dinary crisis in human affairs upon the development of so great a school of poetry in England. But we are unable ourselves to see the connection, so far as the earlier group is concerned. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, and the lesser minds who were connected with them, felt, indeed, the momentary influence which a great contemporary event must inevitably exercise upon sensitive spirits; but their minds were cast in an entirely different mould, and save that Wordsworth probably got from his Revolution experiences, the fine theory which runs through much of his poetry, as to the uses of misery and suffering, and their beneficial, if painful, agency on the world, it is impossible to point to any effect which the convulsions of political life had upon them. But Byron and Shelley were the children of the Revolution. The spirit of wild discontent on one side and wilder visionary longing for a new system and form of life on the other had got into their veins. Obedience, discipline and, order, and all the established sanctities of home and family, of law and government, were to them tyrannical prejudices of the past. Their minds were restless all their life long with that fever which they had sucked in at their birth, which so many secondary circumstances account for, yet which may well be believed to have taken its origin from the wild ferment in the air, the hot and fiery commotion, the blood and flames that reddened earth when those angels of divination, confused yet receptive, first lighted upon it and took their earliest survey of its affairs through wondering childish eyes. They did VOL. III. K not know what they would be at, any more than the populace did which found a vent for its blind misery in spreading the like around it, and exacted a wild vicarious atonement indiscriminately from the innocent, for the wrongs done by the guilty. To both these uneasy souls the conditions of Revolution lasted all their lives long: they never got out of that fatal atmosphere. Wildly rejecting all guidance, without leader or following to steady them upon their way, they had but their own uncertain instincts, their own wild impulses, to guide them; and to glorify these impulses, and make of them the only divine guides, was the object, so far as they had an object, of much of their poetry and of the greater part of their lives. Even what they loved became repulsive to them when it was associated with the idea of duty. The fantastic freedom of a classic Faun, to roam where it would, to enjoy as it would, to dart away at every impulse, was in Shelley's ethereal nature, only half human and altogether irresponsible: though his intellect tangled him in theories of political justice, in fantastic schemes for the amelioration of the race, and his child's heart of pity and tenderness made him incapable of denying kindness or help to any supplicant -save those who had a lawful claim upon his service. Byron was of the earth earthy-a totally different kind of being. He did not stand upon the right of doing wrong, like his companion spirit; he followed the law of his appetites and senses, without any doubt on the point that it was bad to do so, but a braggart's pleasure in the badness, as a proof of his courage and BYRON. power of rebellion against heaven itself, which he was never unwilling to appease privately by acknowledgment of his insubordination. His was in every way the lower side of the great rebellion. He had all the restless uneasiness, all the sense of a world out of joint, of wrongs to be avenged, and bitter opposition to all authorities and exactions of duty; but he was a cynic where Shelley was an enthusiast, and hoped nothing from the race, to which notwithstanding he too showed a contemptuous prodigal pity when any individual pang came under his eyes. Peace to their troubled spirits! The heart bleeds to contemplate them, so young, so full of noble gifts, dropped so early out of all operation of those experiences of life which might have brought a higher development and perhaps a nobler element of tranquillity and satisfaction into their lives. We are far from believing in such waste of genius as that their noble faculties are lost. By this time, perhaps-who can tell?—these changed and perfected voices, in fullest harmony and measure, are preparing for us songs to be sung in heaven. the PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, born 1792; died 1822. The Revolt of Islam, 1817. Epipsychidion, 1821. Julian and Maddalo (published after his death), 1824. Adonais. Smaller poems. Many fragments in prose, unpublished. Other fragments to be found in the Essays, Letters, etc., edited by Mrs. Shelley; and in the Shelley Memorials, edited by Lady Shelley. GEORGE GORDON BYRON, born 1788; died 1824. Published Songs of Idleness, 1807. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, 1809. Childe Harold, Cantos I. and II., 1812. The Giaour, 1813. The Bride of Abydos, 1813. Corsair, 1814. Lara (published with Rogers' Jacqueline), 1814. Siege of Corinth, 1816. Parisina, 1816. Childe Harold, Canto III., and Prisoner of Chillon, CHAPTER IV. in years, JOHN KEATS. THE youngest of this young group, connected with Shelley by natural links of congenial spirit and temperament, as well as by some actual acquaintance and kindness, but fiercely thrust aside and disowned by Byron, cannot be dissociated from their larger and, young though they were, maturer figures. The distance between twenty-four and thirty is not very much but it makes a marvellous difference in development, and even to Shelley Keats was not much more than a boy full of ambition and promise. John Keats was born in 1795, and was consequently three years younger than Shelley, and seven years younger than Byron. He was not like them, born, as people say, a gentleman," but belonged to that middle class which, in those days, kept itself much more closely within its own boundaries, and did not invade the high places as now. His family had much respectability and a little money, but the parents both died early, leaving their children to the care of strangers, and bequeathing a delicate constitution to two at least of their One of his brothers died at a still younger age than the poet, and he himself seems to have sons. |