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and ardent mind avow principles hostile to those cal insincerity. Keats belonged to a school of who set up for its enemies—if he be but the friend politics which they from their ambush anathemaof a friend openly opposed to them, it is enough; tized :-hence, and hence alone, their malice toand the worst is, that the hostility displayed is wards him. neither limited by truth and candor, sound princi. Keats was, as a poet, like a rich fruit-tree which ples of criticism, humanity, or honorable feeling : the gardener has not pruned of its luxuriance: it fights with all weapons, in the dark or in the time, had it been allotted him by Heaven, would light, by craft, or in any mode to obtain its bitter have seen it as trim and rich as any brother of the objects. The critics who hastened the end of garden. It is and will ever be regretted by the Keats, had his works been set before them as being readers of his works, that he lingered no longer those of an unknown writer, would have acknow- among living men, to bring to perfection what he ledged their talent, and applauded where it was meditated, to contribute to British literature a due, for their attacks upon him were not made greater name, and to delight the lovers of true from lack of judgment, but from wilful hostility. poetry with the rich melody of his musically em. One knows not how to eharacterize such demonia- bodied thoughts.


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KNOWING within myself the manner in which this
Poem has been produced, it is not without a feeling

BOOK I. of regret that I make it public.

What manner I mean, will be quite clear to the A THING of beauty is a joy for ever: reader, who must soon perceive great inexperience, Its loveliness increases; it will never immaturity, and every error denoting a feverish at- Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep tempt, rather than a deed accomplished. The two A bower quiet for us, and a sleep first books, and indeed the two last, I feel sensible Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing are not of such completion as to warrant their passing Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing the press; nor should they, if I thought a year's cas- A flowery band to bind us to the earth, tigation would do them any good ;-it will not: the Spite of despondence, of th'inhuman dearth foundations are too sandy. It is just that this youngster Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, should die away: a sad thought for me, if I had not Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darken'd ways some hope that while it is dwindling I may be plot- Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, ting, and fitting myself for verses fit to live. Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

This may be speaking too presumptuously, and From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, may deserve a punishment: but no feeling man will Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon ve forward to inflict it: he will leave me alone, with For simple sheep; and such are daffodils de conviction that there is not a fiercer hell than the With the green world they live in ; and clear rills failure in a great object. This is not written with That for themselves a cooling covert make the least atom of purpose to forestall criticisms of 'Gainst the hot season ; the mid-forest brake, course, but from the desire I have to conciliate men Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: who are compeient to look, and who do look with a And such too is the grandeur of the dooms jealous eye, to the honor of English literature. We have imagined for the mighty dead;

The imagination of a boy is healthy, and the ma- All lovely tales that we have heard or read: ture imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a An endless fountain of immortal drink, space of life between, in which the soul is in a fer. Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. ment, the character undecided, the way of lise uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceed mawkishness, and all the thousand bitters which For one short hour; no, even as the trees

Nor do we merely feel these essences those men I speak of, must necessarily taste in going That whisper round a temple become soon over the following pages.

Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, I hope I have not in too late a day touched the The passion poesy, glories infinite, beautiful mythology of Greece, and dulled its bright. Haunt us till they become a cheering light ness: for I wish to try once more, before I bid it Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast, farewell.

That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast, TEIG MOUTII, April 10, 1818.

They always must be with us, or we die.

Therefore, 't is with full happiness that I of brightness so unsullied, that therein Will trace the story of Endymion.

A melancholy spirit well might win The very music of the name has gone

Oblivion, and melt out his essence fine Into my being, and each pleasant scene

Into the winds : rain-scented eglantine Is growing fresh before me as the green

Gave temperate sweets to that well-wooing sun; Of our own valleys: so I will begin

The lark was lost in him; cold springs had run Now while I cannot hear the city's din;

To warm their chilliest bubbles in the grass ; Now while the early budders are just new, Man's voice was on the mountains, and the mass And run in mazes of the youngest hue

Of nature's lives and wonders pulsed ienfold,
About old forests; while the willow trails

To feel this sunrise and its glories old.
Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year

Now while the silent workings of the dawn Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer

Were busiest, into that self-same laun My little boal, for many quiet hours,

All suddenly, with joyful cries, there sped With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.

A troop of little children garlanded ; Many and many a verse I hope to write,

Who, gathering round the altar, seern'd to pry
Before the daisies, vermeil rimm'd and white,

Earnestly round as wishing to espy
Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,

Some folk of holiday: nor had they waited
I must be near the middle of my story.

For many moments, ere their ears were sated

With a faint breath of music, which ev'n then O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,

Filled out its voice, and died away again. Seo it half finish'd: but let Autumn bold,

Within a little space again it gave With universal tinge of sober gold,

Its airy swellings, with a gentle wave, Be all about me when I make an end.

To light-hung leaves, in smoothest echoes breaking And now at once, adventuresome, I send

Through copse-clad valleys,-ere their death, o ei. My herald thought into a wilderness:

taking There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress My uncertain path with green, that I may speed

The surgy murmurs of the lonely sea. Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.

And now, as deep into the wood as we

Might mark a lynx's eye, there glimmer'd light Upon the sides of Latmos was outspread Fair faces and a rush of garments white, A mighty forest ; for the moist earth fed

Plainer and plainer showing, till at last So plenteously all weed-hidden roots

Into the widest alley they all past, Into o'erhanging boughs, and precious fruits.

Making directly for the woodland altar. And it had gloomy shades, sequester’d decp, O kindly muse! let not my weak tongue falter Where no man went; and if from shepherd's keep in telling of this goodly company, A lamb stray'd far adown those inmost glens,

of their old piety, and of their glee : Never again saw he the happy pens

But let a portion of ethereal dew Whither his brethren, bleating with content,

Fall on my head, and presently unmew Over the hills at every nightfall went.

My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring,
Among the shepherds 't was believed ever,

To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing.
That not one fleecy lamb which thus did sever
From the white flock, but pass'd unworried
By any woll, or pard with prying head,

Leading the way, young damsels danced along, Until it came to some unfooted plains

Bearing the burden of a shepherd's song;
Where fed the herds of Pan: ay, great his gains Each having a white wicker over-brimmid
Who thus one lamb did lose. Paths there were many, With April's tender younglings: next, well trimm'd
Winding through palmy fern, and rushes fenny, A crowd of shepherds with as sunburnt looks
And ivy banks; all leading pleasantly

As may be read of in Arcadian books;
To a wide lawn, whence one could only see Such as sat listening round Apollo's pipe,
Stems thronging all around between the swell When the great deity, for earth too ripe,
Of turf and slanting branches: who could tell Let his divinity o'erflowing die
The freshness of the space of heaven above,

In music, through the vales of Thessaly: Edged round with dark tree-tops? through which a Some idly trail'd their sheep-hooks on the ground dove

And some kept up a shrilly mellow sound Would often beat its wings, and often too

With ebon-tipped flutes : close after these,
A little cloud would move across the blue.

Now coming from beneath the forest trees,
A venerable priest full soberly,

Begirt with ministering looks : alway his eye
Full in the middle of this pleasantness

Stedfast upon the matted turf he kept, There stood a marble altar, with a tress

And after him his sacred vestments swept. Of flowers budded newly; and the dew

From his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white Had taken fairy fantasies to strew

Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous light; Daisies upon the sacred sward last eve,

And in his left he held a basket full And so the dawned light in pomp receive.

of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull. For 't was the morn: Apollo's upward fire

Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still Made every eastern cloud a silvery pyre

Than Leda's love, and cresses from the rill.

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His aged head, crown'd with beechen wreath, Anon he staind the thick and spongy sod
Seem'd like a poll of ivy in the teeth

With wine, in honor of the shepherd.god. or winter hoar. Then came another crowd Now while the earth was drinking it, and while Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud

Bay leaves were crackling in the fragrant pile, Their share of the ditty. After them appearld, And gummy frankincense was sparkling bright Up-follow'd by a multitude that rear'd

'Neath smothering parsley, and a hazy light
Their voices to the clouds, a fair wrought car Spread grayly eastward, thus a chorus sang :
Easily rolling so as scarce to mar
The freedom of three steeds of dapple brown:
Who stood therein did seem of great renown

"O thou, whose mighty palace roof doth hang
Among the throng. His youth was fully blown, From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth
Showing like Ganymede to manhood grown; Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death
And, for those simple times, his garments were Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness ;
A chietlain king's: beneath his breast, half bare, Who lovest to see the hamadryads dress
Was hung a silver bugle, and between

Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels darken;
His nervy knees there lay a boar-spear keen. And through whole solemu hours dost sit, and hearken
A smile was on his countenance; he seem'd, The dreary melody of bedded reeds-
To common lookers-on, like one who dream'd In desolate places, where dank moisture breeds
Of idleness in groves Elysian :

The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth,
But there were some who feelingly could scan Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth
A lurking trouble in his nether lip,

Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx-do thou now,
And see that oftentimes the reins would slip By thy love's milky brow!
Through his forgotten hands: then would they sigh, By all the trembling mazes that she ran,
And think of yellow leaves, of owlets' cry, Hear us, great Pan!
Of logs piled solemnly.—Ah, well-a-day,
Why should our young Endymion pine away !

“O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles Soon the assembly, in a circle ranged,

Passion their voices cooingly 'mong myrtles,
Stood silent round the shrine: each look was changed What time thou wanderest at eventide
To sudden veneration : women meek

Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side Beckon'd their sons to silence; while each cheek

Of thine enmossed realms : 0 thou, to whom Of virgin bloom paled gently for slight fear. Broad-leaved fig-irees even now foredoom Endymion too, without a forest peer,

Their ripen'd fruitage; yellow-girled bees Stood, wan, and pale, and with an awed face,

Their golden honeycombs; our village leas Among his brothers of the mountain chase. Their fairest blossom'd beans and poppied corn; In midst of all, the venerable priest

The chuckling linnet its five young unborn, Eyed them with joy from greatest to the least,

To sing for thee; low creeping strawberries And, after lifting up his aged hands,

Their summer coolness; pent up butterflies Thus spake he : " Men of Latmos! shepherd bands ! Their freckled wings; yea, the fresh budding year Whose care it is to guard a thousand flocks :

All its completions—be quickly near, Whether descended from beneath the rocks

By every wind that nods the mountain pine,
That overtop your mountains; whether come O forester divine !
From valleys where the pipe is never dumb;
Or from your swelling downs, where sweet air stirs
Blue harebells lightly, and where prickly furze “ Thou, to whom every faun and satyr flies
Buds lavish gold; or ye, whose precious charge For willing service; whether to surprise
Nibble their fill at ocean's very marge,

The squatted hare while in half-sleeping fit ;
Whose mellow reeds are touch'd with sounds forlorn Or upward ragged precipices flit
By the dim echoes of old Triton's horn:

To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw;
Mothers and wives! who day by day prepare Or by mysterious enticement draw
The scrip, with needments, for the mountain air ; Bewilderd shepherds to their path again;
And all ye gentle girls who foster up

Or to tread breathless round the frothy main, U'Jderless lambs, and in a little cup

And gather up all fancifullest shells Will put choice honey for a favor'd youth: For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells, Yea, every one attend! for in good truth

And, being hidden, laugh at their out-peeping ; Our vows are wanting to our great god Pan. Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping, Are not our lowing heifers sleeker than

The while they pelt each other on the crown Night-swollen mushrooms ? Are not our wide plains With silvery oak-apples, and fir-cones brownSpeckled with countless fleeces ? Have not rains By all the echoes that about thee ring, Green'd over April's lap? No howling sad Hear us, O satyr king! Sickens our fearful ewes; and we have had Great bounty from Endymion our lord. Tho earth is glad: the merry lark has pour'd

“O Hearkener to the loud-clapping shears, His early song against yon breezy sky,

While ever and anon to his shom peers That spreads so clear o'er our solemnity."

A ram goes bleating : Winder of the horn,

When snouted wild boars routing tender corn Thus ending, on the shrine he heap'd a spire Anger our huntsman: Breather round our farms or teering sweets, enkindling sacred fire ;

To keep off mildews, and all weather harms :

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