ABSTRACT
This chapter discusses a melancholy subject—the death of Mr. John Keats. Mr. Keats was, in the truest sense of the word, A Poet.—There is but a small portion of the public acquainted with the writings of this young man; yet they were full of high imagination and delicate fancy, and his images were beautiful and more entirely his own, perhaps, than those of any living writer whatever. There were many, however, even among the critics living, who held his powers in high estimation; and it was well observed by the Editor of the Edinburgh Review, that there was no other Author whatever, whose writings would form so good a test by which to try the love which any one professed to bear towards poetry. After his arrival in Italy, he revived for a brief period, but soon afterwards declined, and sunk gradually into his grave.
