The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1870-04-16
Keats and his Contemporaries.

Here at Shanklin in the Isle of Wight
Keats wrote Laitudes." As he found re-
pose amidst these leafy soitutles, and in
the home of those who loved him, he could
muse on the emptiness of the gittering
aims of tia world. Perhaps it was as he
lay on this messy ledge, tasting the lazy
Incidence of the brook, and watching, as
from shelter the restless sea over there,
so typical Of his past life, that he saw the
three Spirits-the fair maid whose name
was Love, the pale youth whose name was
Ambition, and the "maiden most I'M
meek" Posey.
They faded, and forseoth, l wanted
wings:
O folly. What is love and where is it
And for that poor Ambition. it springs
From mans little hearts short fever
fit:
For Pescy.-no-she has not .isy-
vt least for me-so sweet as drowsy
moons.
And evenings stepped in the honeyed indie
lence:
o for an age SO sheltered from annoy
That | may never know how change the
moons.
Or hear the voice of busy common sense
Bat the three Spirits had their work to do
with Keats, and his rest at Shanklin was
only as bird might light on a green tree,
on its way to some fairer land. When Col
eridge and Leigh Hunt, walking alone
met Keats and shook hands with him,
Coleridge said to Hunt the moment after
There is death in that hand" 1t needed
only such cruel deMuncatiens as jealousy
oftener inspires than the interests of liter
azure, to bring out the death thus lurking
about the poor youth. The wild brier Of
revolutionary liberty which shot up in
Wilkes's time had in the following genera
ton borne wild roses: its blooms were
Shelley, Celerdge, Leigh Hunt and Keats.
Conservatism hated them ALL Coleridge
compromised with it, but the uncompro-
missing three were hunted out of the ceun-
try as by blood-hounds. We will 90 at
once to Rome,' said Keats, at last; Il
knew my end approaches, and the continual
visible tyranny of this government prevents
me from having any peace Of mind. l
could not lie quietly here. will not even
leave my bones in the midst of this despot-
ism So there he rests by the side of his
great friend, on whose tomb is written
Cor Cordium." How his true brothers
encircled him with their arms to save
" Let me have him here at Pisa begged
Shelley. Severn watched over him like the
tendercst brother. Tell him. wrote
Leigh Hunt, she is only before us On the
road, as lie was in everything else; or
whether you tell him the latter or no, tell
him the former, and add that we shall
never forget he was SO, and that we are
coming after him. The tears are again in
my ewes. and | must not afford to shed
them Keats was already dead; alas,
that his fading senses could not have been
reached by that letter-the most beautiful
and touching, think, ever written from
poet to poet.
Among all these, one poet. if he must be
still so called, stood with a malignant scowl
on his face. . No more Keats, | entreat.
wrote Byron to the reviewer, the poison of
whose pen he had himself known. "Flay
him alive: if some of you don't, must skin
him myself. There's no bearing the drive
ling idiotism of the manikin. The blow
is struck, and Keats lay dead Then Byron
writes to Murray: 20 l would not be the
person who wrote that homcdal article for
all the honor and glory in the world
Amidst the tears thot fell upon the dead
face of Keats came that Mephisto laugh in
. Don juan
IT'S strange the mind, that very fiery
particle.
Should let itself be snuffed out by an
article
1t is not altogether true. Keats had con-
sumption by inheritance, and the reviews,
joined to disappointed love, brought it out.
But there is hardly light that is cast upon
Byron under which he does not seem
blacker, as every light that has been cast
on Keats has made him appear brighter
Byron was altsays mean He could pre-
tend affection to Shelley, in Italy, while he
was secretly joining in the cry against him
in England. He betrayed Leigh Hunt; he
betrayed every hand that ever touched his.
The only good thing that can be said of
him is, that he finally came to despise him
self; and he probably entered the Greek
struggle, where he fell, from sheer despera
ton at the glimpse of his own degradation.
As for this new revelation by Mrs. Stowe,
| don't see that it should sink Byron
another degree in the opinion of any one
were it proved true; it would suggest the
plea Of diseased instincts which is the best
that can be afforded for his crimes; but his
cowartlice, his affection, his deliberate
mcanness-pah.
\ WORD TO PARENTs.-Remember that
Io in "a, il,-