XIV.

ADDRESSED TO THE SAME.

GREAT spirits now on earth are sojourning ;

He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,
Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing:
He of the rose, the violet, the spring,

The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:
And lo!-whose stedfastness would never take
A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering.
And other spirits there are standing apart
Upon the forehead of the age to come;
These, these will give the world another heart,
And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings?-

Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.

In Tom Keats's copy-book this Sonnet is headed simply “Sonnet " and is dated 1816 merely. There are no variations. It is almost superfluous to identify the two men referred to in the first six lines -Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt.

XV.

On the Grasshopper and Cricket.

THE

HE poetry of earth is never dead :

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper's-he takes the lead
In summer luxury, he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:

On a lone winter evening, when the frost

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

December 30, 1816.

Clarke records that this sonnet was written at Leigh Hunt's cottage, on a challenge from Hunt. See Clarke's account in his Recollections of Keats; and see Appendix for Hunt's Sonnet. Both Sonnets appeared together in The Examiner for the 21st of September 1817; but Keats's volume had already appeared in June of that year.

XVI.

TO KOSCIUSKO.

GOOD Kosciusko, thy great name alone
Is a full harvest whence to reap high feeling;
It comes upon us like the glorious pealing
Of the wide spheres-an everlasting tone.
And now it tells me, that in worlds unknown,

The names of heroes, burst from clouds concealing, And changed to harmonies, for ever stealing Through cloudless blue, and round each silver throne. It tells me too, that on a happy day,

When some good spirit walks upon the earth,

Thy name with Alfred's, and the great of yore
Gently commingling, gives tremendous birth
To a loud hymn, that sounds far, far away

To where the great God lives for evermore.

This sonnet was published in The Examiner for the 16th of February 1817. The punctuation differs slightly from that of the 1817 volume; and in the eighth line we read around for and round. The date "Dec. 1816" and the initials "J. K." appear under the sonnet in The Examiner.

XVII.

HAPPY is England! I could be content

To see no other verdure than its own;

To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high romances blent : Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment

For skies Italian, and an inward groan

To sit upon an Alp as on a throne,

And half forget what world or worldling meant.
Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters;
Enough their simple loveliness for me,

Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging: Yet do I often warmly burn to see

Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing, And float with them about the summer waters.