The artist who this idol wrought,
To echo all harmonious thought,
Felled a tree, while on the steep
The woods were in their winter sleep,
Rocked in that repose divine
On the wind-swept Apennine;
And dreaming, some of Autumn past,
And some of Spring approaching fast,
And some of April buds and showers,
And some of songs in July bowers,
And all of love; and so this tree,-

O that such our death may be!—
Died in sleep, and felt no pain,

To live in happier form again:

From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star,
The artist wrought this loved Guitar,

And taught it justly to reply,

To all who question skilfully,
In language gentle as thine own;
Whispering in enamoured tone
Sweet oracles of woods and dells,
And summer winds in sylvan cells;
For it had learnt all harmonies
Of the plains and of the skies,
Of the forests and the mountains,
And the many-voiced fountains;
The clearest echoes of the hills,
The softest notes of falling rills,
The melodies of birds and bees,

The murmuring of summer seas,

And pattering rain, and breathing dew,
And airs of evening; and it knew

That seldom-heard mysterious sound,
Which, driven on its diurnal round,
As it floats through boundless day,

1822.]

Our world enkindles on its way-
All this it knows, but will not tell
To those who cannot question well
The spirit that inhabits it;
It talks according to the wit
Of its companions; and no more
Is heard than has been felt before,
By those who tempt it to betray
These secrets of an elder day:
But sweetly as its answers will
Flatter hands of perfect skill,
It keeps its highest, holiest tone
For our beloved Jane alone.

80

90

Brawne who lives in the Floure which was Ms Silkés. I am excepively newvous. a person I am

ина

not quite used to

готи

Yet

entering.

the

half cho uks me. I is not Consumption I belive, but

it would be were I to reman in this clumnate all the Winter:

voyage

1. I am Kunking of either Kunking ing or havelling to Italy. Yester day I received an mvelation from Mr Shelley, a Gentlem residing at Pesa, to spend the Winter with him. of I go Jonest away in a Mouth or even lefs. I am glad you like the Poemes

be aw