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ultimate triumph of freedom and equality by the power of transmitted knowledge.' No date is assigned, and the verse may as well be placed in the early period of Keats's acquaintance with Spenser and friendship with Leigh Hunt.

IN after-time, a sage of mickle lore
Yclep'd Typographus, the Giant took,
And did refit his limbs as heretofore,
And made him read in many a learned
book,

And into many a lively legend look; Thereby in goodly themes so training him,

That all his brutishness he quite forsook,

When, meeting Artegall and Talus grim, The one he struck stone-blind, the other's eyes wox dim.

ON LEAVING

SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR

Written, as Clarke intimates, in connection with Keats's visits to Leigh Hunt in the Vale of Health. Published in the 1817 volume.

GIVE me a golden pen, and let me lean On heap'd-up flowers, in regions clear and far;

Bring me a tablet whiter than a star, Or hand of hymning angel, when 't is seen The silver strings of heavenly harp atween: And let there glide by many a pearly

car,

Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,

And half-discover'd wings, and glances keen.

The while let music wander round my ears, And as it reaches each delicious ending, Let me write down a line of glorious

tone, And full of many wonders of the spheres: For what a height my spirit is contending!

"Tis not content so soon to be alone.

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self with Keats: 'Keats and I, though about the same age, and both inclined to literature, were in many respects as different as two individuals could be. He enjoyed good health a fine flow of animal spirits - was fond of company could amuse himself admirably with the frivolities of life-and had great confidence in himself. I, on the other hand, was languid and melancholy-fond of repose thoughtful beyond my years and diffident to the last degree.' The epistle is dated November, 1815, in the volume of 1817, where it is the first of a group of three epistles with the motto from Browne's Britannia's Pastorals:

Among the rest a shepherd (though but young
Yet hartned to his pipe) with all the skill
His few yeeres could, began to fit his quill.

SWEET are the pleasures that to verse belong,

And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song; Nor can remembrance, Mathew! bring to view

A fate more pleasing, a delight more true Than that in which the brother Poets joy'd, Who, with combinèd powers, their wit employ'd

To raise a trophy to the drama's muses. The thought of this great partnership diffuses

Over the genius-loving heart, a feeling Of all that's high, and great, and good, and healing.

IO

Too partial friend! fain would I follow

thee

Past each horizon of fine poesy; Fain would I echo back each pleasant note As o'er Sicilian seas, clear anthems float 'Mong the light skimming gondolas far parted,

Just when the sun his farewell beam has darted:

But 't is impossible; far different cares Beckon me sternly from soft 'Lydian airs,' And hold my faculties so long in thrall, That I am oft in doubt whether at all 20 I shall again see Phœbus in the morning: Or flush'd Aurora in the roseate dawning!

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HADST thou liv'd in days of old,
O what wonders had been told

Of thy lively countenance,

And thy humid eyes that dance
In the midst of their own brightness;
In the very fane of lightness.
Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,
Picture out each lovely meaning:
In a dainty bend they lie,
Like to streaks across the sky,
Or the feathers from a crow,
Fallen on a bed of snow.
Of thy dark hair, that extends
Into many graceful bends:
As the leaves of Hellebore
Turn to whence they sprung before.
And behind each ample curl

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Tell me what thou wouldst have been?
Ah! I see the silver sheen

Of thy broider'd, floating vest
Cov'ring half thine ivory breast:
Which, O heavens! I should see,
But that cruel destiny

Has plac'd a golden cuirass there;
Keeping secret what is fair.

Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested

Thy locks in knightly casque are rested:
O'er which bend four milky plumes
Like the gentle lily's blooms
Springing from a costly vase.
See with what a stately pace
Comes thine alabaster steed;
Servant of heroic deed!

Like the northern lights on snow.

O'er his loins his trappings glow

Mount his back! thy sword unsheath! Sign of the enchanter's death;

Bane of every wicked spell;

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