L.

And grey walls moulder round, on which dull

Time

Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand;
And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime,
Pavilioning the dust of him who plann'd
This refuge for his memory, doth stand

Like flame transform'd to marble; and beneath
A field is spread, on which a newer band
Have pitch'd in heaven's smile their camp of
death,

Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguish'd

breath.

LI.

Here pause. These graves are all too young as yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consign'd Its charge to each; and, if the seal is set Here on one fountain of a mourning mind, Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find Thine own well full, if thou returnest home, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is, why fear we to become?

LII.

The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light for ever shines, Earth's shadows

fly;

Life, like a dome of many-colour'd glass,

Stains the white radiance of Eternity,

Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die,

If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! Follow where all is fled!-Rome's azure sky,

S

Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

LIII.

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my heart?

Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
They have departed; thou shouldst now depart.
A light is pass'd from the revolving year,
And man and woman; and what still is dear
Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.
The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near>
'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither!

No more let life divide what death can join together.

LIV.

That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, That Beauty in which all things work and move, That Benediction which the eclipsing curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

I.V.

The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails are never to the tempest given.
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!

I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar!

Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of heaven,
The soul of Adonais, like a star,

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

KEATS.

On first looking into Chapman's

Homer.

[p. 1817

MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold :
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific-and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Sonnet.

SPENSER! a jealous honourer of thine,
A forester deep in thy midmost trees,

Did, last eve, ask my promise to refine

Some English, that might strive thine ear to

please.

Chapman.

Spenser.

But, Elfin-poet! 'tis impossible

For an inhabitant of wintry earth

To rise, like Phoebus, with a golden quill,

Fire-wing'd, and make a morning in his mirth.
It is impossible to 'scape from toil

O' the sudden, and receive thy spiriting:
The flower must drink the nature of the soil
Before it can put forth its blossoming:

Be with me in the summer days and I
Will for thine honour and his pleasure try.

The Elizabethans.

From Sleep and Poetry.

Is there so small a range

[1817

In the present strength of manhood, that the high
Imagination cannot freely fly

As she was wont of old? prepare her steeds,
Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds
Upon the clouds? Has she not shown us all?
From the clear space of ether, to the small
Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning
Of Jove's large eyebrow, to the tender greening
Of April meadows? Here her altar shone,
E'en in this isle; and who could paragon
The fervid choir that lifted up a noise
Of harmony, to where it aye will poise
Its mighty self of convoluting sound,
Huge as a planet, and like that roll round,
Eternally around a dizzy void?

Ay, in those days the Muses were nigh cloy'd
With honours; nor had any other care

Than to sing out and soothe their wavy hair.

Could all this be forgotten? Yes, a schism

Nurtured by foppery and barbarism

Made great Apollo blush for this his land.

Men were thought wise who could not understand

His glories with a puling infant's force

:

They sway'd about upon a rocking-horse,

The blue

And thought it Pegasus. Ah, dismal-soul'd!
The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'd
Its gathering waves-ye felt it not.
Bared its eternal bosom, and the dew
Of summer nights collected still to make
The morning precious: beauty was awake!
Why were not ye awake? But ye were dead
To things ye knew not of,— —were closely wed
To musty laws lined out with wretched rule
And compass vile: so that ye taught a school
Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit.
Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit,
Their verses tallied. Easy was the task:
A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask
Of Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race!

That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face,
And did not know it,-no, they went about,
Holding a poor decrepit standard out,

Mark'd with most flimsy mottoes, and in large
The name of one Boileau !

O ye whose charge

It is to hover round our pleasant hills!

Whose congregated majesty so fills

My boundly reverence, that I cannot trace
Your hallow'd names in this unholy place,

So near those common folks; did not their shames
Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames

18th Century Poets.