KEATS.

MELANCHOLY.

Written in September 1819, and published, with the four preceding odes, in the volume of 1820.

I.

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist

Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;

Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,

Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl

A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;

For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

II.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,

Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globèd peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Imprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

III.

She dwells with Beauty-Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight

Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine,

Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,

And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

TENNYSON.

TO MEMORY.

"Written very early in life," but published in "Poems, chiefly Lyrical," in 1830.

I.

HOU who stealest fire,

TH

From the fountains of the past,
To glorify the present; oh, haste,
Visit my low desire!
Strengthen me, enlighten me!
I faint in this obscurity,

Thou dewy dawn of memory.

II.

Come not as thou camest of late,

Flinging the gloom of yesternight

On the white day; but robed in soften'd light
Of orient state.

Whilome thou camest with the morning mist,
Even as a maid, whose stately brow

The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd,
When she, as thou,

Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight
Of overflowing blooms, and earliest shoots

Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits,
Which in wintertide shall star

The black earth with brilliance rare.

III.

Whilome thou camest with the morning mist,
And with the evening cloud,

Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere,

When rooted in the garden of the mind,

Because they are the earliest of the year).
Nor was the night thy shroud.

In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest
Thou leddest by the hand thine infant Hope.
The eddying of her garments caught from thee
The light of thy great presence; and the cope
Of the half-attain'd futurity,

Tho' deep not fathomless,

Was cloven with the million stars which tremble

O'er the deep mind of dauntless infancy.

Small thought was there of life's distress;

For sure she deem'd no mist of earth could

dull

Those spirit-thrilling eyes so keen and beautiful:

Sure she was nigher to heaven's spheres,
Listening the lordly music flowing from
The illimitable years.

O strengthen me, enlighten me!

I faint in this obscurity,

Thou dewy dawn of memory.

IV.

Come forth, I charge thee, arise,

Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes! Thou comest not with shows of flaunting vines Unto mine inner eye,

Divinest Memory!

Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall

Which ever sounds and shines

A pillar of white light upon the wall

Of purple cliffs, aloof descried:

Come from the woods that belt the gray hill-side,

The seven elms, the poplars four

That stand beside my father's door,

And chiefly from the brook that loves
To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand,
Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves,
Drawing into his narrow earthen urn,
In every elbow and turn,

The filter'd tribute of the rough woodland.
O! hither lead thy feet!