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but we see them under a cloud in prospect.' So see Adam 'fair indeed, and tall,'
" under a plantain,' and so we see Satan disfigured' on the Assyrian mount.'"
The copy of " Spenser" which Keats had in daily use, contains the following stanza, inserted at the close of Canto II. Book v. His sympathies were very much on the side of the revolutionary " Gyant, who
“undertook for to repair” the “realms and nations run awry,” and to suppress tyrants that make men subject to their law," " and lordings curbe that commons over-aw," while he grudged the legitimate victory, as he rejected the conservative philosophy, of the "righteous Artegall " and his comrade, the fierce defender of privilege and order. And he expressed, in this ex post facto prophecy, his conviction of the ultimate triumph of freedom and equality by the power of transmitted knowledge.
“ In after-time, a sage of mickle lore
The “ Literary Remains ” will contain many sonnets and songs, written during these months, in the intervals of more complete compositions; but the following pieces are so fragmentary as more becomingly to take their place in the narrative of the author's life, than to show as substantive productions. Yet it is, perhaps, just in verses like these that the individual character pronounces itself most distinctly, and confers a general interest which more care of art at once elevates and diminishes. The occasional verses of a great poet are records, as it were, of his poetical tabletalk, remembrances of his daily self and its intellectual companionship, more delightful from what they recall, than for what they are—more interesting for what they suggest, than for what they were ever meant to be.
Where's the Poet? show him ! show him!
Comes articulate and presseth
And what is love? It is a doll dress'd up
To-night I'll have my friar,—let me think
To see what else the moon alone can show; While the night-breeze doth softly let us know My terrace is well bower'd with oranges. Upon the floor the dullest spirit sees A guitar-ribband and a lady's glove Beside a crumple-leaved tale of love; A tambour-frame, with Venus sleeping there, All finished but some ringlets of her hair; A viol, bow-strings torn, cross-wise upon A glorious folio of Anacreon; A skull upon a mat of roses lying, Ink'd purple with a song concerning dying ; An hour-glass on the turn, amid the trails Of passion-flower ;-just in time there sails A cloud across the moon,—the lights bring in ! And see what more my phantasy can win. It is a gorgeous room, but somewhat sad; The draperies are so, as tho' they had Been made for Cleopatra's winding sheet ; And opposite the stedfast eye doth meet A spacious looking-glass, upon whose face, In letters raven-sombre, you may trace Old “ Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin.” Greek busts and statuary have ever been Held, by the finest spirits, fitter far Than vase grotesque and Siamesian jar; Therefore 'tis sure a want of attic taste That I should rather love a gothic waste Of eyesight on cinque-coloured potter's clay, Than on the marble fairness of old Greece. My table-coverlits of Jason's fleece And black Numidian sheep wool should be wrought, Gold, black, and heavy from the Lama brought. My ebon sofas should delicious be With down from Leda's cygnet progeny.
pictures all Salvator's, save a few Of Titian's portraiture, and one, though new,
Welcome joy, and welcome sorrow,
Lethe's weed, and Herme's feather;
I do love you both together!
I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;
Fair and foul I love together: