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of singular beauty and tenderness, na been preserved.
The Protestant cemetery in whi buried is on a grassy slope, amid the oven ruins of the Honorian walls, surmountea 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 for. gotten. 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 timo 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 to 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 lalignity ; but the revelation of his and left bim ülly demonstrates how little serious or mict they would have had on his mind and tem
.sif he had enjoyed ordinary health and had had betore 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.
WRITTEN BEFORE THE COMPLETION OF
IMITATION OF SPENSER.
OW morning from her orient chamber
came, And her first footsteps touchid a
verdant hill :
Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,
There the kingfisher saw his plumage bright,
On the authority of the notes of Mr. Brown, given to me at
There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,
Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,
Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle
Of the bright waters; or as when on high, Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the cærulean
sky. 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 Oatvying all the buds in Flora's diadem.
TO SOME LADIES.
THAT though, while the wonders of na.
ture exploring, I cannot your light, mazy footsteps
attend; 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 passiouate
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 Diorn, and the flowers with dew are yet droop.
ing, 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
Heaven; And, smiles with his star-cheering voice sweetly
blending, The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given, It had uot created a warmer emotion
Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with
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.