crack, and will take a deal of killing. I do not know much of Mr.
Hazlitt, but....

I knew personally but little of Keats; but, on the news of his
situation, I wrote to him, suggesting the propriety of trying the
Italian climate, and inviting him to join me. Unfortunately he did not
allow me.

* * * * *




1.

And the green paradise which western waves
Embosom in their ever-wailing sweep,--
Talking of freedom to their tongueless caves,
Or to the spirits which within them keep
A record of the wrongs which, though they sleep, 5
Die not, but dream of retribution,--heard
His hymns, and echoing them from steep to steep,
Kept--

* * * * *


2.

And ever as he went he swept a lyre