ADDRESSED TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON Like whispers of the household gods that keep A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls. 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. ADDRESSED TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON The first of these two sonnets was sent by Keats with this brief note: November 20, 1816. My dear Sir- Last evening wrought me up, and I cannot forbear sending you the following.' In his prompt acknowledgment Haydon suggested the omission of the last four words in the penultimate line, and proposed sending the sonnet to Wordsworth. Keats re 33 plied on the same day as his first note: Your letter has filled me with a proud pleasure, and shall be kept by me as a stimulus to exertion — I begin to fix my eye upon one horizon. My feelings entirely fall in with yours in regard to the Ellipsis, and I glory in it. The Idea of your sending it to Wordsworth put me out of breath. You know with what Reverence I would send my Well-wishes to him.' The presentation copy of the 1817 volume bears the inscription To W. Wordsworth with the Author's sincere Reverence.' Both sonnets were printed, but in the reverse order in the 1817 volume, and the ellipsis was preserved. I 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 steadfastness 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 in the human mart? Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb. II HIGHMINDEDNESS, 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 under stood, 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 steadfast 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. TO KOSCIUSKO First published in The Examiner, where it is dated 'Dec., 1816.' It is included in the 1817 volume. GOOD Kosciusko, thy great name alone Is a full harvest whence to reap high feeling; It comes upon us like the glorious pealing Of the wide spheres an everlasting tone. And now it tells me, that in worlds unknown, The names of heroes, burst from clouds concealing, Are changed to harmonies, for ever stealing Through cloudless blue, and round each silver throne. It tells me too, that on a happy day, When some good spirit walks upon the earth, Thy name with Alfred's, and the great Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance? away, With careless robe, to meet the morning ray, Thou spar'st the flowers in thy mazy dance? Haply 't is 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. STANZAS There is no date given to this poem by Lord Houghton, who published it in the 1848 edition, and no reference occurs to it in the Letters. It was probably an early careless poem, very likely a set of album verses. IN a drear-nighted December, The north cannot undo them, In a drear-nighted December, Apollo's summer look; About the frozen time. Ah! would 't were so with many A gentle girl and boy! But were there ever any Writh'd not at passèd joy? To know the change and feel it, When there is none to heal it, And, by the wandering melody, may trace Which way the tender-legged linnet hops. Oh! what a power has white simplicity! What mighty power has this gentle story! I, that do ever feel athirst for glory, Could at this moment be content to lie Meekly upon the grass, as those whose sobbings Were heard of none beside the mournful robins. ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES This and the following sonnet were printed in The Examiner, March 9, 1817, and reprinted in Life, Letters and Literary Remains. My spirit is too weak-mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep, And each imagin'd pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky. Yet 't is a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep, Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye. Such dim-conceived glories of the brain Bring round the heart an indescribable feud; 66 This stood as dedication to the 1817 volume, which was published in the month of March. Charles Cowden Clarke makes the statement: 'On the evening when the last proof sheet was brought from the printer, it was accompanied by the information that if a dedication to the book was intended, it must be sent forthwith." Whereupon he withdrew to a side table, and in the buzz of a mixed conversation (for there were several friends in the room) he composed and brought to Charles Ollier, the publisher, the dedication sonnet to Leigh Hunt.' GLORY and loveliness have pass'd away; and gay, In woven baskets bringing ears of corn, Roses, and pinks, and violets, to adorn The shrine of Flora in her early May. But there are left delights as high as these, And I shall ever bless my destiny, That in a time, when under pleasant trees Pan is no longer sought, I feel a free, A leafy luxury, seeing I could please With these poor offerings, a man like thee. ON THE SEA Sent in a letter to Reynolds, dated April 17, 1817. From want of regular rest,' Keats says, 'I have been rather narvus, and the pas 66 sage in Lear Do you not hear the sea?". has haunted me intensely.' He then copies the sonnet, which was published in The Champion, August 17 of the same year. The letter was written from Carisbrooke. He had been sent away from London by his brothers a month before, shortly after the appearance of his first volume of Poems, and his letters show the nervous, restless condition into which he had been driven by that venture. It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 't is in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be mov'd for days from where it sometime fell, When last the winds of Heaven were unbound. O ye! who have your eyeballs vex'd and tir'd, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea; O ye! whose ears are dinn'd with uproar rude, Or fed too much with cloying melody,Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs quired! LINES First published, with the date 1817, in Life, Letters and Literary Remains. It is barely possible that this is the 'song' to which Keats refers in a letter to Benjamin Bailey, dated November 22, 1817, when he says: 'I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections, and the truth of Imagination. What the Imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth |