Obrazy na stronie

And then withdrawn, and with incon- When everything familiar seemed to be stant glance

| Wonderful, and the immortality Flash from the spirit to the countenance of this great world, which all things There is a Power, a Love, a Joy, a God must inherit, Which makes in mortal hearts its brief | Was felt as one with the awakening abode,

spirit, A Pythian exhalation, which inspires Unconscious of itself, and of the strange Love, only love—a wind which o'er the Distinctions which in its proceeding wires

change of the soul's giant harp

| It feels and knows, and inourns as if There is a mood which language faints each were beneath;

A desolation.
You feel it striding, as Almighty Death
His bloodless steed.

Were it not a sweet refuge, Emily,

For all those exiles from the doll And what is that most brief and bright insane delight

| Who vex this pleasant world with price Which rushes through the touch and and pain, through the sight,

For all that band of sister-spirits known And stands before the spirit's inmost | To one another by a voiceless tone?

throne, A naked Seraph ? None hath ever known.

ADONAIS: Its birth is darkness, and its growth desire;

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF Untameable and feet and fierce as fire,

JOIN KEATS, AUTHOR OF Not to be touched but to be felt alone, It fills the world with glory — and is


'Aotnp piv pèv člaunes évi swoiow 'Evos

Νύν δε θανών λάμπεις "Έσπερος εν It floats with rainbow pinions o'er the φθιμένοις.

PLATO. stream Of lise, which flows, like a dream

PREFACE. Into the light of morning, to the grave | Þápua kov 10€, Biwr. Toti ody atoua, As to an ocean.

φάρμακον είδες.

| Πώς τευ τοις χείλεσσι ποτέδραμε, κοιία What is that joy which serene infancy 1 glukuron; Perceives not, as the hours content Tís de BpotÒS TOO O OÛTOV dvánepos, nepáoas them by,

TOL, Each in a chain of blossoms, yet enjoys "H douvai Aaléovtu td pápuakov; čxourer The shapes of this new world, in giant

wồáv. toys Wrought by the busy ever new?

MOSCHUS, EPITAPH. BION. Remembrance borrows Fancy's glass, it is my intention to subjoin to the to show

London edition of this poem a criticism These foris more

sincere upon the claims of its lamented object to Than now they are, than then, perhaps, be classed among the writers of the highest they were.

I genius who have adorned our age. My known repugnance to the narrow principles placency and panegyric, “Paris," and of taste on which several of his earlier Woman," and a “Syrian Tale," and compositions were modelled prove at Mrs. Lefanu, and Mr. Barrett, and Mr. least that I am an impartial judge. IHoward Payne, and a long list of the consider the fragment of Hyperion, as illustrious obscure? Are these the men second to nothing that was ever produced who in their venal good nature presumed by a writer of the same years.

to draw a parallel between the Rev. Mr. John Keats died at Rome of a con- Milman and Lord Byron? What gnat sumption, in his twenty-fourth year, on | did they strain at here, after having the — of — 1821; and was buried swallowed all those camels ? Against in the romantic and lonely cemetery of what woman taken in adultery dares the the Protestants in that city, under the foremost of these literary prostitutes to pyramid which is the tomb of Cestius, cast his opprobrious stone? Miserable and the massy walls and towers, nowman! you, one of the meanest, have mouldering and desolate, which formed wantonly defaced one of the noblest specithe circuit of ancient Rome. The ceme mens of the workmanship of God. Nor tery is an open space among the ruins shall it be your excuse, that, murderer as covered in winter with violets and daisies. | you are, you have spoken daggers, but It might make one in love with death, to

used none, think that one should be buried in so The circumstances of the closing scene sweet a place.

of poor Keats's life were not made known The genius of the lamented person to to me until the Elegy was ready for the whose memory I have dedicated these I press. I am given to understand that unworthy verses was not less delicate the wound which his sensitives spirit had and fragile than it was beautiful; and | received from the criticism of Endymion where cankerworms abound, what wonder was exasperated by the bitter sense of if its young flower was blighted in the unrequited benefits; the poor fellow seems bud? The savage criticism on his Endy- to have been hooted from the stage of mion, which appeared in the Quarterly life, no less by those on whom he had Review, produced the most violent effect wasted the promise of his genius, than on his susceptible mind; the agitation those on whom he had lavished his fortune thus originated ended in the rupture of | and his care. He was accompanied to a bloodvessel in the lungs; a rapid Rome, and attended in his last illness by consumption ensued, and the succeed - Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest ing acknowledgments from more candid promise, who, I have been informed, critics of the true greatness of his powers | “almost risked his own life, and sacrificed were ineffectual to heal the wound thus every prospect to unwearied attendance wantonly inflicted.

upon his dying friend." Had I known It may be well said that these wretched these circumstances before the completion men know not what they do. They of my poem, I should have been tempted scatter their insults and their slanders to add my feeble tribute of applause to without heed as to whether the poisoned the more solid recompense which the shaft lights on a heart made callous by virtuous man finds in the recollection of many blows or one like Keats's com- his own motives. Mr. Severn can disposed of more penetrable stuff. One of pense with a reward from "such stuff as their associates is, to my knowledge, a dreams are made of." His conduct is a most base and unprincipled calumniator. golden augury of the success of his future As to “ Endymion," was it a poem, | career--may the unextinguished Spirit of whatever might be its defects, to be his illustrious friend animate the creations treated contemptuously by those who had of his pencil, and plead against Oblivion celebrated, with various degrees of com- | for his name!


Descend;-oh, dream not that the ADONAIS

amorous Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air:

Death feeds on his mute voice, and I weep for Adonais-he is dead! |

laughs at our despair. Oh weep for Adonais! though our tears

v Thaw not the frost which binds so Most musical of mourners, weep dear a head!

again! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all Lament anew, Urania !- Ile died, years

Who was the Sire of an immortal To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,

Blind, old, and lonely, when his And teach them thine own sorrow ! country's pride, Say: “ With me

The priest, the slave, and the libertiDied Adonais; till the Future dares

cide, Forget the Past, his fate and fame Trampled and mocked with many a shall be

loathèd rite An echo and a light unto eternity!” of lust and blood; he went, un

terrified, II

Into the gulf of death; but his clear Where wert thou mighty Mother, ...

Sprite when he lay,

| Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among When thy Son lay, pierced by the the sons of light.

shaft which flies In darkness? where was lorn Urania

Most musical of mourners, weep When Adonais died? With veiled

anew! eyes,

Not all to that bright station dared 'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise

to climb; She sate, while one, with soft

And happier they their happiness who enamoured breath,

knew, Rekindled all the fading melodies, With which, like flowers that mock

Whose tapers yet burn through that

night of time the corse beneath, He had adorned and hid the coming

In which suns perished; others more

sublime, bulk of death.

Struck by the envious wrath of man

or God,

Ilave sunk, extinct in their refulgent Oh weep for Adonais - he is dead!

prime; Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and

And some yet live, treading the thorny weep!

road, Yet wherefore ? Quench within their Which leads, through toil and bate, to burning bed

Fame's serene abode. Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep

VI Like his, a mute and uncomplaining But now, thy youngest, dearest one sleep;

has perished, For he is gone, where all things wise The nursling of thy widowhood, who

and sair

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Like a pale flower by some sad maiden or change shall o'er his sleep the mortal cherished,

curtain draw. And fed with true love tears, instead of dew;

IX Most musical of mourners, weep! Oh weep for Adonais !—The quick anew!

Dreams, Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and The passion - winged Ministers of the last,

thought, The bloom, whose petals nipt before Who were his flocks, whom near the they blew

living streams Died on the promise of the fruit, is Of his young spirit he sed, and whom waste;

he taught The broken lily lies—the storm is over The love which was its music, wander past.


Wander no more, from kindling brain To that high Capital, where kingly

to brain, Death

But droop there, whence they sprung; Keeps his pale court in beauty and

and mourn their lot decay,

Round the cold heart, where, after He came; and bought, with price of Th

their sweet pain, purest breath,

| They ne'er will gather strength, or find A grave among the eternal.--Come

a home again. away! Hlaste, while the vault of blue Italian

And one with trembling hands clasps Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while

his cold head, still

And fans him with her moonlight le lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;

wings, and cries; Awake him not ! surely he takes his

“Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is hill

not dead; of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all

See, on the silken fringe of his faint

eyes, Like dew upon a sleeping flower,

their lies He will awake no more, oh, never A tear some Dream has loosened more!

from his brain.” Within the twilight chamber spreads Lost Angel of a ruined Paradise ! apace,

She knew not 'twas her own; as with The shadow of white Death, and at no stain the door

She faded, like a cloud which had outInvisible Corruption waits to trace

wept its rain. His extreme way to her dim dwelling

place; The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and One from a lucid urn of starry dew awe

Washed his light limbs as if embalmSoothe her pale rage, nor dares she ing them; to desace

Another clipt her profuse locks, and So fair a prey, till darkness, and the threw Jaw

The wreath upon him, like an anadem,







night clips,

Which frozen tears instead of pearls Lamented Adonais. Morning songhi begem;

Her eastern watchtower, and her hair Another in her wilsul grief would break

unbound, Her bow and winged reeds, as if to Wet with the tears which should adom stem

the ground, A greater loss with one which was Dimmed the aerial eyes that kindl.

more weak; And dull the barbed fire against his Afar the melancholy thunder moaned, frozen cheek.

Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, | And the wild winds flew round, sobbing

in their dismay. Another Splendour on his mouth alit, That mouth, whence it was wont to

XV draw the breath Which gave it strength to pierce the

Lost Echo sits amid the voiceles

mountains, guarded wit, And pass into the panting heart be

And feeds her gries with his remen

bered lay, neath With lightning and with music: the

And will no more reply to winds o damp death

fountains, Quenched its caress upon his icy lips;

Or amorous birds perched on th And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath

young green spray, Of moonlight vapour, which the cold

Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closin

day; It flushed through his pale limbs, and

Since she can mimic not his lips, mor

dear past to its eclipse.

Than those for whose disdain sh XIII

pined away And others came . . . Desires and Into a shadow of all sounds:-a dre: Adorations,

Murmur, between their songs, is all th Winged Persuasions and veiled Des woodmen hear.

tinies, Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations

Grief made the young Spring will Of hopes and fears, and twilight

and she threw down Phantasies;

Her kindling buds, as if she Autum And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs, And Pleasure, blind with tears, led

Or they dead leaves; since her delig! by the gleam

is flown Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, For whom should she have waked th Came in slow pomp ;- the moving sullen year? pomp might seem

To Phabus was not Hyacinth so de: Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal

Nor to himsell Narcissus, as to both stream.

Thou Adonais: wan they stand an XIV

sere All he had loved, and moulded into Amid the faint companions of the thought,

youth, From shape, and hue, and odour, and with dew all turned to tears; odour, 1 sweet sound,

sighing ruth.



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