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 When, wearied with her earthly toil, Where into perfect life are brought Yea, in that cheek's transparent hue, 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, Borne by a daughter of the sky: One blind old man with warmth sublime, And one more near; but gave my sire, To the distant bounds that lie Nor the flooding lustre shun To whose bloom, from many a spray, Chanting my witch-song merrily; While each woodland, brake, and dell,- 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. |