66

English poets of good reputation, and his powers made patient by ill-health." Lord Byron, like all were by no means fully ripe. He had an exube- men who make their personal consciousness the rance of fancy truly wonderful-the independence only ground of judgment, often erred in his estito choose his own path, and an honest ambition mate of character. He does not appear to have to win the laurel which he felt was within his made any allowance for the difference of circumgrasp. He published his first volume at the age stances and disposition between himself and Keats. of twenty-one. His political opinions and those of He says the effect of the first severe criticism upon his associates, drew upon his literary efforts the him, was rage, resistance and redress, not desmost severe vituperation; and when Endymion pondency and despair." Very likely. He was appeared in 1818, it was furiously assailed by the then in high health-had rank and money to susgreat critical authority of the day. Gifford de- tain him, and nothing at issue but literary fame. clared his intention of attacking it, even before its Keats was poor, obscurely born, his health broken, appearance. The lowly birth of the poet, the cha- and his heart concentered on an enterprise affectracter of his friends, and the humble nature of his ing his every interest. His spirit also was too early education, were turned into arrows, dipped in gentle to find relief in satire. Byron looked at his gall, to rankle in his sensitive heart. The courte- beautiful hand with pride, as Nature's sign of highsies of private life were invaded, and the grossest birth: Keats gazed with sadness upon his-its calumnies resorted to, in order to carry out the veins swollen by disease; he used to say it was system of abuse then prevalent. With good health, the hand of a man of fifty. In this one contrast, and a reasonable prospect of continued existence, Keats could have faced the storm. He could have lived down opprobrium, and awed a venal press by the shadow of his mature genius. But feeling that the seeds of death were already within him, and having striven in vain

'to uprear

Love's standard on the battlements of song,'

we have a token of their diversity of condition. To the one, poetry was a graceful appendage-to the other, all in all the one, if unsuccessful with the muses, could fall back upon many an object secured by his social position and versatile nature; the other, if baffled with his lyre, was left no resource but the ungenial pathway of lowly toil :Byron was a poet at intervals; Keats had wed himself "to things of light, from infancy." He he no longer hoped "to leave his name upon the lived but twenty-four years. His education, as far harp-string." He felt that he must pass away un- as formal teaching was concerned, he derived vindicated. The criticism to which his death is chiefly from a school at Enfield. At an early age commonly ascribed, was but the last of a series of he was apprenticed to a surgeon; but his fine abilipainful experience. It is very unjust to select one, ties soon brought him in contact with several of and that the least dignified of his trials, and repre- the leading minds of the day. His happiest hours sent him as thus unworthily vanquished. It was appear to have been those dedicated to friendly "in battalion" and not singly, that troubles over- converse with congenial spirits, and strolling along powered him. It was physical infirmity rather a pleasant lane between Hampstead and Highgate. than morbid feeling, that gave fatal effect to criti- This walk has become classic ground, frequented cal abuse. The "article" was the climax, rather as it has been by such men as Coleridge, Lamb than the arbiter of his fate. Byron's facetious and Keats. Although the latter was convinced rhymes, therefore, pass for nothing. Keats was that his disease was fatal for three years before not "extinguished by an article." It is untrue his death, he was induced by the hope of alleviathat he was "laughed into Lethe by some quaint ting the symptoms and refreshing his mind with review." His woes were only aggravated by ridi- change of scene, to embark for Naples. He carcule, and his last days embittered by the obloquy ried with him a breaking heart. Assiduous devoattempted to be cast on his name. It is obvious, tion at the bed-side of a dying brother, had wasted therefore, that he was no lack-a-daisical sufferer. his little remaining strength. There was now an In fact, the state of his mind was inferred rather aimless fever in his life. The beautiful fragment than known. He kept his feelings to himself, and of Hyperion, he had not courage to complete, since they preyed upon him the more. He possessed the cold reception of his earlier poems. In fact, too much delicacy to intrude his sorrows, even he seems to have gone abroad only to die. The upon intimate friends. He "bore his faculties so luxuriant beauty of Naples, and the solemn atmosmeekly," that to a kindly observer his silent griefs phere of Rome must have pressed upon his senses could not but "challenge pity." There is a strength with most pathetic import. No heart was ever of quiet endurance as significant of courage, as the more alive to the spell of loneliness or the charm most daring feats of prowess. Keats displayed of antiquity; but how full of "thoughts too deep this energy of mind to a degree which completely for tears," must have been their language when blunts the edge of sarcasm as applied to his sensi- hallowed by the shadow of death! bility. He had, says one of his friends, a face in which was visible "an eager power, checked and

A few years after, one of the kings of literature came from the same northern isle, to seek renova

tion in that gentle clime. But his goal was reached. He had enjoyed a long and bright ca reer. The affectionate hopes of millions followed his feeble steps. He could look back upon many years of successful achievement; and was about to depart, like the sun at his setting, encircled with the light of glory. The younger heir of fame came a weary pilgrim to the same scenes, to die in his youth, like a star that rises only to twinkle for an hour, and disappear forever. Keats was fortunate in a companion. An artist who had known him long, appreciated his character, and was blessed with a rich fund of animal spirits and kindly feeling, "sustained and soothed" the sufferer, until he tranquilly expired at Rome, Dec. 27th, 1820. How many have witnessed, in imagination, the departure of the gifted young exile! The sweet words he uttered, his patience and gentleness and poetry beamed forth to the last. He whispered his epitaph to his friend-"My name was writ in water;" and already felt the daisies growing over him! The physicians marvelled at his tenacity of life, when the vital energies were so exhausted, and said he must have long lived upon the strength of his spirit.

Sometimes a lovely day occurs in the very depth of winter at Rome. The deep blue sky and soft wind are there more than ever alluring. Such a day I chose to visit the grave of Keats, guided to its vicinity by the massive, grey pyramid, called the monument of Caius Cestus. A plain white

grave-stone, in the midst of numerous other memo

man of modern times, finds far more readers in this age than a classical dictionary. On the other hand, Keats found in the field he selected, a freedom of range which his warm fancy craved. Among the Grecian gods he could indulge in the most luxuriant invention; he could draw pictures of beauty, and visions of bliss, and tales of passion, according to an ideal standard. In this enchanted ground he need not conform to the actual, but his thoughts could be "as free of wing as Eden's garden bird;" and his muse emulate "the large utterance of the early gods." We have frequent evidence of his love of these themes:

Behold! he walks

On heaven's pavement; brotherly he talks
To divine powers: from his hand, full fain,
Juno's proud birds are pecking early grain:
He tries the nerve of Phoebus' golden bow,
And asketh where the golden apples grow:
Upon his arm he braces Pallas' shield,
And strives in vain to unsettle and wield
A jovian thunderbolt.*

It was his delight to see

Phoebus in the morning;

Or flushed Aurora in the roseate dawning;
Or a white Naiad in a rippling stream;

Or a rapt seraph in a moonlight beam.†

In these ambitious attempts, the young poet paid little attention to artificial rules of versification. The lines run into one another with scarcely any view to the effect of the pause. The rhymes seem often forced. Fancy rather than form-sentiment rials of foreign sepulture, indicates the spot. The rather than art, predominate. The couplets are turf around was of a most vivid emerald-the sky often illegitimately joined; but their offspring, above serenely azure-the air balmy, and the born"in the lusty stealth of nature," frequently scene almost deserted. The sigh of the breeze o'ertop more regular aspirants for the favor of the through a cypress, or the chirrup of a single bird, drawn forth by the unwonted warmth, alone broke the profound quiet of the cemetry. It seemed as if Nature was atoning to the departed for the world's harshness, by keeping a vigil of peaceful beauty at his grave.

muses.

The mould of his early creation was a secondary object with Keats; but it should be borne in mind that good rhymes are common, but It is conmen of original poetical power, rare. ceded also, that an occasional unauthorized expres

He

sion must be added to the sin of careless versificaTo every poetical mind there seems to be a petion. Few critics can be expected to pass, unlashed, 66 'minish," culiar nucleus for thought. The sympathies flow such words as "lush," "wingedly," in some particular direction; and the glow and graspable," "hoveringly," and the like. imagery of song, are excited in a certain manner seems to have often written without forethought according to individual taste and character. To or revision. There is a very spontaneous air Scott, chivalry and all its associations, were in-about his long poems. They flow out like a spring spiring to Wordsworth, abstract nature. Cow- set loose, winding along in a vagrant and free This kind of poetical audacity is very per loved to group his feelings and fancies around course. moral truth; and Pope, to weave into verse the provoking to critics, and doubtless incited them not phenomena of social life. The poetical sympa- a little in their endeavors to crush the new-fledged thies of Keats were strongly attracted by Grecian warbler. Palpable as are the artistical defects of mythology. This was unfortunate as regards his most of the poetry of Keats, its bold and singular prospect of fame. Neptune and Venus do not win beauties are equally apparent. And herein conthe popular attention like Tam O'Shanter, Mar-sists the shame of these "invisible infallibilities,” mion, or Childe Harold. Diverse as are these as some one calls reviewers,—that with the sense personages, they are all far nearer to the heart of to perceive the crude and incorrect structure, they man; they come greatly more within the common lacked soul to feel the exquisite sentiment and view than the pagan deities. The life of a great

* Endymion.

Epistle to Mathew.

sweet imagery of these poems. They should have remembered, that a good versifier is no uncommon personage; but a creative genius is not vouchsafed to this planet every day. They should have acknowledged, that study can reform a careless style; but that no such process can give birth to thoughts of poetic beauty. While, as experienced observers, they suggested an improved manner to the young bard, they should have cordially-ay, reverently hailed the credentials Keats proffered of his high mission, and blest the advent of a poet-soul. A few glances over these poems would have furnished rich proofs of their promise, and won attention from their defects. Here and there a loving eye could certainly have discerned perfect gems, even of style, and often perceived a freshness, freedom, and power of fancy, unequalled in English verse. But blind attachment to a school of poetry-as if such a thing were possible-political considerations, the factitious influence of birth, companionship and fortune, were suffered to magnify every fault, and dwarf all excellence. There are those who cannot welcome an angel with ruffled wings!

Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den,
Are things to brood on with more ardency
Than the death-day of empires.

He ne'er is crowned

With immortality, who fears to follow
Where airy voices lead.

Now indeed

His senses had swooned off: he did not heed
The sudden silence, or the whispers low,
Or the old eyes dissolving at his woe,

Or anxious calls, or close of trembling palms, Or maiden's sigh, that grief itself embalms. Such turns of thought and sweet fancies, and they abound in the poetry of Keats, would suggest to any tasteful and unprejudiced mind, the warmest hopes of poetical success. They occur indeed in the midst of blemishes, and the way to them is sometimes fatiguing; but all the serious deficiences of the poet flow from the exuberance, rather than the paucity of his gifts. A charge of effeminacy has sometimes been preferred against his warmer pictures and the tone of his sentiment. This is to be ascribed, in a great measure, to his want of A casual survey will discover felicitous touches bodily energy. A very sensitive and earnest heart of description, enough to indicate to any candid in a feeble body, is apt to give birth, in fanciful mind, how full of poetry was the soul of Keats. creations, to an over-softness of portraiture. There He speaks of the "patient brilliance of the moon," is sometimes too much of the languor of reacting "and the quaint mossiness of aged roots." Whoso passion. Endymion and other of his personages, feels not the force of such words, will look in vain faint and sleep, and almost "die, like Raphael, in for the poetic, either in life or literature. Here the arms of love." It is said that Keats acknoware a few traces of the footsteps of genius, taken at random, like wild-flowers from among the grass:

ledged, with regret, having occasionally written when his mind was not sufficiently braced to its task, and when a luxuriant imagination was suffered to expend itself, unsustained by due judg ment. Such lapses were, however, but occasional and temporary. The poet's organization from its very delicacy, seems to have been peculiarly favorable to luxurious impressions. We can easily imagine such a man, basking with delight in the fragrant sunshine of Spring, or wrapt in quiet delight over a Grecian vase or a beautiful countenance. He has one or two festal descriptions which are quite delicious:

-recline

Upon these living flowers. Here is wine
Alive with sparkles-never, I aver,
Since Ariadne was a vintager,

So cool a purple: taste these juicy pears,
Sent me by sad Vertumnus, when his fears
Were high about Pomona: here is cream
Deepening to richness from a snowy gleam;
Sweeter than that nurse Almathea skimm'd
For the boy Jupiter: and here undimmed
By any touch, a bunch of blooming plums
Ready to melt between an infant's gums:
And here is manna pick'd from Syrian trees
In starlight by the three Hesperides.*

And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,
In blanched linen, smooth and lavender'd,

* Endymion.

While he from forth the closet brought a heap
Of candied apple, quince, and plum and gourd;
With jellies sweeter than the creamy curd,
And lucid syrops tinct with cinnamon ;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
From silken Sarmacand to cedar'd Lebanon.*

a stained glass-window, is acknowledged to be un-
rivalled:

Full on the casement shone the wintry moon,
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,
As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon:
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,
Save wings, for heaven.

What poet ever described a maiden unrobing in
terms of such delicate yet graphic beauty as these?
Anon her heart revives: her vespers done,
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees
Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:
Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, &c.

had "

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

Perhaps, there is more cant than strict truth, in what is often said about the early promise of a poet who dies young. Perhaps we sometimes mistake the fruit for the blossom. What though the minstrel has struck his harp but for an hour? Perchance that brief space has called forth its deepest harmony. What though the early-called has not written an epic or a tragedy? If we look thoughtfully at his lyric or sonnet, we shall discover, it may be, the essence of his genius there preserved. What if he died young? There is a poetry that cannot survive youth. We are ever lamenting that an admired bard does not undertake Nor is this all. The poet follows the fair creaa great work, when it is more than probable that ture to her couch, and describes her soul in sleep, as such an office is not adapted to his powers. ThanaBlissfully haven'd both from joy and pain; topsis is as precious as if it formed part of some Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray; long poem, which few would read. If it is obBlinded alike from sunshine and from rain, jected that the poetical efforts of our day are frag- As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. mentary, let it be remembered that our time, our With this last exquisite metaphor, I take leave reading, and our very life, partake of the same of Keats. His genius was a flower of uncommon character. It is not the amount nor the form, but richness; and, although he meekly laments that it the intrinsic excellence of poetic creations, which no depth to strike in," its bloom and perfume is our highest concern. Some of the most living will never cease to charm-for he has truly said, and true verses in our language, have been written that in youth. It is the divine peculiarity of the art that it demands not, but rather repudiates the lessons of life that prudence extols. The young poet sometimes executes what the old philosopher cannot appreciate. In the freshness of the soul are often taken its noblest flights. The dreams of youth are sometimes the most truly glorious efforts of the human mind. The poetry of Keats is not all a "feverish attempt;" it is often a mature result. He has at least left one poem, which, for invention, structure, imagery, and all the elements of the art, is as faultless and as rare a gem as can be found in English literature. Judged by its own law, it is a production of itself sufficient to stamp its author with the name of a poet. If it does not live, it will be because taste and the love of the beautiful have died. The Eve of St. Agnes is a delightful and original performance. What an idea of cold the first stanza conveys: St. Agnes' Eve-Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Numb were the Beadman's fingers, while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense from a censer old, Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,

Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. This description of moonlight streaming through * Eve of St. Agneз.

VOL. VIII-6

HISTORY OF THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA.

BY WM. W. ANDREWS, AMERICAN CONSUL AT MALTA.
PART II.

When information was received at Rome of the execution of Sir Thomas More, and Cardinal Fisher, who suffered for their attachment to their ancient religion, and for their steady opposition to considering it on the part of the English King an any encroachments upon it, the Roman Pontiff, inexcusable crime, summoned him and all his adherents, to appear at his capital, within ninety days, to answer for their various offences. Should they not heed this command, they were, one and all, to be excommunicated; the King was to be deprived of his crown, and his kingdom laid under an interdict; his issue by Anne Boleyn was to be declared illegitimate; his leagues with all Catholic Princes to be void; and his kingdom given to any invader. His nobility were commanded to revolt, and his subjects were absolved from their oaths of allegiance; his commerce with foreign States was to be interrupted by any who might choose to do it; and the effects of his subjects, who were to be enslaved, were to be appropriated to the use and

from a

benefit of those who might obtain possession of free to leave without the permission of their superithem. These severe ordinances were not to be ors; their vows being null; as these were taken when immediately promulgated to the world; but, being they were too young to act and judge for themmade known to Henry VIII, were held in terro- selves. But as few availed themselves of this rem over him, to be used in case his future ac- liberty, and as the King was desirous of increasing tions required their enforcement. Paul III, in his revenue, he had recourse to his Parliament; threatening to depose the British King, used only which passed a law in February, 1536, by which the power which had been conceded to his prede-"three hundred and seventy-six monasteries were cessors for upwards of five hundred years; and in- suppressed; and their revenues, amounting to upstances had repeatedly occurred, as we learn from wards of thirty-two thousand pounds a year," were Burnet's History of the Reformation, not only in granted to the Crown, as were also all their plate Spain and Italy, France and Germany, but also in and other goods, which were reckoned at half a England, where monarchs had been deposed by million of dollars more. Some few monks, who popes, and their possessions given to other princes. had their property confiscated, threw themselves on An instance in point, is that of Childeric III of the mercy of their monarch, and received small penFrance, who was dethroned, and his crown be- sions from the wrecks of their general ruin. Burstowed on Pepin. During the reign of Gregory net states, that, by the destruction of these lesser VII, it was assumed "as a right and prerogative monasteries, they all being under a thousand dolof the Papal crown, to remove princes, and absolve lars yearly rent, ten thousand monks were, subjects from their oaths of allegiance, and set up state of comparative ease, thrown upon the world others in their stead." And it is remarked, that as mendicants, not having the means wherewith to whenever, after that period, any Sovereign went get their daily bread. While we will allow that contrary to the wishes of the Pope, his seat on his many of the priests were of dissolute habits, and throne was very precarious; while if he conformed that many of the nuns in different convents were to the Pontiff's request, he was sure, on all occa- frail in their characters; yet it is evident, in this sions, to receive the countenance and support of general persecution, that many of those who sufthe Holy See. fered were religious people, who lived a life of seFortunate it was for Henry, that at the time clusion, and were principally engaged in assisting he rebelled from the Pope's authority, and despised the poor as far as their limited means would allow. his threats, Francis of France and the Spanish The assertion in Parliament of Stokely, bishop of Emperor were at war with each other. Their London, who strongly advocated the suppression power was so equally balanced, that they could not of all the monasteries in England, "that the lesser interfere, even if they had wished, in the affairs of houses were as thorns soon plucked up; but the England. The British King was left free to act great abbots were like petrified old oaks; yet they as he pleased; and, being of a generous disposi- must needs follow; and so would others do in tion and extravagant habits, he made himself be- Christendom before many years were passed," was loved by his Parliament; and through their means, not long in being verified. The abbots of the larhe defied the Papal See, and obtained over his ger convents, fearing that if the King was suffered subjects an absolute sway. to remain quiet, he might turn his attention towards The only opposition which merited the atten- them, created at one time a general rebellion tion of Henry, was that offered by the friars among the people, which at first appeared of a seand priests, who were connected with the nu-rious nature. But by the exertions of the Duke merous nunneries and convents which were scat-of Norfolk, the risings in the different counties tered over the whole extent of his kingdom.- were quelled; and the leaders of them, Lords To frustrate their attempts he appointed Cromwell, who was Secretary of State, to act also as Vicegerent; and by virtue of this new authority, he could name commissioners to visit all the reli- When Henry received information that the regious houses in England, and make known their bels had been kept in arms, by the assistance of abuses. The most active in this service were some of the monks, who had not only yielded all Layton, London, Gage and Price. Rigid refor- their revenues, but had even melted the plate bemists as these men were, and armed with innume-longing to their monasteries for this unlawful purrable questions, all tending to entrap unsuspecting pose, he appointed a committee to inquire into the nuns and pious priests, they rigidly conformed to the wishes of their Sovereign; consequently, the result of their labors was known even before they had commenced their inquiries.

Darcy and Hussy, with one Ask, a gentleman who had evinced in the rebellion much perseverance and courage, were executed.

state of these institutions, and to learn if the rumors which had reached him of their treason were true. By the report of these commissioners, and from some records now in existence, it would apBy the King's command, the doors of all the nun-pear that much was discovered which was deroganeries were thrown open,—and all the inmates who tory to the character of Christians. Among others, were under the age of four and twenty, were declared the confessions of the Prior and Benedictines of