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OH, LET ME BE MYSELF! BUT WHERE, OH, WHERE, UNDER THIS HEAP OF PRECEDENT, THIS MOUND

["Bare grassy slopes, where kids are tethered."]
Bare grassy slopes, where kids are tethered;
Round valleys like nests all ferny-lined;
Round hills, with fluttering tree-tops feathered,
Swell high in their freckled robes behind.

MY TRUE LIFE FROM WITHIN?"-JEAN INGELOW.

66 OH, SHALL I HEAVE TO LIGHT, AND CLEAR OF RUST

DIVIDED.

227

VI.

A shady freshness, chafers whirring,

A little piping of leaf-hid birds;
A flutter of wings, a fitful stirring,

A cloud to the eastward snowy as curds.

OF CUSTOMS, MODES, AND MAXIMS, CUMBRANCE RARE! SHALL THE MYSELF BE FOUND?"-INGELOW.

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228

"I KNOW THAT GOD IS GOOD, THOUGH evil dwells-(INGELOW)

JEAN INGELOW.

A rose-flush tender, a thrill, a quiver,
When golden gleams to the tree-tops glide;
A flashing edge for the milk-white river,

The beck, a river-with still sleek tide.
Broad and white, and polished as silver,

On she goes under fruit-laden trees;
Sunk in leafage cooeth the culver,*

And 'plaineth of love's disloyalties.
Glitters the dew and shines the river,
Up comes the lily and dries her bell;
But two are walking apart for ever,

And wave their hands for a mute farewell.

"WE PANT, WE STRAIN LIKE BIRDS AGAINST THEIR WIRES; ARE SICK TO REACH THE VAST AND THE BEYOND;

VII.

A braver swell, a swifter sliding;

The river hasteth, her banks recede :
Wing-like sails on her bosom gliding
Bear down the lily and drown the reed.
Stately prows are rising and bowing
(Shouts of mariners winnow the air),
And level sands for banks endowing
The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair.

While, O my heart! as white sails shiver,
And crowds are passing, and banks stretch wide,
How hard to follow, with lips that quiver,
That waving speck on the far-off side!

Farther-farther-I see it-know it-
My eyes brim over, it melts away :
Only my heart to my heart shall show it,

As I walk desolate day by day.

* A species of pigeon.

AMONG US, AND DOTH ALL THINGS HOLIEST SHARE."-INGELOW.

AND WHAT AVAILS, IF STILL TO OUR DESIRES THESE FAR-OFF GULFS RESPOND?"-JEAN INGELOW.

THERE IS JOY IN HEAVEN, WHILE YET OUR KNELLS-(INGELOW)

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And yet I know past all doubting, truly—
A knowledge greater than grief can dim---
I know, as he loved, he will love me duly—
Yea, better-e'en better than I love him.
And as I walk by the vast calm river,

The awful river so dread to see,

I say, "Thy breadth and thy depth for ever
Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me."

[From "Poems, by Jean Ingelow," published by Longmans. The fore-
going poem is somewhat similar in idea to Tennyson's "Circumstance."]

"CONTENTMENT COMES NOT, THEREFORE; STILL THERE LIES AN OUTER DISTANCE WHEN THE FIRST IS HAILED,

AND STILL FOR EVER YAWNS BEFORE OUR EYES AN UTMOST-THAT IS VEILED."-JEAN INGELOW.

John Keats.

[THE poems of Keats, says Leigh Hunt, will be the sure companions, in field and grove, of all who love "to escape out of the strife of commonplaces into the haven of solitude and imagination." They contain poetry enough to set up a dozen ordinary poets. Like Tarpeia, they are almost crushed by the weight of the gems and gold with which a profuse imagination has overcharged them. The rich lights of a vivid fancy kindle every page, like the hues of sunset floating over a blooming garden. The grand procession of rapturous song is majestic and luxuriant as the triumphal march of an Eastern king. So full was the young poet in heart and brain --so full of fine ideas, noble images, and tender feelings-that he could not check their flow. His genius was like an impetuous river, rolling over golden sands, which it sweeps downward in its current, along with rare blossoms, and glorious foliage, and the echoes of the water-spirits. Since Shakespeare, no poet has displayed such an extraordinary wealth of imagination. That such works should have been produced by a young surgeon's apprentice, before he was twenty-five years old, is a phenomenon in the history of poetry.

It cannot be denied, says Lord Houghton, that they are read by every accurate student. It is natural that the young should find especial delight in productions which take so much of their inspiration from the exuberant vitality of the author and the world. But the eternal youth of antique beauty does not confine its influences to any portion of the life of man. And thus the admiration of the writings of Keats survives the hot impulses

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SOUND FOR THE SOULS....SUMMONED THERE. -JEAN INGELOW.

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of early years; and these pages often remain open when the clamorous
sublimities of Byron and Shelley come to be unwelcome intruders on the
calm of maturer age.

Keats was born in London, October 29, 1795; was educated at Enfield; and
in 1810 apprenticed to a surgeon at Edmonton. He afterwards continued
his medical studies in London; made the friendship of Leigh Hunt, Hazlitt,
Haydon, Severn; published "Endymion" in 1818; fell ill through poverty,
disease, and intense sensibility; gave to the world "Lamia," "Isabella,
and Other Poems," in 1820; and visited Italy to die, February 27, 1821.
He was buried in the Protestant Cemetery at Rome, and honoured with an
elegy by his friend Shelley-the "Adonais," which was worthy of its theme.]

"'TIS THE ETERNAL LAW, THAT FIRST IN BEAUTY SHOULD BE FIRST IN MIGHT."-JOHN KEATS.

HYMN TO PAN.

[Supposed to be sung by a chorus of shepherds and young damsels at a
rural festival.]

THOU, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles *

Passion their voices cooingly 'mong myrtles,
What time thou wanderest at even-tide
Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side
Of thine enmossèd realms. O thou, to whom
Broad-leaved fig-trees even now foredoom
Their ripened fruitage; yellow-girted bees
Their golden honeycombs; our village leas
Their fairest blossomed beans and poppied corn ;
The chuckling linnet† its five young unborn,
To sing for thee; low-creeping strawberries
Their summer coolness; pent-up butterflies‡

* The turtle doves. So Byron :

"The rage of the vulture, the love of the turtles."

And Shakspeare:

"Teach him to know turtles from jays."

The peculiar character of the linnet's song is well described by Robert
Nicoll:-

"Thou charmest by the sick child's window long."

Pent-up-that is, in the cocoon or chrysalis.

IT WILL NEVER PASS INTO NOTHINGNESS."-KEATS.

"O MAGIC SLEEP! O COMFORTABLE BIRD THAT BROODEST O'ER THE TROUBLED SEA OF THE MIND."-KEATS.

"EVERY MORROW ARE WE WREATHING A FLOWERY BAND TO BIND US TO THE EARTH."-JOHN KEATS.

ALL LOVELY TALES THAT WE HAVE HEARD OR READ,

HYMN TO PAN.

231

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"IN SPITE OF ALL, SOME SHAPE OF BEAUTY MOVES AWAY THE PALL FROM OUR DARK SPIRITS."-KEATS.

Thou, to whom every faun and satyr flies
For willing service; whether to surprise
The squatted hare while in half-sleeping fit;
Or upward rugged precipices flit

* Read it as a word of four syllables-com-ple-ti-ons.

AN ENDLESS FOUNTAIN OF IMMORTAL DRINK."-KEATS.

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