At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears, Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found; In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar; And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.

XLI.

They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall! Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide, Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, With a huge empty flagon by his side: . The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.

XLII.

And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe, And all his warrior-guests with shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, Were long be-nightmared. Angela the old Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform; The Beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought-for slept among his ashes cold.

106

A FRAGMENT OF KEATS,

OF DOUBTFUL AUTHENTICITY.

The following poem was bought by me, in what appears to be Keats's autograph, at the same sale as that in which the Shelley Letters-afterwards discovered to be forged. - were disposed of. If not authentic, it is a clever imitation; but I am inclined to believe, from other circumstances, that there were true and false pieces ingeniously mingled in that collection, and that it would be unjust to assume that they were all the production of literary fraud.-ED.

HAT sylph-like form before my eyes

Flits on the breeze and fans the skies, With more than youth's elastic grace, And more than virgin's heaven of face, On glittering pinions lightly borne, Transparent with the hues of morn,With starlike eye and glance sublime, That far out-span the arch of Time,— And thoughts that breathe to mortal ears The speaking music of the spheres, That, floating on th' enamour'd gale, Awake the song of wood and dale?

Some creature, sure, with form endued
In Nature's more elastic mood,

When, wearied with her earthly toil,
She peopled some ethereal isle
With essences, that no alloy
Of perishable dust annoy:
Yet gave, awhile to flutter here,
A sample of that purer sphere

Where into perfect life are brought
The teemings of her happier thought,-
For spriting task, with power endu'd
The chain of matter to elude:
To glide, to flit, to swim, to fly,-
Dive through the fire, or tread the sky;
Ride the curl'd clouds or billowy foam,
And on the thought-swift lightning roam!

Yea, in that cheek's transparent hue,
And in that eye's celestial blue,
And in that shape's ethereal mould,
The sphere-born spirit I behold!

Tell me, thou airy, fleeting form, Whose agile step out-wings the storm, When did that volant foot of thine Revisit last the ocean brine? When, underneath the oozy bed, The sea-nymphs' cave of coral tread ? Or on the moon-beam lightly stray, Or stars that pave the milky way? And whither now, thou dainty sprite, Wing'st thou, and whence, thy airy flight? What star, what meteor, gave thee birth? And whence thy mission here on earth?

"Whence I am, and where I go,
Wondering mortal, wouldst thou know?
To the Swan of Avon, I,

Borne by a daughter of the sky:
She who touch'd in elder time

One blind old man with warmth sublime,

And one more near; but gave my sire,
In manhood's prime, her whole desire.
Taught by them the spheres to roam,
I made the elements my home!
When the wind that heaves the deep
Rocks the ship-boy to his sleep,
To his slumbers oft I seem
Imag'd in some glorious dream;
Then I climb the slippery shroud,
While the winds are piping loud.
On the sea for pastime I
Make my cradled canopy;
In the conch's re-echoing shell
Seeking oft a tuneful cell,
Whence the sailor's startled ear
Seems the mermaid's song to hear,
Threatful of the tempest near;
Or on halcyon wave I sleep,
Smoothly sailing o'er the deep;
And when stars are clear, or set,
Winds at peace, or wildly met,
Love I still to haunt the shore,
'Midst the murmur or the roar;
Tripping light, with printless feet,
O'er the yellow sands, to meet
Or chase the ebbing wave's retreat.
Swift as wishes, then I fly

To the distant bounds that lie
'Twixt the round earth and the sky;
Or from where yon highest star
Guides serene his twinkling car
To the unfathom'd depths below,
Where the pearl and coral grow;

Nor the flooding lustre shun
Where now dips the wearied sun,
While the broad wave, glory drest,
Woos him to her burning breast.
Soon these feet shall kiss the wave
Where his Indian votaries lave;
There, perchance, at evening hour,
Cradled in the fragrant flower

To whose bloom, from many a spray,
Night-birds tune th' enamour'd lay,
Shrouded safe from mortal view,
Free I sip the honied dew;
While the bee, on busy wing,
Soothes me with his murmuring.
'Where the bee sips there sip I!'
On his fragrant couch I lie,
Or in Orient or the West:
But the cowslip love I best,
Where, by Avon's haunted stream.
Wove the bard my spell-wrought dream.
'On the bat's wing there I fly,'

Chanting my witch-song merrily;

While each woodland, brake, and dell,-
'Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong bell,'-
Echoes the harp of Ariel.

See! I wave my roseate wings!

Now my spirit soaring sings,

'Merrily, merrily, shall I live now

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.'"

J. KEATS.