to Roine, and attended in his last illness by Mr. Severn, a
young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been in-
formed, "almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every
prospect, to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend."
Had I known these circumstances before the completion of
my poem, I should have been tempted to add my feeble
tribute of applause to the more solid recompense which the
virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own motives.
Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from "such stuff as
dreams are made of." His conduct is a golden augury of
the success of his future career-may the unextinguished
spirit of his illustrious friend animate the creations of his
pencil, and plead against oblivion for his name! &

words are quoted, but not verbation, from a letter addressed by leobmuel Mich to Tar. Gisborne _ Wa Rosette.

& A dovesie was written about Key,

1891.

ADONAIS.

I.

I WEEP for ADONAIS-he is dead!

O, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow; say: With me Died Adonais; till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!

II.

Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, When thy son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies

In darkness? where was lorn Urania

When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,

'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise

She sat, while one, with soft enamoured breath, Rekindled all the fading melodies,

With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath,

He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of death.

a It may

Oh, weep for Adonais-he is dead!
Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!
Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed
Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep,
Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
Descend:-oh, dream not that the amorous Deep
Will yet restore him to the vital air;

Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our
despair.

IV.

Most musical of mourners, weep again!

Lament anew, Urania!—He died,

Who was the sire of an immortal strain,
Blind, old, and lonely, when his country's pride
The priest, the slave, and the liberticide
Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite
Qf lust and blood; he went, unterrified,

Into the gulf of death; but his clear sprite
Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of

Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
Not all to that bright station dared to climb:
And happier they their happiness who knew,
Whose tapers yet burn through that night of

time

In which suns perished; others more sublime,

questiones whom, as the first

h Leight", Shelley intended to accociate with Miller. If he refers to lenflech post exclusively, cest ainly neay be proposed. But perhope he aeferred non to epic proche. Le that case, the tire are assuredly Itomer and ile. Her admirable Lie-feuse of Poetry mys: Womer whe the first seened a pic foot ; that is, the seemed

poct the server fo

Whone creatione tone a defined and sentiment aus

ади

and

intelligible relation to the Nuoris

and

religion of the age in which he lives, which followes it _ developing steelf in corres in correspondance to with

their development... Milton was the third eper port? – Makatte.

ADONAIS.

79

Struck by the envious wrath of man or god,
Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;
And some yet live, treading the thorny road,
Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's
serene abode.

VI.

But now, thy youngest, dearest one, has pe-
rished,

The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew,
Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherished
And fed with true-love tears instead of dew;
Most musical of mourners, weep anew!

Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last,
The bloom, whose petals nipt before they
blew

Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste;
The broken lily lies-the storm is overpast.

VII.

To that high capital, where kingly Death
Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay,
He came; and bought, with price of purest
breath,

A grave among the eternal.-Come away!
Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day
Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still
He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay;
Awake him not! surely he takes his fill
Uf deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

VIII.

He will awake no more, oh, never more! Within the twilight chamber spreads apace The shadow of white Death, and at the door Invisible Corruption waits to trace

His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface So fair a prey, till darkness and the law

Of change, shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

IX.

Oh, weep for Adonais !—The quick Dreams, The passion-winged ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living

streams

Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music, wander not,— Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain, But droop there, whence they sprung; and

mourn their lot

Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet

pain,

They ne'er will gather strength, nor find a home again.

X.

And one with trembling hand clasps his cold

head,

And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries,

"Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead;