ENDYMION.

BOOK IV.

MUSE of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot :
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
While yet our England was a wolfish den;
Before our forests heard the talk of men;
Before the first of Druids was a child ;-
Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild

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Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude.

There came an eastern voice of solemn mood :—

IO

Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,
Apollo's garland :-yet didst thou divine

(2) This line originally began with O Mountain-born in the draft, where also while stands cancelled in favour of by.

(6) The draft reads voice for talk, and in line 7 babe for child.

(10) Cancelled reading of the manuscript, an hebrew voice. (11) The draft reads those nine. The references to the Hebrew, Greek, Roman, and Italian literatures are scarcely as clear and pointed as might have been expected from Keats.

Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" Plain
Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
A higher summons:-still didst thou betake
Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
Which undone, these our latter days had risen

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21

On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison,
Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets
Our spirit's wings: despondency besets
Our pillows; and the fresh to-morrow morn
Seems to give forth its light in very scorn
Of our dull, uninspir'd, snail-paced lives.
Long have I said, how happy he who shrives
To thee! But then I thought on poets gone,
And could not pray :-nor can I now-so on
I move to the end in lowliness of heart.-

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"Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!

30

Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade
Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!

(13) In the finished manuscript, in vain they cry'd.

(14) The draft gives from the Island.

(16) The draft reads In self surpassing summons.

(17) Originally an Alexandrine, in both the manuscripts—

Thee to thyself and to thy hopes. O thou hast wonbut altered in the second manuscript so as to correspond with the text.

(19) In the draft, thus—

Which wanting all these latter days had dawnd...

(20) The draft reads Oh Muse, not Great Muse. (31) The draft reads With for From.

To one so friendless the clear freshet yields

A bitter coolness; the ripe grape is sour:

Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hour
Of native air-let me but die at home."

Endymion to heaven's airy dome Was offering up a hecatomb of vows,

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When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bows 40
His head through thorny-green entanglement

Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,
Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.

"Is no one near to help me? No fair dawn
Of life from charitable voice? No sweet saying
To set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?
No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet
That I may worship them? No eyelids meet
To twinkle on my bosom? No one dies
Before me, till from these enslaving eyes
Redemption sparkles!-I am sad and lost."

45

50

(34-6) In the draft lines 34 and 36 read thus

Where no friends are, the very freshet yields...

Then take my life, great Gods! for one short hour...

In the finished manuscript this last line originally began with And, which is struck out and replaced by Yet.

(41-2) Cancelled readings from the draft

(45) The draft reads hope for life; but neither manuscript affords any help to this ailing line.

(48-54) In place of this passage the draft has the following:

No eyelids meet

To twinkle on my bosom ! false ! 'twas false
They said how beautiful I was! who calls

Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tost
Into a whirlpool. Vanish into air,

Warm mountaineer! for canst thou only bear
A woman's sigh alone and in distress?
See not her charms! Is Phoebe passionless?
Phoebe is fairer far-O gaze no more :—
Yet if thou wilt behold all beauty's store,
Behold her panting in the forest grass!
Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass
For tenderness the arms so idly lain
Amongst them? Feelest not a kindred pain,
To see such lovely eyes in swimming search
After some warm delight, that seems to perch
Dovelike in the dim cell lying beyond
Their upper lids?-Hist!

"O for Hermes' wand,

To touch this flower into human shape!
That woodland Hyacinthus could escape
From his green prison, and here kneeling down
Call me his queen, his second life's fair crown!
Ah me, how I could love !-My soul doth melt

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60

65

70

Me now divine? Who now kneels down and dies
Before me till from these enslaving eyes
Redemption sparkles. Ah me how sad I am!
Of all the poisons sent to make us mad

Of all death's overwhelmings "-Stay Beware
Young Mountaineer !

I presume it was intended to read Ah me how I am sad!
(55) In the draft-

A woman's sigh in the luxury of distress? (63) The draft reads fruitless for swimming. (70) According to the draft, living's crown.