To Charles Wells on receiving a bunch of roses," and dated “June 29, 1816.” In this heading the word full-blown stands cancelled before roses. The only variation beyond spelling and pointing is in the last line, which is

Whispered of truth, Humanity and Friendliness unquell'd.

VI.

To G. A. W.

NYMPH
YMPH of the downward smile and sidelong glance,
In what diviner moments of the

Art thou most lovely ?-when gone far astray
Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance,
Or when serenely wand'ring in a trance.

Of sober thought?—or when starting away
With careless robe to meet the morning ray
Thou spar'st the flowers in thy mazy dance?
Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,

And so remain, because thou listenest:

But thou to please wert nurtured so completely
That I can never tell what mood is best.

I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly
Trips it before Apollo than the rest.

The subject of this sonnet was Miss Georgiana Augusta Wylie, afterwards the wife of Keats's brother George, and now (1881) Mrs. Jeffrey. I should not have connected the sonnet positively with this lady had I not seen the manuscript in Keats's writing, headed “To Miss Wylie." The manuscript corresponds verbatim with the sonnet as published in 1817; but in the two quatrains the better punctuation is that of the manuscript; and I have followed it in the text. The thirteenth line shows one correction: Nymph was originally written where Grace now stands. In a transcript in Tom Keats's copy-book we read what grace; and the sonnet is headed "Sonnet to a Lady ", and dated "Dec. 1816".

VII.

O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,

Let it not be among the jumbled heap

Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,Nature's observatory-whence the dell,

Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,

May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep

'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift

leap

Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.

But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be

Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

This Sonnet, published in The Examiner for the 5th of May 1816, signed "J. K.", is stated by Charles Cowden Clarke (Gentleman's Magazine for February 1874) to be "Keats's first published poem." In Tom Keats's copy-book it is headed " Sonnet to Solitude", and undated. The only variation is in line 9,—I'd for I'll. The Examiner reads rivers for river's in line 5, and lines 9 and 10 stand thus

Ah! fain would I frequent such scenes with thee;
But the sweet converse of an innocent mind.

VIII.

TO MY BROTHERS.

SMALL, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,
And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
Like whispers of the household gods that keep
A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.

66

In Tom Keats's copy-book this sonnet is headed "Written to his Brother Tom on his Birthday,” and dated “ Nov. 18, 1816.” In the last line the transcript reads place for face. The sonnet seems to have been originally written in pencil in the note-book referred to at page 61, immediately after the sonnet to George Keats; but the two quatrains, which fill one page, are all that I found of this sonnet among the Keats relics of Severn. The quatrains stand finally thus in the draft :

Small flames are peeping through the fresh laid coals
And their faint Crackling o'er our Silence creeps

Like Whispers of the Household God that keeps
A gentle empire o'er fraternal Souls

And while for Rhymes I search around the Poles
Your Eyes are fixéd as in poetic sleep

Upon the Pages Voluble and deep

That aye at fall of Night our care condoles.

There is a cancelled reading at line 2, unfinished

With a faint Crackling head distract...

and another at line 5

And while I am thinking of a Rhyme;

and here searching was substituted for thinking of, before the whole was cancelled in favour of the reading of the text.

And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,

Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice

That thus it passes smoothly, quietly.
Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise
May we together pass, and calmly try
What are this world's true joys,-ere the great voice,
From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly.