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of singular beauty and tenderness, na been preserved.


The Protestant cemetery in wh buried is on a grassy slope, amid the over ruins of the Honorian walls, surmounted pyramidal tomb which Petrarch ascri Remus, but which antiquarian truth has shown to have been erected to the memory of Caius Cestius, a tribune of the people, now utterly forgotten. There were at that time few other graves about it, but soon after the burying ground was enlarged, and of late years the portion of it where he lies was cut off by a wall forming part of the fortifications of the city. In time the little altar-tomb had been almost hidden in the high grass, and it was not until 1875 that General Sir Vincent Eyre, Miss Frere (daughter of the Right Hon. Sir H. Bartle Frere), Mr. Marsh the American minister, and other English and American lovers of the poet, repaired the then dilapidated stone, and placed in a conspicuous position on the adjacent wall a medallion portrait, the work and gift of Mr. Warrington Wood. A further subscription was raised at the same time for a bust of Keats by some eminent sculptor, to be placed in Westminster Abbey.

The "Adonais" of Shelley remains the immortal literary monument of the life, work, and sorrows of John Keats. On the publication of the last volume, Shelley wrote a pathetic remonstrance tc the editor of the "Quarterly Review," which was not sent, and after Keats's death the sentiment changed to passionate indignation. It may be regretted that such authority (confirmed by the flippant but not ill-natured stanza in “Don Juan") was given to the belief that genius so real and character so strong should have succumbed to

During thiar attacks of literary ignorance and Brawn were lignity; but the revelation of his and left bim ully demonstrates how little serious or mict they would have had on his mind and temif he had enjoyed ordinary health and had had -before him a fair field of fortune.

George Keats died in 1841, at Louisville, in Kentucky, highly esteemed by his fellow-citizens for his intelligence and industry, and by his friends for his fine literary tastes, especially in knowledge and appreciation of the Elizabethan literature. His daughters were eminent for their beauty, and his sons occupy a good position in that now important and flourishing district of America. His sister Fanny married Señor Llanos, a Spanish gentleman, of liberal politics and much talent, the author of "Don Esteban," "Sandoval, the Freemason," and other spirited illustrations of the modern history of the Peninsula; he recently represented the Spanish Republic at the Court of Rome.

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Silvering the untainted gushes of its rill;
Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distil,
And after parting beds of simple flowers,
By many streams a little lake did fill,

Which round its marge reflected woven bowers, And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.

There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,
Vying with fish of brilliant dye below;
Whose silken fins' and golden scales' light
Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow :

On the authority of the notes of Mr. Brown, given to me at Florence, in 1832, I have stated this to be the earliest known composition of Keats, and to have been written during his residence at Edmonton.-ED.



There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,
And oar'd himself along with majesty :
Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show
Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,
And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.

Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle
That in that fairest lake had placed been,
I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile;
Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen:
For sure so fair a place was never seen
Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye:
It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen
Of the bright waters; or as when on high,
Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the cærulean

And all around it dipp'd luxuriously

Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,
Which, as it were in gentle amity,

Rippled delighted up the flowery side;
As if to glean the ruddy tears it tried,
Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem!
Haply it was the workings of its pride,
In strife to throw upon the shore a gem
Outvying all the buds in Flora's diadem.




HAT though, while the wonders of na. ture exploring,

I cannot your light, mazy footsteps

Nor listen to


accents, that almost adoring,

Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend

Yet over the steep, whence the mountain-stream rushes,

With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove; Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes,

Its spray, that the wild flower kindly bedews.

Why linger ye so, the wild labyrinth strolling? Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare? Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender condoling, Responsive to sylphs, in the moon-beamy air.

"Tis norn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping,

I see you are treading the verge of the sea: And now! ah, I see it-you just now are stooping To pick up the keepsake intended for me.

If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending,
Had brought me a gem from the fretwork of

And, smiles with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending,

The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given,


It had not created a warmer emotion

Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with from you;

Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the ocean,

Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly


For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure
(And blissful is he who such happiness finds)
To possess but a span of the hour of leisure
In elegant, pure, and aërial minds.

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