ON RECEIVING A CROWN OF IVY FROM THE SAME.

A crown of ivy! I submit my head

To the young hand that gives it,—young, 'tis true,
But with a right, for 'tis a poet's too.

How pleasant the leaves feel! and how they spread
With their broad angles, like a nodding shed
Over both eyes! and how complete and new,
As on my hand I lean, to feel them strew
My sense with freshness,-Fancy's rustling bed!
Tress-tossing girls, with smell of flowers and grapes
Come dancing by, and downward piping cheeks,
And up-thrown cymbals, and Silenus old
Lumpishly borne, and many trampling shapes,-
And lastly, with his bright eyes on her bent,
Bacchus, whose bride has of his hand fast hold.

ON THE SAME.

It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind,

Thus to be topped with leaves;-to have a sense
Of honour-shaded thought,-an influence

As from great Nature's fingers, and be twined
With her old, sacred, verdurous ivy-bind,
As though she hallowed with that sylvan fence
A head that bows to her benevolence,
Midst pomp of fancied trumpets in the wind.
'Tis what's within us crowned. And kind and great
Are all the conquering wishes it inspires,—

Love of things lasting, love of the tall woods,
Love of love's self, and ardour for a state

Of natural good befitting such desires,
Towns without gain, and haunted solitudes.

346 FOUR SONNETS FROM LEIGH HUNT'S FOLIAGE.

TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE
CRICKET.

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass
Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon,
When ev'n the bees lag at the summoning brass;
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass;
Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,

One to the fields, the other to the hearth,

Both have your sunshine; both though small are strong
At
your clear hearts; and both were sent on earth
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song,-
In doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth.

30th December, 1816.

III.

SONNET

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF KEATS'S POEMS (1817) BY CHARLES OLLIER.

Keats I admire thine upward daring Soul,
Thine eager grasp at immortality

I deem within thy reach ;-rejoic'd I see
Thee spurn, with brow serene, the gross controul
Of circumstance, while o'er thee visions roll
In radiant pomp of lovely Poe'sy!

She points to blest abodes where spirits free
Feed on her smiles and her great name extol.—
Still shall the pure flame bright within thee burn
While nature's voice alone directs thy mind;
Who bids thy speculation inward turn

Assuring thee her transcript thou shalt find.
Live her's-live freedom's friend-so round thine urn
The oak shall with thy laurels be entwin'd.

I have no evidence of the authorship of this sonnet beyond the hand-writing; but I have no doubt about its being the writing of Charles Ollier. The sonnet is dated the 2nd of March 1817, and represents a far pleasanter phase of Keats's connexion with his first publisher than that represented by the next appendix.

IV.

LETTER FROM MESSRS. C. & J. OLLIER TO GEORGE KEATS CONCERNING

KEATS'S POEMS (1817)

reprinted from The Athenæum for the 7th of June 1873.

Sir,-We regret that your brother ever requested us to publish his book, or that our opinion of its talent should have led us to acquiesce in undertaking it. We are, however, much obliged to you for relieving us from the unpleasant necessity of declining any further connexion with it, which we must have done, as we think the curiosity is satisfied, and the sale has dropped. By far the greater number of persons who have purchased it from us have found fault with it in such plain terms, that we have in many cases offered to take the book back rather than be annoyed with the ridicule which has, time after time, been showered upon it. In fact, it was only on Saturday last that we were under the mortification of having our own opinion of its merits flatly contradicted by a gentleman, who told us he considered it no better than a take in.' These are unpleasant imputations for any one in business to labour under, but we should have borne them and concealed their existence from you had not the style of your note shewn us that such delicacy would be quite thrown away. We shall take means without delay for ascertaining the number of copies on hand, and you shall be informed accordingly. Your most, &c.

3, Welbeck Street, 29th April, 1817.

C. & J. Ollier.

V.

REVIEW OF ENDYMION

PUBLISHED IN THE QUARTERLY REVIEW.

EVIEWERS have been sometimes accused of not

reading the works which they affected to criticise. On the present occasion we shall anticipate the author's complaint, and honestly confess that we have not read his work. Not that we have been wanting in our duty -far from it—indeed, we have made efforts almost as superhuman as the story itself appears to be, to get through it; but with the fullest stretch of our perseverance, we are forced to confess that we have not been able to struggle beyond the first of the four books of which this Poetic Romance consists. We should extremely lament this want of energy, or whatever it may be, on our parts, were it not for one consolation-namely, that we are no better acquainted with the meaning of the book through which we have so painfully toiled, than we are with that of the three which we have not looked into.

It is not that Mr. Keats, (if that be his real name, for

This is the review immortalized, as far as things hateful can be, by Shelley in his Adonais. It is a curiously unimportant production; but it is well that it should be in evidence. It appeared in No. XXXVII of the review, headed "April, 1818" on page 1, but described on the wrapper as "published in September, 1818".