_O Hesperus! O happy star! to bend O'er Helen's bosom in the tranced west, To match the hours heave by upon her breast, And at her parted lip for dreams attend-- If dawn defraud thee, how shall I be deemed, Who house within that bosom, and am dreamed?_ For weeks I thought these lines remarkable; For weeks I put on airs and called myself A bard: till on a day, as it befell, I took a small green Moxon from the shelf At random, opened at a casual place, And found my young illusions face to face With this:--'_Still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever,--or else swoon to death._' O gulf not to be crossed by taking thought! O heights by toil not to be overcome! Great Keats, unto your altar straight I brought My speech, and from the shrine departed dumb. --And yet sometimes I think you played it hard Upon a rather hopeful minor bard. NUGAE OXONIENSES. TWILIGHT. By W--ll--m C--wp--r. 'Tis evening. See with its resorting throng Rude Carfax teems, and waistcoats, visited With too-familiar elbow, swell the curse Vortiginous. The boating man returns, His rawness growing with experience-- Strange union! and directs the optic glass Not unresponsive to Jemima's charms, Who wheels obdurate, in his mimic chaise Perambulant, the child. The gouty cit, Asthmatical, with elevated cane Pursues the unregarding tram, as one Who, having heard a hurdy-gurdy, girds His loins and hunts the hurdy-gurdy-man, Blaspheming. Now the clangorous bell proclaims The _Times or Chronicle_, and Rauca screams The latest horrid murder in the ear Of nervous dons expectant of the urn And mild domestic muffin. To the Parks Drags the slow Ladies' School, consuming time In passing given points. Here glow the lamps, And tea-spoons clatter to the cosy hum Of scientific circles. Here resounds The football-field with its discordant train, The crowd that cheers but not discriminates, As ever into touch the ball returns And shrieks the whistle, while the game proceeds With fine irregularity well worth The paltry shilling.-- Draw the curtains close While I resume the night-cap dear to all Familiar with my illustrated works. WILLALOO. By E. A. P.