A little brook. The youth had long been viewing These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was fraught With many joys for him : the warder's ken Had found white coursers prancing in the glen: Friends very dear to him he soon will see; His spirit flies before him so completely. And now he turns a jutting point of land, Whence may be seen the castle gloomy, and grand: Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling Of whitest Cassia, fresh from summer A hand Heaven made to succour the distress'd; A hand that from the world's bleak promontory Had lifted Calidore for deeds of glory. Amid the pages, and the torches' glare, 140 Sir Gondibert has doff'd his shining steel, There stood a knight, patting the flowing Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of hair It hard, and heavy steel: but that indeed In which a spirit new come from the skies 120 Might live, and show itself to human eyes. 'Tis the far-fam'd, the brave Sir Gondibert, Said the good man to Calidore alert; Softly the breezes from the forest came, Grateful the incense from the lime-tree Mysterious, wild, the far heard trumpet's tone; While the young warrior with a step of Lovely the moon in ether, all alone: grace Those smiling ladies, often turned his head And gave the steel a shining quite tran- Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated; The sweet-lipp'd ladies have already greeted All the green leaves that round the window clamber, To show their purple stars, and bells of amber. Sweet too the converse of these happy mor tals, As that of busy spirits when the portals Are closing in the west; or that soft humming 160 We hear around when Hesperus is coming. EPISTLE TO ... CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE This epistle printed in the 1817 volume is there dated September, 1816, when Clarke was in his twenty-ninth year. He was by eight years Keats's senior, and he lived till his ninetieth year. OFT have you seen a swan superbly frowning, And with prond breast his own white shadow crowning; Like whispers of the household gods that keep A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls. And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles, Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep, Upon the lore so voluble and deep, That aye at fall of night our care condoles. This is your birth-day, Tom, and I rejoice That thus it passes smoothly, quietly: Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise May we together pass, and calmly try What are this world's true joys, -ere the great Voice, From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly. ADDRESSED TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON The first of these two sonnets was sent by Keats with this brief note: November 20, 1816. My dear Sir- Last evening wrought me up, and I cannot forbear sending you the following.' In his prompt acknowledgment Haydon suggested the omission of the last four words in the penultimate line, and proposed sending the sonnet to Wordsworth. Keats re plied on the same day as his first note: Your letter has filled me with a proud pleasure, and shall be kept by me as a stimulus to exertion I begin to fix my eye upon one horizon. My feelings entirely fall in with yours in regard to the Ellipsis, and I glory in it. The Idea of your sending it to Wordsworth put me out of breath. You know with what Reverence I would send my Well-wishes to him.' The presentation copy of the 1817 volume bears the inscription To W. Wordsworth with the Author's sincere Reverence.' Both sonnets were printed, but in the reverse order in the 1817 volume, and the ellipsis was preserved. |