Imatges de pÓgina
PDF
EPUB
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Her form seems floating palpable, and near;

Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear, And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake.

TO SOME LADIES

This and the poem following were included in the 1817 volume. George Keats says further that it was written on receiving a copy of Tom Moore's "Golden Chain" and a most beautiful Dome shaped shell from a Lady.' The exact title of Moore's poem is 'The Wreath and the Chain,' and it will be readily seen how expressly imitative these lines are of Moore's verse in general. The poems are not dated, but they are the first in a group stated by Keats to have been written at an earlier period than the rest of the Poems;' it is safe to assume that they belong very near the beginning of Keats's poetical career. It is quite likely that they were included in the volume a few years later on personal grounds.

WHAT though while the wonders of nature exploring,

I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend;

Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend:

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

As the sky-searching lark, and as elate. Minion of grandeur ! think you he did wait?

Think you he nought but prison-walls did see,

Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key?

Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate! In Spenser's halls he strayed, and bowers fair,

Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew With daring Milton through the fields of air:

To regions of his own his genius true Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair

When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?

TO HOPE

Keats dates this poem in the volume of 1817,

Full many the glories that brighten thy February, 1815.

youth,

I too have my blisses, which richly abound In magical powers, to bless and to soothe.

WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON

Either the 2d or 3d of February, 1815. Charles Cowden Clarke, to whom Keats showed the sonnet, writes in his recollections: 'This I feel to be the first proof I had received of his having committed himself in verse; and how clearly do I recollect the conscious look and hesitation with which he offered it! There are some momentary glances by beloved friends that fade only with life.' The sonnet was printed in the 1817 volume.

WHAT though, for showing truth to flatter'd state,

Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has

he,

In his immortal spirit, been as free

WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit,

And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in

gloom;

When no fair dreams before my mind's eye' flit,

And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;

Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,

And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.

Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night, Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,

Should sad Despondency my musings fright,

And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,

Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,

And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

TO A YOUNG LADY WHO SENT ME A LAUREL CROWN

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

7

where slept thine ire, When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath, Thy laurel, thy glory,

The light of thy story,

Or was I a worm death?

[ocr errors]

too low crawling, for

O Delphic Apollo !

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane

For wrath became stiffen'd ·
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.

[ocr errors]

the sound

O why didst thou pity, and for a worm
Why touch thy soft lute

Till the thunder was mute, Why was not I crush'd-such a pitiful germ?

O Delphic Apollo !

The Pleiades were up,
Watching the silent air;

The seeds and roots in the Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at its old labour,

When, who

[ocr errors]

- who did dare

To tie, like a madman, thy plant round his brow,

And grin and look proudly,

And blaspheme so loudly,

And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?

O Delphic Apollo !

TO A YOUNG LADY WHO SENT ME A LAUREL CROWN

First printed by Lord Hougheon in the Life, Letters and Literary Remains, but undated.

FRESH morning gusts have blown away all fear

From my glad bosom,- -now from gloom iness

I mount for ever - not an atom less

« AnteriorContinua »