_ We
perpetually
come upon this old
belief--that the souls of the murdered cannot rest in peace.
Keats
212. _bream_, a kind of fish found in lakes and deep water. Obviously
Keats was not an angler.
_freshets_, little streams of fresh water.
PAGE 63. l. 217. Notice the reticence with which the mere fact of the
murder is stated--no details given. Keats wants the prevailing feeling
to be one of pity rather than of horror.
ll. 219-20. _Ah . . . loneliness.
_ We
perpetually
come upon this old
belief--that the souls of the murdered cannot rest in peace.
Cf.
_Hamlet_, I. v. 8, &c.
l. 221. _break-covert . . . sin._ The blood-hounds employed for tracking
down a murderer will find him under any concealment, and never rest till
he is found. So restless is the soul of the victim.
