Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, _10
When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies
In darkness?
When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies
In darkness?
Shelley
Nor shall it be your excuse, that, murderer as you
are, you have spoken daggers, but used none.
The circumstances of the closing scene of poor Keats's life were not
made known to me until the "Elegy" was ready for the press. I am given
to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received
from the criticism of "Endymion" was exasperated by the bitter sense
of unrequited benefits; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from
the stage of life, no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise
of his genius, than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his
care. He was accompanied to Rome, and attended in his last illness by
Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been
informed, 'almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect
to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend. ' Had I known these
circumstances before the completion of my poem, I should have been
tempted to add my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid
recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own
motives. Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from 'such stuff as
dreams are made of. ' His conduct is a golden augury of the success of
his future career--may the unextinguished Spirit of his illustrious
friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead against Oblivion
for his name!
***
ADONAIS.
I weep for Adonais--he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, _5
And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me
Died Adonais; till the Future dares
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity! "
2.
Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, _10
When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies
In darkness? where was lorn Urania
When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,
'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise
She sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath, _15
Rekindled all the fading melodies,
With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath,
He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of Death.
3.
Oh, weep for Adonais--he is dead!
Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep! _20
Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed
Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep
Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
Descend;--oh, dream not that the amorous Deep _25
Will yet restore him to the vital air;
Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.
4.
Most musical of mourners, weep again!
Lament anew, Urania! --He died,
Who was the Sire of an immortal strain, _30
Blind, old and lonely, when his country's pride,
The priest, the slave, and the liberticide,
Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite
Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified,
Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite _35
Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light.
5.
Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
Not all to that bright station dared to climb;
And happier they their happiness who knew,
Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time _40
In which suns perished; others more sublime,
Struck by the envious wrath of man or god,
Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;
And some yet live, treading the thorny road,
Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode. _45
6.
are, you have spoken daggers, but used none.
The circumstances of the closing scene of poor Keats's life were not
made known to me until the "Elegy" was ready for the press. I am given
to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received
from the criticism of "Endymion" was exasperated by the bitter sense
of unrequited benefits; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from
the stage of life, no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise
of his genius, than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his
care. He was accompanied to Rome, and attended in his last illness by
Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been
informed, 'almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect
to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend. ' Had I known these
circumstances before the completion of my poem, I should have been
tempted to add my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid
recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own
motives. Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from 'such stuff as
dreams are made of. ' His conduct is a golden augury of the success of
his future career--may the unextinguished Spirit of his illustrious
friend animate the creations of his pencil, and plead against Oblivion
for his name!
***
ADONAIS.
I weep for Adonais--he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, _5
And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me
Died Adonais; till the Future dares
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity! "
2.
Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, _10
When thy Son lay, pierced by the shaft which flies
In darkness? where was lorn Urania
When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,
'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise
She sate, while one, with soft enamoured breath, _15
Rekindled all the fading melodies,
With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath,
He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of Death.
3.
Oh, weep for Adonais--he is dead!
Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep! _20
Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed
Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep
Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
Descend;--oh, dream not that the amorous Deep _25
Will yet restore him to the vital air;
Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.
4.
Most musical of mourners, weep again!
Lament anew, Urania! --He died,
Who was the Sire of an immortal strain, _30
Blind, old and lonely, when his country's pride,
The priest, the slave, and the liberticide,
Trampled and mocked with many a loathed rite
Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified,
Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite _35
Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light.
5.
Most musical of mourners, weep anew!
Not all to that bright station dared to climb;
And happier they their happiness who knew,
Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time _40
In which suns perished; others more sublime,
Struck by the envious wrath of man or god,
Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime;
And some yet live, treading the thorny road,
Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode. _45
6.
