which disgusted me extremely with the Government for placing such a nest of debauchery in so beautiful a place. I asked a man on the coach about this, and he said that the people had been spoiled. In the room where I slept at Newport, I found this on the window; "O Isle spoilt by the milatary!" The wind is in a sulky fit, and I feel that it would be no bad thing to be the favourite of some Fairy, who would give one the power of seeing how our friends got on at a distance. I should like, of all loves, a sketch of you, and Tom, and George in ink : which Haydon will do if you tell him how I want them. From want of regular rest I have been rather narvus, and the passage in Lear, "Do you not hear the sea! has haunted me intensely. "It keeps eternal whisperings around," &c.* April, 18th. I'll tell you what-on the 23rd was Shakespeare born. Now if I should receive a letter from you, and another from my brother on that day, 'twould be a parlous good thing. Whenever you write, say a word or two on some passage in Shakespeare that may have come rather new to you, which must be continually happening, notwithstanding that we read the same play forty times—for instance, the following from the Tempest never struck me so forcibly as at present: * See the "Literary Remains." "Urchins Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee." How can I help bringing to your mind the line "In the dark backward and abysm of time." I find I cannot exist without Poetry—without eternal Poetry; half the day will not do the whole of it. I began with a little, but habit has made me a leviathan. I had become all in a tremble from not having written anything of late: the Sonnet over-leaf (i. e. on the preceding page) did me good; I slept the better last night for it; this morning, however, I am nearly as bad again. Just now I opened Spenser, and the first lines I saw were these "The noble heart that harbours virtuous thought, And is with child of glorious great intent, 66 Let me know particularly about Haydon, ask him to write to me about Hunt, if it be only ten lines. I hope all is well. I shall forthwith begin my “ Endymion," which I hope I shall have got some way with before you come, when we will read our verses in a delightful place, I have set my heart upon, near the Castle. Give my love to your sisters severally. Your sincere friend, JOHN KEATS. (Without date, but written early in May, 1817). MY DEAR HAYDON, MARGATE. "Let Fame, that all pant after in their lives, Live registered upon our brazen tombs, And so grace us in the disguise of death; To think that I have no right to couple myself with you in this speech would be death to me, so I have e'en written it, and I pray God that our "brazen tombs" be nigh neighbours.* It cannot be long first; the "endeavour of this present breath will soon be over, and yet it is as well to breathe freely during our sojourn it is as well if you have not been teased with that money affair, that bill-pestilence. However, I must think that difficulties nerve the spirit of a man; they make our prime objects a refuge as well as a passion; the trumpet of Fame is as a tower of strength, the ambitious bloweth it, and is safe. I suppose, by your telling me not to give way to forebodings, George has been telling you what I have lately said in my *To the copy of this letter, given me by Mr. Haydon on the 14th of May, 1846, a note was affixed at this place, in the words "Perhaps they may be."-Alas! no. letters to him; truth is, I have been in such a state of mind as to read over my lines and to hate them. I am one that "gathereth samphire, dreadful trade;" the cliff of Poetry towers above me; yet when my brother reads some of Pope's Homer, or Plutarch's Lives, they seem like music to mine. I read and write about eight hours a-day. There is an old saying, "Well begun is half done; " 'tis a bad one; I would use instead, "Not begun at all till half done;" so, according to that, I have not begun my Poem, and consequently, à priori, can say nothing about it; thank God, I do begin ardently, when I leave off, notwithstanding my occasional depressions, and I hope for the support of a high power while I climb this little eminence, and especially in my years of more momentous labour. I remember your saying that you had notions of a good Genius presiding over you. I have lately had the same thought, for things which, done half at random, are afterwards confirmed by my judgment in a dozen features of propriety. Is it too daring to fancy Shakespeare this presider? when in the Isle of Wight I met with a Shakespeare in the passage of the house at which I lodged. It comes nearer to my idea of him than any I have seen; I was but there a week, yet the old woman made me take it with me, though I went off in a hurry. Do you not think this ominous of good? I am glad you say every man of great views is at times tormented as I am. (Sunday after). This morning I received a letter from George, by which it appears that money troubles are to follow up for some time to come-perhaps for always those vexations are a great hindrance to one; they are not, like envy and detraction, stimulants to further exertion, as being immediately relative and reflected on at the same time with the prime object ; but rather like a nettle-leaf or two in your bed. So now I revoke my promise of finishing my Poem by autumn, which I should have done had I gone on as I have done. But I cannot write while my spirit is fevered in a contrary direction, and I am now sure of having plenty of it this summer; at this moment I am in no enviable situation. I feel that I am not in a mood to write any to-day, and it appears that the loss of it is the beginning of all sorts of irregularities. I am extremely glad that a time must come when everything will leave not a wrack behind. You tell me never to despair. I wish it was as easy for me to observe this saying: truth is, I have a horrid morbidity of temperament, which has shown itself at intervals; it is, I have no doubt, the greatest stumbling-block I have to fear; I may surer say, it is likely to be the cause of my disappointment. However, every ill has its share of good; this, my bane, |