Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/61

Rh Like silver streaks across a dolphin's fin,

When he upswimmeth from the coral caves,

And sports with half his tail above the waves.

These wonders strange he sees, and many more,

Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore.

Should he upon an evening ramble fare

With forehead to the soothing breezes bare,

Would he naught see but the dark, silent blue,

With all its diamonds trembling through and through?

Or the coy moon, when in the waviness

Of whitest clouds she does her beauty dress,

And staidly paces higher up, and higher,

Like a sweet nun in holiday attire?

Ah, yes! much more would start into his sight—

The revelries, and mysteries of night:

And should I ever see them, I will tell you

Such tales as needs must with amazement spell you.

These are the living pleasures of the bard:

But richer far posterity's award.

What does he murmur with his latest breath,

While his proud eye looks through the film of death?

'What though I leave this dull and earthly mould,

Yet shall my spirit lofty converse hold

With after times.—The patriot shall feel

My stern alarum, and unsheath his steel;

Or in the senate thunder out my numbers,

To startle princes from their easy slumbers.

The sage will mingle with each moral theme

My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem

With lofty periods when my verses fire him,

And then I 'll stoop from heaven to inspire him.

Lays have I left of such a dear delight

That maids will sing them on their bridal night.

Gay villagers, upon a morn of May,

When they have tired their gentle limbs with play,

And form'd a snowy circle on the grass,

And plac'd in midst of all that lovely lass

Who chosen is their queen,—with her fine head

Crownèd with flowers purple, white, and red:

For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing,

Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying:

Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble,

A bunch of violets full blown, and double,

Serenely sleep:—she from a casket takes

A little book,—and then a joy awakes

About each youthful heart,—with stifled cries,

And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes:

For she 's to read a tale of hopes and fears;

One that I foster'd in my youthful years:

The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep,

Gush ever and anon with silent creep,

Lured by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest

Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast,

Be lull'd with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu!

Thy dales and hills are fading from my view:

Swiftly I mount, upon wide-spreading pinions,

Far from the narrow bounds of thy dominions.

Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air,

That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair,

And warm thy sons!' Ah, my dear friend and brother,

Could I, at once, my mad ambition smother,

For tasting joys like these, sure I should be

Happier, and dearer to society.

At times, 't is true, I 've felt relief from pain