SONNETS

ON RECEIVING A CROWN OF IVY FROM JOHN KEATS—BY LEIGH HUNT.

The sonnets below are on a blank leaf, in an edition of the early poems of John Keats “printed for C. & J. Ollier, 3 Welbeck street, London, 1817.” The book was presented to me by my friend, the late George Keats, (brother of the poet,) who resided for many years prior to his death in this city. They are in the handwriting of Hunt, and are not contained in any edition of his poems which I have seen. You can readily ascertain whether they have appeared in print—if they have not, I think they may be acceptable to many of your readers, and therefore send them.

G. R. Graham, Esq.

F. COSBY, Jr., Louisville, Ky.

I.

A crown of ivy! I submit my head

To the young hand that gives it—young, ’tis true,

But with a right, for ’tis a poet’s too.

How pleasant the leaves feel! and how they spread

With their broad angles, like a nodding shed

Over both eyes! and how complete and new,

As on my hand I lean, to feel them strew

My sense with freshness—Fancy’s rustling bed!

Tress-tossing girls, with smell of flowers and grapes,

Come dancing by, and piping cheeks intent,

And thrown up cymbals, and Silvanus old

Lumpishly borne, and many trampling shapes,

And lastly, with his bright eyes on her bent,

Bacchus—whose bride has of his hand fast hold.

II.

It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind,

Thus to be topped with leaves—to have a sense

Of honor—shaded thought—an influence

As from great Nature’s fingers—and be twined

With her old, sacred, verdurous ivy-bind,

As though she hallowed with that sylvan fence

A head that bows to her benevolence,

Midst pomp of fancied trumpets in the wind.

’Tis what’s within us, crowned. And kind and great

Are all the conquering wishes it inspires,

Love of things lasting, love of the tall woods,

Love of love’s self, and ardor for a state

Of natural good befitting such desires,

Towns without gain, and haunted solitudes.