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Young stranger!

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

Alas! 't is not for me:

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

Come then, Sorrow,

Sweetest Sorrow!
Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:

I thought to leave thee,

And deceive thee,
But now of all the world I love thee best.

" There is not one,

No, no, not one
But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid ;

Thou art her mother,

And her brother,

Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade." The second extract was given not so much on account of its poetical merits, as for insight it gives us into the feelings of a peculiarly sensitive mind united to a body physically weak, of whose gradual decay it was conscious, and of which it contemplated the speedy dissolution. Such a mind shrinks with feelings of repugnance (almost of fear) from the cold features of winter, in which it sees only the numb expression, and the wan complexion of death. To the summer it clings as to a kind consoling friend, and it feels life only so long as the summer smiles. Lines like those that have been quoted, express not only a feeling that has had a real place in the bosom of the writer, but one that can find a place in such bosoms only.. Poetry inspired (as much poetry is inspired) by strong passions, grounded upon strong physical powers, can no more speak such language than the monk can speak the language of love. The poetry of Keats and the poetry of Kirke White derive many of their charms from one and the same cause.

From Vol. ii.


Why were they proud ? Because their marble founts

Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears -
Why were they proud ? Because fair orange-mounts

Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs ?
Why were they proud? Because red-lined accounts

Were richer than the songs of Grecian years ?
Why were they proud ? again we ask aloud,
Why in the name of Glory were they proud ?

Isabella, or the Pot of Basil.


St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold :
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,

Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.

His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees :
The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze,
Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails :
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat’ries,

He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails
To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.

Northward he turneth through a little door,
And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue
Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor ;
But no-already had his death-bell rung;
The joys of all his life were said and sung :
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve:
Another way he went, and soon among

Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve,
And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.

That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;
And so it chanced, for many a door was wide,
From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,
The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide:
The level chambers, ready with their pride,
Were glowing to receive a thousand guests :
The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,
Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests,
With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.

The Eve of St. Agnes.


“ O dreams of day and night!
O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain!
O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom !
O lank-ear'd Phantoms of black-weeded pools !
Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why
Is my eternal essence thus distraught
To see and to behold these horrors new?
Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall ?
Am I to leave this haven of my rest,
This cradle of my glory, this soft clime,
This calm luxuriance of blissful light,
These crystalline pavilions, and pure fanes,
Of all my lucent empire? Is it left
Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine.

The blaze, the splendour, and the symmetry,
I cannot see—but darkness, death and darkness.
Even here, into my centre of repose,
The shady visions come to domineer,
Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pompa
Fall !– No, by Tellus and her briny robes !
Over the fiery frontier of my realms
I will advance a terrible right arm
Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove,
And bid old Saturn take his throne again.-

Hyperion, Book 1.
Something this of the Satan of Milton; something, too, of the
Prometheus of Shelley ; something, however, less than either.

The faults that have been stated above are deficiencies in the way of art. Out of these he might have grown. What, however, are the deficiencies of his genius—the faults out of which he would not have grown?

The elements of the poetical spirit are partly moral, partly intellectual. Of the intellectual ones-are command of imagery, command of language, knowledge of the heart of man, knowledge of the external world, and the sense of metrical harmonyof the moral ones, are passion and sensibility. The full poet has both classes of elements, and of each class all the elements. The half poet has one class only, or if both classes, each partially. Keats seems to have been a poet of the latter class. His elements were the moral ones; and of the moral one, sensibility. His preeminent characteristic was a section of the latter class of elements, and of the sections of that class it was not the highest; for, though the poetry of pure sensibility is good, the poetry of pure passion is better. For all this the poetry of Keats is good, and is good because it has one true element: it were better had it more-it is well that it has so much.



No. VI.


The Home-bred Freshman, being suddenly emancipated from small nursery thraldom, plungeth headlong into College life much as a raw beef-steak doth into the frying-pan. He is bewildered with the transition from the pinafore to the toga ; and looketh upon his recent elevation in the world in somewhat the same light that a butterfly regardeth its elopement from the chrysalis. He immediately contracteth a furious friendship with the unhappy Second-year man, whom the Tutor hath considerately saddled with the green-horn (besides about twenty others); and can hardly credit the catalogue of liberties which he hath recited unto him, particularly touching the late hour of ten for closing the gates, and the delightful privilege of going to bed whenever he liketh. Having now more pounds in his pocket than ever be had half-pence before, he exhibiteth a marvellous ignorance of the ratio which a pound doth bear unto a half-penny, and an inclination to disencumber himself of his first allowance with a brave celerity quite enchanting to certain flat-catchers of his College. He ordereth him a superfluity of smart clothes, handsome furniture, and costly books; not as yet sufficiently discriminating between ordinary prices and Cambridge prices. He is entranced at the obliging confidence of tradesmen in allowing tick, and hesitateth not to run up many very pretty little bills, all which he directeth, with delectable nonchalance, to be sent in to the Tutor. Being peculiarly innocent in the ways of the world, he getteth readily entrapped by a clique of “deuced pleasant fellows,” wbo kindly press upon him their services in teaching him “the right sort of thing," merely requesting, in return, his frequent company at agreeable card-parties, where they playfully relieve him of his superfluous cash. Being invited to “champagne and loo,” at the Pigeon and Fleece, he findeth, with a feeling of shame, that to be fuddled with three glasses is considered a very slow thing; and resolveth to practise drinking daily in private, by which magnanimous determination he soon learneth to “stand” as much Cambridge alcohol as the most approved red-nosed topers in the University. He now swaggereth about the horrid tyranny of “the governor, and protesteth that the nursery is decidedly unfit for a man of spirit. He escheweth all books (except novels) after the first fortnight, and becometh, in that short space, transformed from an interesting specimen of the “flat freshman” into a fine sample of the genus “fast freshmen,” (both which animals we did accurately delineate in Number Three of our popular Periodical). In fine, the Home-bred Freshman, never having met with temptations in life, seldom knoweth

* Continued from No. III., March, 1840.-VOL. I.— NO. IV.

p. 179.


how to resist the numerous allurements to vice, which are presented all at once unto his irresolute mind, (and which indeed have not been far overdrawn by the unpopular Mister Beverley): so that he eventually getteth into such a scrape as can only be atoned for by immediate rustication; at the intelligence of which, mamma and sisters turn white, the governor looketh black, and the culprit himself, however green he may have been at first, now findeth it high time to begin to look decidedly “blue.”

No. VII.


He put

The Pestilent Freshman is a kind of practical amplification of the school pickle—a sort of locomotive pepper-box, whose delight is in bespattering the Dons with pungent jokes, and tickling them with unseasonable waggery. He is only a modification of the - Fast Freshman;" the chief difference being, that while the latter maketh a fool of himself, the former maketh fools of others. He is the dread and annoyance of all the College authorities, against whom he is constantly engaged in discharging a battery of unwarrantable wit. If of St. John's (which hath had the honour of nurturing several excellent specimens of Pestilent Freshmen), he investeth the stone eagle over the new gateway with a surplice, and poketh a walking-stick into his claw ; he tieth spectacles on the swan's beaks, and setteth them adrift on the river to enjoy the benefit of their “new light;" he hoisteth a Conservative flag on an inaccessible pinnacle, and laugheth hugely at the ineffectual efforts of the porter to tear down the same. teth a night-cap on Lady Margaret, and chamber-pots on the lampposts; with numerous other funny pranks, very amusing to himself, but equally offensive to the gravity of the Dons. He goeth to the market,and selecteth sundry large tea-services of yellow pottery-ware, desiring them to be sent immediately to the Rev. Mr. A. of St. John's, or the Rev.Mr. B. of Trinity, as it may be, (giving the names of certain College Tutors,) to be paid for on delivery ; by which successful joke half the Dons of his College are agreeably surprised to find their doors barricadoed with extensive assortments of vulgar crockery, all domestic appurtenances duly included. He delighteth in sending other Freshmen to the top of Castle-hill to see the term divide at midnight. He taketh lessons from other pestilent practitioners in “screwing in

the Deans, and painting the doors of the Lecturer's rooms red. He is very pugnacious, and walking in the streets, suddenly turneth and asketh a huge snob “what the deuce he meant by that?” whereat the snob (having done nothing at all) coolly answereth (as the Pestilent Freshman intended he should), “Hooky Walker," provocative of a combat, of which the snob soon getteth a bellyful, being no match for his practised antagonist. He goeth into Chapel with a white sheet over his shoulders instead of a surplice, and substituteth sundry popular songs for the anthem-books of the choristers. He taketh much credit unto himself for making the organ-blower drunk, and otherwise discomposing the service. He is constantly lounging about the College

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