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THE GOSSAMER.

O'ER faded heath-flowers spun, or thorny furze,
The filmy gossamer is lightly spread;
Waving in every sighing air that stirs,
As fairy fingers had entwined the thread:
A thousand trembling orbs of lucid dew
Spangle the texture of the fairy loom,
As if soft Sylphs, lamenting as they flew,
Had wept departed Summer's transient bloom :
But the wind rises, and the turf receives

The glittering web.-So, evanescent, fade

Bright views that Youth, with sanguine heart, believes :
So vanish schemes of bliss, by Fancy made;

Which fragile as the fleeting dreams of morn,
Leave but the withered heath and barren thorn!

TO SNOWDROPS.

WAN heralds of the sun and summer gale!
That seem just fallen from infant Zephyr's wing;

Not now, as once, with heart revived I hail

Your modest buds, that for the brow of Spring Form the first simple garland.-Now no more Escaping for a moment all my cares,

Shall I, with pensive, silent, step explore

The woods yet leafless; where to chilling airs Your green and pencilled blossoms, trembling, wave. Ah! ye soft, transient, children of the ground, More fair was she on whose untimely grave Flow my unceasing tears! Their varied round The seasons go; while I through all repine: For fixed regret and hopeless grief are mine.

HE

may be envied, who with tranquil breast Can wander in the wild and woodland scene, When summer's glowing hands have newly dressed The shadowy forests, and the copses green; Who, unpursued by care, can pass his hours Where briony and woodbine fringe the trees, On thymey banks reposing, while the bees Murmur "their fairy tunes in praise of flowers;" Or on the rock with ivy clad, and fern

That overhangs the osier-whispering bed

Of some clear current, bid his wishes turn

From this bad world; and by calm reason led,

Knows, in refined retirement, to possess

By friendship hallowed-rural happiness!

JOHN KEATS,

born on the 29th of October, 1796. He was of humble origin, though possessing a refined and highly poetical mind. He received his education at Enfield, at the school of Mr. Clark, whose son having taste sufficient to appreciate the genius of his father's pupil, introduced him to Mr. Leigh Hunt, who was the means, through his Examiner, of bringing Keats before the notice of the public. He left his native land in 1820 for Italy, for the benefit of his health, and while there was invited by Shelley to take up his abode with him, which he would have done had life been granted to him; but the year after his arrival, he expired in the arms of his friend and companion, Mr. Severn: not long afterwards the ashes of the enthusiastic Shelley were consigned to the same restingplace. The poetry of Keats may be compared to a garden of luxuriant sweets. His sonnets bear delightful evidence of the fraternal affection which animated his bosom towards his brothers, who were the companions of his early days. They evince also that delicate texture of mind to whose happiness the sympathy and affection of those around him is as necessary as the common air of Heaven.

TO MY BROTHER GEORGE.

MANY the wonders I this day have seen :
The sun, when first he kissed away the tears
That filled the eyes of Morn ;-the laurelled peers
Who from the feathery gold of evening lean ;-
The Ocean with its vastness, its blue green,

Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,-
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears

Must think on what will be, and what has been.
E'en now,
dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,

And she her half-discovered revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

TO

HAD I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell
Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
Would passion arm me for the enterprize :
But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;
No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;
I am no happy shepherd of the dell,
Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes;
Yet must I doat upon thee,-call thee sweet,
Sweeter by far than Hybla's honeyed roses,
When steeped in dew, rich to intoxication.
Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,
And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.

How many bards gild the lapses of time!
A few of them have ever been the food
Of my delighted fancy,-I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime :
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude :
But no confusion, no disturbance rude

Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.

So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;

The songs of birds-the whispering of the leaves--The voice of waters-the great bell that heaves With solemn sound,—and thousand others more,

That distance of recognizance bereaves,

Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.

I

TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME SOME ROSES.

As late I rambled in the happy fields,

What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew From his lush clover covert;-when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields: I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,

A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew As is the wand that queen Titania wields. And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,

I thought the garden-rose it far excelled; But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me,

My sense with their deliciousness was spelled:

Soft voices had they, that with tender plea

Whispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled.

TO SOLITUDE.

O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,-
Nature's observatory—whence the dell,

In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,

May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep,

'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.

But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human kind,

When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

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