JOHN KEATS

With toying oars and silken sails they glide, Nor care for wind and tide.

Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes, From rear to van they scour about the plains ; A three days' journey in a moment done ; And always, at the rising of the sun, About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn, On spleenful unicorn.

I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown

Before the vine- wreath crown ! I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing

To the silver cymbals' ring ! I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce

Old Tartary the fierce! The kings of Ind their jewel-sceptres vail, And from their treasures scatter pearled hail ; Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,

And all his priesthood moans, Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale. Into these regions came I, following him, Sick-hearted, weary so I took a whim To stray away into these forests drear,

Alone, without a peer: And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.

Young Stranger !

I've been a ranger In search of pleasure throughput every clime ;

Alas ! 'tis not for me !

Bewitch'd I sure must be, To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.

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