In this group are included the contents of the volume Poems by John Keats, published in March, 1817, as well as certain

IMITATION OF SPENSER

Lord Houghton states, on the authority of the notes of Charles Armitage Brown, given to him in Florence in 1832, that this was the earliest known composition of Keats, and that it was written during his residence in Edmonton at the end of his eighteenth year, which would make the date in the autumn of 1813. The poem was included in the 1817 volume, which bore on its title-page this motto:

What more felicity can fall to creature
Than to enjoy delight with liberty?
Fate of the Butterfly. ·

SPENSER.

Now Morning from her orient chamber

came,

And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill;

Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame,

Silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill; Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distil,

And after parting beds of simple flowers, By many streams a little lake did fill, Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,

And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.

There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,

Vying with fish of brilliant dye below; Whose silken fins, and golden scales' light Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow:

There saw the swan his neck of arched

snow,

poems composed before the publication of Endymion. The order followed is as nearly chronological as the evidence permits.

And oar'd himself along with majesty; Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony, And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.

Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle That in that fairest lake had placed been, I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile; Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen: For sure so fair a place was never seen, Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye: It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen Of the bright waters; or as when on high, Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the cœrulean sky.

And all around it dipp'd luxuriously Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,

Which, as it were in gentle amity, Rippled delighted up the flowery side; As if to glean the ruddy tears, it tried, Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem !

Haply it was the workings of its pride, In strife to throw upon the shore a gem Outvying all the buds in Flora's diadem.

ON DEATH

Assigned by George Keats to the year 1814, and first printed in Forman's edition, 1883.

CAN death be sleep, when life is but a dream,

And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?

As if soft Pity, with unusual stress, Had touch'd her plaintive lute, and thou, being by,

Hadst caught the tones, nor suffer'd them to die.

O'ershadowing sorrow doth not make thee less

Delightful: thou thy griefs dost dress With a bright halo, shining beamily, As when a cloud the golden moon doth veil, Its sides are ting'd with a resplendent

glow,

Through the dark robe oft amber rays prevail,

And like fair veins in sable marble flow; Still warble, dying swan ! still tell the tale, The enchanting tale, the tale of pleasing

woe.

'WOMAN! WHEN I BEHOLD THEE FLIPPANT, VAIN'

In the 1817 volume, where this poem was first published, with no title, it is placed at the end of a group of poems which are thus advertised on the leaf containing the dedication: The Short Pieces in the middle of the Book as well as some of the Sonnets, were written at an earlier period than the rest of the Poems. In the absence of any documentary evidence, it seems reasonable to place it near the 'Imitation of Spenser' rather than near Calidore.'

WOMAN! when I behold thee flippant, vain, Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;

Without that modest softening that enhances

The downcast eye, repentant of the pain That its mild light creates to heal again: E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and

prances,

E'en then my soul with exultation dances For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain:

But when I see thee meek, and kind, and

tender,

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:

Yet over the steep, whence the mountainstream rushes,

With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove; Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes,

Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews.

Why linger you so, the wild labyrinth strolling?

Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare?

Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender

condoling,

Responsive to sylphs, in the moon-beamy

air.

The wondering spirits of heaven were mute,

And tears 'mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened.

In this little dome, all those melodies strange,

Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh;

Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change;

Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.

So, when I am in a voluptuous vein,

I pillow my head on the sweets of the

rose,

And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,

Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.

Adieu, valiant Eric! with joy thou art

crown'd;

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,

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