Much as we have already quoted from the works of Keats, we venture yet to give an entire specimen of his odes, which, like his sonnets, are wonderfully finished productions. In both cases his exuberant fancy seems to have been checked by the restraints of space, and to have benefited by such necessity.

ODE TO A GRECIAN URN.

"Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness!

health declined more and more, he was or- in mould the heads of Milton and Wordsdered by his physicians to visit Italy, which worth His hair was of a beautiful auburn he did in the summer of 1820. After tint, and fell upon his neck in rich natural passing a short time at Naples, he proceed-curls. Altogether, Leigh Hunt tells us his ed to Rome, accompanied by but one friend, aspect was that of a poet, and if ever poet Mr. Severn, the artist, who left profession lived he was one. and home to devote himself to the care of Keats. It is painful to learn, as we do through a friend of Mr. Severn, that the temper of the invalid was sadly soured in his closing days, as well by the unmerited contumely cast upon his writings, as by the base ingratitude of parties whom he had deeply obliged. He longed earnestly for death, and used wistfully to watch the looks of his physician at every visit, not to draw thence a favorable augury, but the reverse. Sometimes his passions became excited to a violent degree, and tested the friendship of Mr. Severn severely; but speedily he would melt into self-accusations and sincere remorse. His life came finally to a close on the 27th of December, 1820, when he had just completed his twenty-] fourth year. Shortly before his decease, he remarked beautifully, "I feel the daisies growing over me;" and true it is, that the spot where he lies, according to Shelley, is "covered in winter with violets and daisies." It is an open space under the pyramidal tomb of Cestius, which forms the cemetery of the Protestants at Rome.

Critical suggestions have been so largely intermingled with the preceding sketch of the career of John Keats that there is little occasion for any further remarks of the kind here. His main poetical characteristic was a splendid endowment of fancy, as contradistinguished from imagination. The one, it may be explained, deals chiefly with. the imagery of external nature, animate or inanimate, and the other with the internal passions of the human breast. Perhaps no one, since the time of Shakspeare, has possessed the gift of pure fancy in a higher degree than Keats. Shelley, who had a mind of congenial cast, was a warm admirer of the subject of our notice, and, when drowned at sea, held the poems of the latter in his hands. But before that unhappy event took place, he had poured forth a lament for his brother in the muses, more tenderly impassioned than ever bard uttered for bard before. In the same piece, called "Adonais,' Shelley also showers down bitter maledictions on those who persecuted in life the departed child of genius.

Keats was handsomely formed in person, and had a finely-shaped head, resembling

Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express

A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme; What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both,

In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loath?

What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstacy?

"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard

Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not
grieve;

She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,

For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love, more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,

For ever panting and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above.
That leaves a heart high sorrowful and cloy'd.
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
"Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, oh mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies.
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore,

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,

Is emptied of its folk this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell

Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
"O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede

Of marble mein and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity. Cold pastoral!

When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,'-that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

some thought connected with it in his mind; and when the words had once escaped him, he considered himself bound to act in accordance with them. Thus they came to exercise the greatest influence on his opinions, his habits, and all the events of his life.

THE late M. Stryk, counsellor of state, was accustomed to pronounce the following words on almost every occasion-It is possible. They had become a sort of proverb He was not himself ignorant of this inin his mouth. He often happened to utter fluence; and yet he not only remained them, even in the reports which he had to faithful to his three words, but he wished make to the ministry, in full council. Then his only son to be habituated to a percepyou might observe a smile on the counte- tion of their vast importance. The young nances of his colleagues, as when you feel pity for some weakness of your neighbor.

man, who, like other young folks, thought himself wiser, in many things, than his old father, looked upon this fancy as a very

droll one.

ed in you, my dear father," said he;
"This little singularity is easily pardon-
"but
in me it would be thought very absurd, for
it would only be an affected imitation; a
manner of speaking adopted on purpose and
copied without taste."

However, the counsellor was a man who was justly esteemed and honored The different governors of the country, as they succeeded each other, usually appreciated and employed him, because his varied know ledge, and his talents for business enabled him to render them great services. All were agreed that he was a man of abilities and dexterity; he was even thought more clever than he really was: there was an awe of his plied the counsellor of state; "but what "It is possible, my dear Frederic," repenetration, though he was acknowledged to be frank, open, and conscientious, and had matters people's laughing, provided these three words can give you peace, prudence, never been accused of a culpable action. But his finesse was universally admitted; and is manifest. If the fear of being laughed security, and happiness? The advantage this belief even went so far that he was at hinders you from pronouncing these looked upon as a profound politician, an words aloud, I conjure you at least to reabsolute prophet. And all this reputation peat them to yourself on every occasion."

was simply owing to the words, It is possi-peat "But what good will that do me, father?

ble.

We have collected a few anecdotes of this man, so remarkable in the history of his country. They will not be thought unworthy of notice. We are chiefly indebted for We are chiefly indebted for them to one of his relations, who drew them from a diary which the counsellor had kept from his youth. The most remarkable thing in this manuscript was the phrase everywhere occurring-It is possible.

CHAPTER II.

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.

Though his habitual phrase often fell from him involuntarily, there was always

your fondness for the expression is really

carried too far."

66 My child, I am not so fond of this exwish to bequeath it to you, and with it the pression as I am of you; and therefore I tranquillity and happiness which it has afforded me. Do not suppose that this axiom has become so familiar to me from the mere effect of chance. No; it was at first a phrase that I only pronounced after mature reflection, and which experience has recommended to me. I owe to it all that I have— all that I am."

"Then, what first led you to adopt it?"

"The misfortunes of my youth. It was by these three words alone that I recovered my losses and triumphed over adversity. Your grandparents were honest people, and fear

"That happens to me sometimes, in spite of myself," said Frederic.

"What! not to your friend?"

ed God; but they had not a large patri-1 mony. What I inherited from them was 66 No, not even to him; for, in the first hardly sufficient to defray my expenses at place, my slender fortune, obscure origin, the university, and to procure me the means and precarious situation, forbade me seriof living for a few years afterwards. I was ously to aspire to the hand of the daughter a young man of good principles. I had of the noble general. Besides, it was from pursued my studies conscientiously, and Schneemuller that I first learned that I was even too ardently, for I only lived amidst generally regarded as the successful admirer ideal types of virtue and magnanimity. This of Phillipine; she loved me, he affirmed, illusion cost me dear; for I mistook the with an exalted passion, and several alterworld, and fancied it by turns, and accord- cations had occurred between her mother ing to circumstances, peopled with angels or and her on my account. I was soon conwith devils." vinced of the truth of my friend's words; for, when circumstances again brought Phillipine and me together, we made a mutual "It is possible," answered the counsel discovery of our secret; we vowed an eterlor; 66 for a young man who is not liable to nal attachment to each other; and declared, that error cannot have received from nature as is usual in similar cases, that death alone a pure heart or an amiable disposition. We should separate us. At this time fortune must all go through that. I was long oblig- seemed desirous of overwhelming me with ed to work without emolument in the courts her favors. I became chamberlain to the of justice before I could obtain an unim- duchesse dowager, and obtained a considerportant post with a slender salary. So able salary. The distance between me and things are managed. I knew it before hand. Phillipine was no longer so difficult to pass. I knew likewise that I must not let it be The general required my services; he gave known that I was poor, otherwise I should me his confidence, and his wife had no never have obtained the esteem that I might longer so many objections to make to her have merited. I therefore dressed my daughter's passion. A few months after, a self with a richness which was then call- cousin dying at Batavia left me a rich ined fine, and is now called elegant. I inha-heritance. His fortune was deposited at bited a handsome apartment; I appeared in Amsterdam, and would be at my disposal the most fashionable circles; I was not as soon as I should have established my even afraid occasionally to give rather ex- claim. I might now almost consider myself pensive parties. Notwithstanding, I kept a rich man; and I was happy beyond exclear of debts; and that is not a little to pression, not indeed on account of my forsay for a young man of my condition and my tune, but of my Phillipine. A young count, age. I everywhere represented myself as the favorite of the sovereign, aspired to her richer than I was; and this I was enabled hand. She then desired me to ask her of to do without much money. Nobody knew her parents. This was an effort for me. that I lived throughout the year worse than However, I prepared to make it; but it was the lowest mechanic. Bread and milk com- absolutely necessary that I should first reposed my constant nourishment; and yet I pair to Amsterdam, and this journey was a was very happy, for I had a thousand plea- source of uneasiness to me-first, because I sures. I was well received and loved; the could not bear the thoughts of leaving Philwomen saw me with pleasure-the men held lipine, and she was as much distressed at my me in esteem. Nevertheless I had only departure; and then because the presence found a single friend-a precious and tried of the count, young, rich, and powerful, friend: he was a lawyer named Schneemul- failed not to torment my imagination. At ler. We had but one heart, one soul. At the university he had already been wounded in a duel, on my account, and I knew that I might depend upon him. Of all the women, one alone occupied my thoughts. She was the daughter of General Van Ty- "That may be," replied the counsellor, ten; her name was Phillipine. I loved her" and shall soon be explained. Weeks, for several years in silence. It was almost months, passed away, and my friend and an idolatry, but my whole life was sancti- deputy did not write. I sent letter after fied by this love. Nobody knew the state of letter to him. It struck me that he might my heart; I durst not confide it to any one." be ill; friendship triumphed over love, and VOL. XIV. No. III.

27

last we found an expedient, and my friend Schneemuller set out for Amsterdam, with all the certificates and necessary powers." "But you have hardly ever mentioned this friend to me," said Frederick.

did.”

I departed for Amsterdam. Phillipine was "There! there! that is just as I myself overwhelmed with grief on my leaving her, though but for a few weeks; and when we "I had now no confidence in anything on parted, she fainted in the arms of her mo- earth. I believed not in the love of any ther. Throughout my journey, I made en- maiden; the friendship of any man; the quiries about Schneemuller; I found his duration of any happiness; for that which name inscribed on the registers of all the I had called impossible, had actually hapinns. I reached Amsterdam; he had stay-pened. From that time, I thought that ed there a considerable time. He had col- everything that was bad, was possible; and lected all the sums that had been left to when any one mentioned the most improme, and had converted them into bills of bable case to me, I said, it is possible. exchange; but I could nowhere meet with These three words contained my system of him. At last I learned, to my surprise, practical philosophy. I proposed to repeat that a man, like my friend, had embarked them on every occasion; and in so doing, I on board of an American vessel, about two found some consolation in the midst of my months before the period at which he had sorrow; these words forbade me to despair. concluded the affair of the succession. I learned that I must depend upon nothing exclaimed, "It cannot be; it is impossi- but myself. Canst thou ever,' said I someble!" As last, I was convinced of the re- times to myself- canst thou ever expect to ality of my misfortune. It was, in fact, quite be happy on earth? It is possible. possible; my best friend had deceived was my motto, and the sequel justified it. The opportunities of which I availed. myself with success did not elate me. I considered the instability of fortune, and the mortifications which await ambition, and I always said, it is possible. I never felt more pleasure than on the day of your birth, dear Frederic; but I moderated my transports, when I reflected, that death might tear you from me; or that you might, perhaps, turn out ill. I said to myself, 'It is possible!' and I prepared for every evil."

me."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Frederic. "I returned with my heart lacerated. I could have forgotten the loss of my money, but I could not forget the treachery of my friend. He had deprived me of all confidence in mankind. On my arrival, I should have hastened at once to General Tyten's, to see Phillipine, and talk over my misfortune with her, as I had already informed her of it by letter; but the evening was too far advanced.

"My host received me with joy. there any news?? asked I.

Is

"Not much. You know that Mademoiselle Van Tyten has been married a month?' said he.

"Impossible! married! The daughter of General Van Tyten? to whom? to the Count ?'

"Certainly replied he; and related to me all that had occurred.

"My Phillipine had not hesitated to accept the hand of the Count-young, rich, and in favor at court; and the marriage had taken place very shortly after I had written from Amsterdam, to inform the General of the villany of Schneemuller. I knew not how to believe my host, and could not refrain from again crying-impossible! But on the following day, every one confirmed the news."

"Frightful! shameful!" exclaimed Frederic, pressing his two hands upon his heart, as if to prevent it from bursting from his breast.

The old counsellor of state answered him:

This

"Thank God, my dear father, nothing of all that has happened."

"Happily it has not, my son; but might have happened. Since I have adopted this maxim, Taccept every moment of happiness as a present from heaven, without presuming on its continuance; and no misfortune takes me by surprise, for I am prepared for everything. Everything is possible and I would have you deeply penetrated with this conviction; but in order to be so, you must, by constant practice, imprint it on your organization, that it may be to you a second nature, otherwise it will avail you nothing, and you will remain without a decided character of mind."

"Men in general," continued the counsellor, "are always impelled, both in ordinary and in important transactions, by some sudden idea, which takes possession of them, they scarcely know how, and determines them so quickly, that they can really give no clear account of the motive which actuates them. The ignorant look upon this impulse as the inspiration of heaven, or, it may be, of hell. This is why there are but

few men, who know how they might act un- stances, this people might not forget the der certain circumstances. They cannot good actions of their prince, and that we tell; for, on the first shock of events, they might not see the electoral arms broken, are in a manner bewildered and amazed; and their place supplied by the tree of for they have no fixed principles, no deep liberty." conviction to guide their conduct. We ought then, to have a settled principle, were it and Stryk fell into disgrace. Every one only to give us confidence and tranquillity. said "Counsellor Stryk is a madman." Mine is already chosen-adopt it-follow my advice; that, at least, is in your power.

CHAPTER III.

THE PROPHET.

The elector turned away in a passion;

Some years after, the victorious French army passed the Rhine; the elector fled with all his court. The tree of liberty was planted on his departure, and the electoral arms were publicly broken by the people.

Stryk, who was known to be a man of abilities and experience, soon found employment in the new state of things, especially when it was recollected what had The favorite expression of the counsellor led to his disgrace. He was regarded, in sometimes drew him into disgrace; how- some measure, as a victim of the despotism ever, he was not easily discouraged. For which had at length fallen; the new system instance, he was one day at the council of gained strength, and the activity of the state, when the elector presided; it was at counseller contributed not a little to esthe time of the outbreak of the French revo-tablish it.

lution. When the sitting was concluded, However, notwithstanding the natural they were still talking of the recent events at ardor of his temperament, he never allowed Paris, Lyons, and Strasbourg; of the prodi- himself to be carried away by political engious changes which were taking place in the thusiasm. He attached himself to no party, French nation, once so devoted to its kings, and thus became suspected by all. The and now so full of joy at the fall of the jacobins called him a concealed royalist, throne. and the royalists considered him a jacobin "They are the most detestable nation in disguise. He laughed at these two on earth," cried the elector. "No other names, and attended to his duties. would have acted in that way. When There arrived, one day, in the new deI consider my own subjects-do you sup- partment, a French commissioner, to whom pose they could ever be seized with such the greatest honors were paid. Every one a frenzy? Would they ever renounce their pressed around him; every one endeavored allegiance to their prince? What say you, to appear of importance in his eyes. There counsellor ?" were not wanting people to hint at Stryk, The counsellor, whose attention happen- and the lukewarmness of his republican ed to be caught by something else at the principles. The commissioner being one moment, had only half heard the prince's day in a great assembly, where more than remarks. He shrugged his shoulders, and one toast was given to the liberty of the answered from habit" My lord, it is pos- world, the rights of nations, and the victosible."

The elector turned pale.

"How do you mean?" cried he. "Do you think the day will ever come, when my subjects will rejoice at my ruin ?"

ries of the republic, turned to Stryk, and said "I am surprised that the kings still dare to oppose us, since they are but accelerating their fall. The revolution will advance through the whole world. What "It is possible," again replied the coun- can they hope for? Do they dream that sellor, and, this time, after reflection. the great nation will again submit to the "Nothing can be certainly foreseen. No-yoke, and bring back the Bourbons? Madthing is more unstable than the opinion of men! Europe-all Europe, would perish a people; for it is composed of individuals first. What think you, citizen? Can any who have each an interest of their own, man of sense believe that the throne will which they prefer to that of the prince. A ever be re-established in France?" new order of things raises new hopes. "It is not likely, I own," said Stryk; Whatever affection the people may bear" but it is possible."

your highness, who certainly deserves it, I "How, possible?" exclaimed the comwould not swear that, under new circum-missioner, in a voice of thunder. "He who