Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes

He star'd at the Pacific-and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

halt, and advanced alone to the summit, that he might be the first who should enjoy a spectacle which he had so long desired. As soon as he beheld the South Sea stretching in endless prospect below him, he fell on his knees, and lifting up his hands to heaven, returned thanks to God, who had conducted him to a discovery so beneficial to his country, and so honourable to himself. His followers, observing his transports of joy, rushed forward to join in his wonder, exultation, and gratitude."

An account of this incident will also be found in Washington Irving's Voyages and Discoveries of the Companions of Columbus. The reader will of course turn to the Sonnet to Homer among the posthumous Poems of 1818, and read it in connexion with this one published by Keats. It is not difficult to decide which is the finer; but that, though not so great a sonnet as this, has some lines that are hardly indeed to be surpassed.

GIVE

XII.

On leaving some Friends at an early Hour.

VE me a golden pen, and let me lean

On heap'd up flowers, in regions clear, and far ;
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,

Or hand of hymning angel, when 't is seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween :

And let there glide by many a pearly car,
Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,
And half discovered wings, and glances keen.
The while let music wander round my ears,
And as it reaches each delicious ending,

Let me write down a line of glorious tone,
And full of many wonders of the spheres:
For what a height my spirit is contending!
'Tis not content so soon to be alone.

This sonnet also belongs to the Cottage in the Vale of Health, as we are led to infer from Clarke's mention of it in connexion with No. IX and No. XV.

XIII.

VOL. I.

ADDRESSED TO HAYDON.

HIGHMINDEDNESS,

INDEDNESS, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood :
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money-mong'ring, pitiable brood.

How glorious this affection for the cause

Of stedfast genius, toiling gallantly!

What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy, and Malice to their native sty?
Unnumber'd souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.

Benjamin Robert Haydon, historical painter, was born on the 26th of January 1786, and died by his own hand on the 22nd of June 1846.

G

XIV.

ADDRESSED TO THE SAME.

GREAT spirits now on earth are sojourning ;

He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,
Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing:
He of the rose, the violet, the spring,

The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:
And lo!-whose stedfastness would never take
A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering.
And other spirits there are standing apart

Upon the forehead of the age to come;
These, these will give the world another heart,
And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings?

Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.

In Tom Keats's copy-book this Sonnet is headed simply "Sonnet and is dated 1816 merely. There are no variations. It is almost superfluous to identify the two men referred to in the first six lines -Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt.

XV.

On the Grasshopper and Cricket.

THE poetry of earth is never dead :

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's-he takes the lead

In summer luxury,—he has never done

With his delights; for when tired out with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never:

December 30, 1816.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

Clarke records that this sonnet was written at Leigh Hunt's cottage, on a challenge from Hunt. See Clarke's account in his Recollections of Keats; and see Appendix for Hunt's Sonnet. Both Sonnets appeared together in The Examiner for the 21st of September 1817; but Keats's volume had already appeared in June of that year.