For I will never by mean hands be led From this so famous field. Do you hear! Eats wholesome, sweet, and palatable food Off Glocester's golden dishes drinks pure wine, Be quick! Trumpets. Enter the Earl of CHESTER and Lodges soft? Knights. Chester. More than that, my gracious Full soldier as he is, and without peer In counsel, dreams too much among his books. It may read well, but sure 't is out of date To play the Alexander with Darius. Maud. Truth! I think so. By Heavens it shall not last! Chester. It would amaze your Highness now to mark How Glocester overstrains his courtesy Chester. For whose vast ingratitude To our late sovereign lord, your noble sire, The generous Earl condoles in his mishaps, And with a sort of lackeying friendliness, Talks off the mighty frowning from his brow, Woos him to hold a duet in a smile, 43 Chester. And for his perjury, Glocester has fit rewards-nay, I believe, He sets his bustling household's wits at work THE EVE OF ST. MARK A FRAGMENT In a letter to George and Georgiana Keats, dated February 14, 1819, Keats says that he means to send them in the next packet 'The Pot of Basil,' 'St. Agnes' Eve,' and 'if I should have finished it a little thing called "The Eve of St. Mark." He does not refer to the poem again directly, until writing from Winchester to the same, September 20, when he says: The great beauty of poetry is that it makes everything in every place interesting. The palatine Vienna and the abbotine Winchester are equally interesting. Some time since I began a poem called "The Eve of St. Mark," quite in the spirit of town quietude. I think I will give you the sensation of walking about an old country town in a coolish evening. I know not whether I shall ever finish it. I will give it as far as I have gone.' The poem appears never to have been finished, and was published in this fragmentary form in Life, Letters and Literary Remains. Mr. Forman gives an interesting extract from UPON a Sabbath-day it fell; a letter written him by Mr. Rossetti, which throws a possible light on the origin of the poem. He had been reading Keats's letters to Fanny Brawne, and writes: I should think it very conceivable - nay, I will say to myself highly probable and almost certain, — that the "Poem which I have in my head" referred to by Keats at page 106 was none other than the fragmentary "Eve of St. Mark." By the light of the extract, . . . I judge that the heroine remorseful after trifling with a sick and now absent lover-might make her way to the minster-porch to learn his fate by the spell, and perhaps see his figure enter but not return.' The extract from Keats's letter is as follows: If my health would bear it, I could write a Poem which I have in my head, which would be a consolation for people in such a situation as mine. I would show some one in Love as I am, with a person living in such Liberty as you do.' And the Covenantal Ark, With its many mysteries, Cherubim and golden mice. Bertha was a maiden fair, All was gloom, and silent all, 40 50 60 All was silent, all was gloom, And the warm angled winter-screen, The room with wildest forms and shades, 80 90 100 Men han before they wake in bliss, Whanne that hir friendes thinke him bound In crimped shroude farre under grounde; And how a litling child mote be A saint er its nativitie, Gif that the modre (God her blesse !) Kepen in solitarinesse, And kissen devoute the holy croce, 110 as HYPERION A FRAGMENT The first mention of Hyperion in Keats's letters occurs in that written on Christmas day, 1818, to his brother and sister in America, in which he says: 'I think you knew before you left England that my next subject would be "the fall of Hyperion." I went on a little with it last night, but it will take some time to get into the vein again. I will not give you any extracts because I wish the whole to make an impression.' He speaks of it a week later scarce begun.' Again, February 14, 1819, he writes to the same: 'I have not gone on with Hyperion · for to tell the truth I have not been in great cue for writing lately I must wait for the spring to rouse me up a little.' In August he told Bailey that he had been writing parts of Hyperion, but it is quite plain that he did little continuous work on it, but was drawn off by his tales and tragedy. From Winchester, September 22, 1819, he writes to Reynolds: 'I have given up Hyperion - there were too many Miltonic inversions in it Miltonic verse cannot be written but in an artful, or, rather, artist's humour. I wish to give myself up to other sensations. English ought to be kept up. It may be interesting to you to pick out some lines from Hyperion, and put a mark to the false beauty proceeding from art, and one || to the true voice of feeling. Upon my soul 't was imagination - I cannot make the distinction - every now and then there is a Miltonic intonation - but I cannot make the division properly.' From the silence regarding the poem in his after letters, it would appear that he left it at this stage. That Keats designed a large epic in Hyperion, which was to be in ten books, is plain, but it is also tolerably clear that he abandoned his purpose, for he did not actually forbid the publication of the fragment, though it is doubtful if the whole reason for his action is given in the Publishers' Advertisement to the 1820 volume, containing the poem. 'If any apology be thought necessary,' it is there said, 'for the appearance of the unfinished poem of Hyperion, the publishers beg to state that they alone are responsible, as it was printed at their particular request, and contrary to the wish of the author. The poem was intended to have been of equal length with Endymion, but the reception given to that work discouraged the author from proceeding.' Keats's friend Woodhouse, in his interleaved and annotated copy of Endymion, says of Hyperion: 'The poem if completed would have treated of the dethronement of Hyperion, the former God of the Sun, by Apollo, - and incidentally of those of Oceanus by Neptune, of Saturn by Jupiter, etc., and of the war of the Giants for Saturn's reëstablishment, with other events, of which we have but very dark hints in the mythological poets of Greece and Rome.' It is not impossible that besides the inertia produced by diminution of physical powers, another reason existed for Keats's failure to complete his poem. In the two full books which we have, he had stated so fully and explicitly the underlying thought in his interpretation of the myth that his interest in any delineation of a hopeless struggle might well have been unequal to the task. The speeches successively of Oceanus and Clymene which so enraged Enceladus were the masculine and feminine confessions that as their own supremacy over the antecedent chaos had been due to the law which made order expel disorder, so the supremacy of the new race of gods over them was due to the still further law 'That first in beauty should be first in might.' Nay, more, the vision they have is not of a restoration of the old order, but of the defeat of the new by some still more distant evolution. 'Another race may drive Our conquerors to mourn as we do now.' Of the relation of this poem to Hyperion, a Vision, see the Appendix, where the other fragment is printed. Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en 30 Achilles by the hair and bent his neck; Pedestal'd haply in a palace-court, 39 Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain: In solemn tenour and deep organ tone: |