THERE IS JOY IN HEAVEN, WHILE YET OUR KNELLS-(INGELOW)

And yet I know past all doubting, truly—
A knowledge greater than grief can dim—
I know, as he loved, he will love me duly—
Yea, better-e'en better than I love him.
And as I walk by the vast calm river,

The awful river so dread to see,

I say, "Thy breadth and thy depth for ever
Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.

[From "Poems, by Jean Ingelow," published by Longmans. The fore-
going poem is somewhat similar in idea to Tennyson's "Circumstance."]

"CONTENTMENT COMES NOT, THEREFORE; STILL THERE LIES AN OUTER DISTANCE WHEN THE FIRST IS HAILED,

AND STILL FOR EVER YAWNS BEFORE OUR EYES AN UTMOST-THAT IS VEILED."-JEAN INGELOW.

John Keats.

[THE poems of Keats, says Leigh Hunt, will be the sure companions, in field and grove, of all who love "to escape out of the strife of commonplaces into the haven of solitude and imagination." They contain poetry enough to set up a dozen ordinary poets. Like Tarpeia, they are almost crushed by the weight of the gems and gold with which a profuse imagination has overcharged them. The rich lights of a vivid fancy kindle every page, like the hues of sunset floating over a blooming garden. The grand procession of rapturous song is majestic and luxuriant as the triumphal march of an Eastern king. So full was the young poet in heart and brain --so full of fine ideas, noble images, and tender feelings-that he could not check their flow. His genius was like an impetuous river, rolling over golden sands, which it sweeps downward in its current, along with rare blossoms, and glorious foliage, and the echoes of the water-spirits. Since Shakespeare, no poet has displayed such an extraordinary wealth of imagination. That such works should have been produced by a young surgeon's apprentice, before he was twenty-five years old, is a phenomenon in the history of poetry.

It cannot be denied, says Lord Houghton, that they are read by every accurate student. It is natural that the young should find especial delight in productions which take so much of their inspiration from the exuberant. vitality of the author and the world. But the eternal youth of antique beauty does not confine its influences to any portion of the life of man. And thus the admiration of the writings of Keats survives the hot impulses

SOUND FOR THE SOULS....SUMMONED THERE."-JEAN INGELOW.

of early years; and these pages often remain open when the clamorous
sublimities of Byron and Shelley come to be unwelcome intruders on the
calm of maturer age.

Keats was born in London, October 29, 1795; was educated at Enfield; and
in 1810 apprenticed to a surgeon at Edmonton. He afterwards continued
his medical studies in London; made the friendship of Leigh Hunt, Hazlitt,
Haydon, Severn; published "Endymion" in 1818; fell ill through poverty,
disease, and intense sensibility; gave to the world "Lamia," "Isabella,
and Other Poems," in 1820; and visited Italy to die, February 27, 1821.
He was buried in the Protestant Cemetery at Rome, and honoured with an
elegy by his friend Shelley-the "Adonais," which was worthy of its theme.]

"TIS THE ETERNAL LAW, THAT FIRST IN BEAUTY SHOULD BE FIRST IN MIGHT."-JOHN KEATS.

HYMN TO PAN.

[Supposed to be sung by a chorus of shepherds and young damsels at a
rural festival.]

THOU, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles *

Passion their voices cooingly 'mong myrtles,
What time thou wanderest at even-tide
Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side
Of thine enmossèd realms. O thou, to whom
Broad-leaved fig-trees even now foredoom
Their ripened fruitage; yellow-girted bees
Their golden honeycombs; our village leas
Their fairest blossomed beans and poppied corn ;
The chuckling linnet† its five young unborn,
To sing for thee; low-creeping strawberries
Their summer coolness; pent-up butterflies

* The turtle doves. So Byron :

"The rage of the vulture, the love of the turtles."

And Shakspeare:

"Teach him to know turtles from jays."

↑ The peculiar character of the linnet's song is well described by Robert Nicoll:

"Thou charmest by the sick child's window long."

Pent-up-that is, in the cocoon or chrysalis.

IT WILL NEVER PASS INTO NOTHINGNESS."-KEATS.

"O MAGIC SLEEP! O COMFORTABLE BIRD THAT BROODEST O'ER THE TROUBLED SEA OF THE MIND."-KEATS.

"EVERY MORROW ARE WE WREATHING A FLOWERY BAND TO BIND US TO THE EARTH."-JOHN KEATS.

ALL LOVELY TALES THAT WE HAVE HEARD OR READ,

HYMN TO PAN.

231

"IN SPITE OF ALL, SOME SHAPE OF BEAUTY MOVES AWAY THE PALL FROM OUR DARK SPIRITS."-KEATS.

Thou, to whom every faun and satyr flies
For willing service; whether to surprise
The squatted hare while in half-sleeping fit;
Or upward rugged precipices flit

* Read it as a word of four syllables-com-ple-ti-ons.

AN ENDLESS FOUNTAIN OF IMMORTAL DRINK."-KEATS.

"PLEASURE IS OFT A VISITANT; BUT PAIN CLINGS CRUELLY TO US, LIKE THE GNAWING SLOTH-(JOHN KEATS)

232

""

PERHAPS YE ARE TOO HAPPY TO BE GLAD."-KEATS.

JOHN KEATS.

To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw;
Or by mysterious enticement draw

Bewildered shepherds to their path again;
Or to tread breathless round the frothy main,
And gather up all fancifullest shells

For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells,

And, being hidden, laugh at their out-peeping;
Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping,
The while they pelt each other on the crown
With silvery oak-apples and fir-cones brown ;—
By all the echoes that about thee ring,
Hear us, O satyr king!

O Hearkener to the loud-clapping shears,
While ever and anon to his shorn peers
A ram goes bleating: Winder of the horn,
When snouted wild-boars, routing tender corn,
Anger our huntsman: Breather round our farms,
To keep off mildews and all weather harms:
Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds,
That come a-swooning over hollow grounds,
And wither drearily on barren moors:
Dread opener of the mysterious doors
Leading to universal knowledge—see,
Great son of Dryope,

The many that are come to pay their vows,
With leaves about their brows!

["This choral hymn" (from "Endymion"), "addressed to the sylvan deity, appears to us full of beauty, and reminds us, in many places, of the finest strains of Sicilian or of English poetry."-Lord Jeffrey.]

GLORY AND LOVELINESS HAVE PASSED AWAY."-KEATS.

ON THE DEER'S TENDER HAUNCHES; LATE AND LOTH, 'TIS SCARED AWAY BY SLOW-RETURNING PLEASURE."-KEATS.

"HENCE, PAGEANT HISTORY! HENCE GIlded cheat, SWART PLANET ON THE UNIVERSE OF DEEDS!-(KEATS)

Great Liberty! How great in PLAIN ATTIRE!"-JOHN Keats.

THE BOWER OF ADONIS.

233

THE BOWER OF ADONIS.

[Endymion, led by a heavenly guide on a "fairy journey," enters into a
bower where Adonis lies asleep.]

FTER a thousand mazes overgone,

At last, with sudden step, he came upon
A chamber, myrtle-walled, embowered high,
Full of light, incense, tender minstrelsy,
And more of beautiful and strange beside :
For on a silken couch of rosy pride,

In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth
Of fondest beauty; fonder, in fair sooth,
Than sighs could fathom, or contentment reach :

And coverlids, gold-tinted like the peach,
Or ripe October's faded marigolds,

Fell sleek about him in a thousand folds-
Not hiding up an Apollonian curve

Of neck and shoulder, nor the tenting swerve
Of knee from knee, nor ankles pointing light;
But rather, giving them to the filled sight
Officiously. Sideway his face reposed
On one white arm, and tenderly enclosed,
By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth
To slumbery pout; just as the morning south
Disparts a dew-lipped rose. Above his head,
Four lily stalks did their white honours wed
To make a coronal; and round him grew
All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue,
Together intertwined and trammelled fresh:
The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh
Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine,
Of velvet leaves and bugle-blooms divine;
Convolvulus in streaked vases flush;

The creeper, mellowing for an autumn blush;

LET THE FANCY ROAM. PLEASURE NEVER IS AT HOME."-KEATS.

WIDE SEA, THAT ONE CONTINUOUS MURMUR BREEDS ALONG THE PEBBLED SHORE OF MEMORY!"-KEATS.