If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending,

Had brought me a gem from the fret-work of heaven; And smiles, with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending, The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given;

It had not created a warmer emotion

20

Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with from

you,

Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the

ocean

Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw.

For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure,
(And blissful is he who such happiness finds,)

To possess but a span of the hour of leisure,
In elegant, pure, and aerial minds.

25

(20) The reference to Mrs. Tighe, the authoress of the now almost forgotten poem of Psyche, is significant as an indication of the poet's taste in verse at this period.

On receiving a curious Shell, and a Copy of Verses, from the same Ladies.

HAST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain?
Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem,

When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through at fountain?

The title of this poem has generally stood distributed between this and the preceding composition; though Lord Houghton, in his latest (Aldine) edition, restores the arrangement of the 1817 volume. Hunt calls these verses (see Appendix), a "string of magistrate-interrogatories about a shell and a copy of verses." In Tom Keats's book of transcripts, already mentioned, the poem is headed merely "On receiving a curious shell and a copy of verses"; but another transcript, in the hand-writing of George Keats, is subscribed (not headed) "Written on receiving a copy of Tom Moore's Golden Chain,' and a most beautiful Dome shaped shell from a Lady." The reference is no doubt to The Wreath and the Chain; and this small revelation is satisfactory as accounting for the Tom Moorish triviality of the two pieces. In the last-named copy, in line 6 we read full for right, in line 7 wrought for mark'd, in line 9 his mane thickly, in line 10 which for that. Line 17 readsAh courteous Sir Eric! with joy thou art crown'd : In line 19 we have I too have my blisses, and line 23 is And lo! it possesses this property rare.

In line 29, George Keats's transcript has soft-speaking for soft sighing, and line 31 is

The Hymns of the wondering Spirits were mute!

Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine?

That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold? And splendidly mark'd with the story divine

Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold?

Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing?
Hast thou a sword that thine enemy's smart is?

Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing?

And wear'st thou the shield of the fam'd Britomartis ?

What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave,

Embroider'd with many a spring peering flower?

Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?

And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower?

Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown'd;

Full many the glories that brighten thy youth!

I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers to bless, and to sooth.

On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair
A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain;
And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare

Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain.

This canopy mark: 'tis the work of a fay;

Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish, When lovely Titania was far, far away,

And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish.

15

20

25

In line 37 we have And for So, and in line 39 song for tale. None of these variations are shown by the other copy, which corresponds almost exactly with the volume of 1817, but reads line 31 thus:

The wandering spirits of Heaven are mute.

There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales

listen'd;

The wondering spirits of heaven were mute,

30

And tears 'mong the dewdrops of morning oft glisten'd.

In this little dome, all those melodies strange,

Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh; Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change; 35 Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.

So, when I am in a voluptuous vein,

I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose, And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain, Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.

40

I too have my blisses, which richly abound

Adieu, valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown'd;
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth,

In magical powers, to bless and to sooth.

ΤΟ

HADST thou liv'd in days of old,

O what wonders had been told
Of thy lively countenance,

And thy humid eyes that dance

In the midst of their own brightness;

In the very fane of lightness.
Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,
Picture out each lovely meaning:
In a dainty bend they lie,
Like to streaks across the sky,
Or the feathers from a crow,
Fallen on a bed of snow.
Of thy dark hair that extends

5

ΙΟ

Into many graceful bends:

As the leaves of Hellebore

Turn to whence they sprung before.

15

And behind each ample curl

Peeps the richness of a pearl.
Downward too flows many a tress

With a glossy waviness;

Full, and round like globes that rise
From the censer to the skies

20