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.

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.

November 18, 1816.

IX.

KEEN, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,

Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,

Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:
For I am brimfull of the friendliness

That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,

And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.

Clarke records that this sonnet was written on the occasion of Keats's first becoming acquainted with Leigh Hunt at the Cottage in the Vale of Health, Hampstead.

X.

To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair

And open face of heaven,-to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.

Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair

And gentle tale of love and languishment?

In a transcript in the hand-writing of George Keats this sonnet is subscribed as "Written in the Fields-June 1816". The variations shown by this manuscript, no doubt correctly copied from the original, are, in line 2, upon for into ; in line 4 bright for blue; in line 5 heart's is written correctly, though hearts is wrongly printed in the 1817 volume; in line 6 upon a for into some; in line 7 some for a; in line 9 Returning, thoughtful, homeward for Returning home at evening; line II is

Following the wafted Cloudlet's light career;

and line 14 is

That droppeth through the Ether silently.

In Tom Keats's copy-book the only variation from the printed text of 1817 is in line 4, bright for blue. It is clear the sonnet was carefully revised for the 1817 volume; and it is curious Keats did not find out that he was indebted to Milton for his "prosperous opening". Compare Paradise Lost, IX, 445,

As one who long in populous City pent...

Returning home at evening, with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel,—an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,

He mourns that day so soon has glided by: E'en like the passage of an angel's tear

That falls through the clear ether silently.