Powder'd bag-wigs and ruffy-tuffy heads

Of cinder wenches meet and soil each other; Toe crush'd with heel ill-natur'd fighting breeds, Frill-rumpling elbows brew up many a bother, And fists in the short ribs keep up the yell and pother.

LXXXVII.

"A Poet, mounted on the Court-Clown's back, Rode to the Princess swift with spurring heels, And close into her face, with rhyming clack, Began a Prothalamion ;-she reels,

She falls, she faints! while laughter peals Over her woman's weakness. 'Where!' cried I, 'Where is his Majesty?' No person feels

Inclin'd to answer; wherefore instantly

I plung'd into the crowd to find him or to die.

66

LXXXVIII.

'Jostling my way I gain'd the stairs, and ran To the first landing, where, incredible!

I met, far gone in liquor, that old man,
That vile impostor Hum,-

So far so well,

For we have prov'd the Mago never fell
Down stairs on Crafticanto's evidence;
And therefore duly shall proceed to tell,
Plain in our own original mood and tense,

The sequel of this day, though labour 'tis immense!

LINES SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN ADDRESSED

TO FANNY BRAWNE

THIS living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,

So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou would[st] wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calm'd-see here it is-
I hold it towards you.

SONNET

Written on a Blank Page in Shakespeare's Poems, facing "A Lover's Complaint."

BRIGHT star, would I were stedfast as thou artNot in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moorsNo-yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, 10
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever-or else swoon to death.

Lines] These were written in the margin of a page of the holograph manuscript of "The Cap and Bells," and were published in my sixth one-volume edition of Keats's poetry (1898).

Sonnet 1] Bright star! Houghton and Pocket Dante.

7 mask Houghton; masque Shakespeare's Poems and Pocket Dante. 8 moors! Pocket Dante. 9 No! Pocket Dante.

11 fall and swell Houghton: swell and fall Shakespeare's Poems. 14 Half-passionless, and so swoon on to death.

Variant, Houghton.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A thing of beauty is a constant joy: [foot-note]
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains
Ah! ken ye what I met the day

up

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being?
Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing!
All gentle folks who owe a grudge
And what is love? It is a doll dress'd
Another sword! And what if I could seize.
As from the darkening gloom a silver dove.
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
As late I rambled in the happy fields,
Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!

Bards of Passion and of Mirth,

Before he went to feed with owls and bats
Blue! "Tis the life of heaven,-the domain
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-
Brother belov'd if health shall smile again,
Byron! how sweetly sad thy melody!.

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

283

Cat! who hast pass'd thy grand climacteric,
Chief of organic numbers!

301

301

Come hither all sweet maidens soberly,

294

Dear Reynolds! as last night I lay in bed,

315

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale

Ever let the fancy roam,

Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!

Fame, like a wayward Girl, will still be

249

237

194

coy

Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave

Fill for me a brimming bowl.

Four seasons fill the measure of the year;

Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear
Full many a dreary hour have I past,

Give me a golden pen, and let me lean

Give me your patience Sister while I frame

PAGE

39

Good Kosciusko, thy great name alone

Happy is England! I could be content

Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak

He is to weet a melancholy carle:

Give me women, wine and snuff

Glocester, no more: I will behold that Boulogne:

Glory and loveliness have pass'd away ;

Go no further; not a step more; thou art
God of the golden bow,

Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;
Grievously are we tantaliz'd, one and all-

Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Hadst thou liv'd in days of old,

Happy, happy glowing fire!

Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem

283

318

432

2

16

293

352

Hearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid!
Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port,
Here all the summer could I stay,
Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,
How fever'd is the man, who cannot look
How many bards gild the lapses of time!
Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush my dear!

I cry your mercy-pity--love!-aye, love! .
I had a dove and the sweet dove died;
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
If shame can on a soldier's vein-swoll'n front
In a drear nighted December,

325

304

313

40

360

35

345

440
346

3

361

427

338.

In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch,

130

In thy western halls of gold.

286

It keeps eternal whisperings around

.295

Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings

262

Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there.
King of the stormy sea!

Life's sea hath been five times at its slow ebb, [foot-note]
Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair;
Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;

38

137

306
23

9

PAGE

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,

Many the wonders I this day have seen:
Minutes are flying swiftly, and as yet
Mortal, that thou may'st understand aright,
Mother of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My spirit is too weak-mortality.

182

34

288

455

318

39

140

230

293

Nature withheld Cassandra in the skies,

No more advices, no more cautioning:.

336

379

Now may we lift our bruised vizors up,

O Sorrow,

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
No! those days are gone away,
Not Aladdin magian

Now, Ludolph! Now, Auranthe! Daughter fair!.

Now Morning from her orient chamber came,

Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance,

O Arethusa, peerless nymph! why fear

O blush not so! O blush not so!

O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate!
O come Georgiana! the rose is full blown,

O come my dear Emma! the rose is full blown, [foot-note]
O for enough life to support me on

O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung.
O golden tongued Romance, with serene lute!
O, my poor Boy! my Son! my Son! my Ludolph!
O Peace! and dost thou with thy presence bless.
O soft embalmer of the still midnight,

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,

O sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm!
O that a week could be an age, and we
O that the earth were empty, as when Cain
O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind,

O Thou, whose mighty palace roof doth hang
O! were I one of the Olympian twelve,

63

308

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, [foot-note]
Of late two dainties were before me plac'd.
Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning,
Oh! how I love, on a fair summer's eve,

354

330

30

291

Oh, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts!
Oh! what a voice is silent. It was soft
Old Meg she was a Gipsy,

One morn before me were three figures seen,
Over the Hill and over the Dale,