growth. His best work was at the end of his career, and he died at the moment the signs of maturity were showing themselves. He had no creed save that of resistance to tyranny, and he defined nothing; but he had noble visions, a beautiful voice, a splendid faith. With all the faults of his youth, and they were of tragic seriousness, there was something angelic about him, and he made life richer and more splendid.

THE SHELLEY MEMORIAL

Designed by E. Onslow Ford.

KEATS’ LOVE OF BEAUTY

KEATS AT HOME

THE GRAVE OF KEATS

Keats died in Rome on February 23, 1821, and was buried in the Protestant cemetery. His last request was that on his tombstone there be carved, “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.”

The poets of the first quarter of the last century died young: Byron at thirty-six, Shelley at thirty, Keats at twenty-six. What Byron’s future would have been no one will venture to predict; but Shelley and Keats were rapidly gaining in power when the end came. The first was the fiery leader of revolt, the second was the idealist, concerned, not with present oppressive traditions, but with untrammeled freedom of thought and of life.

Keats cared for none of these things: he was in love with beauty. One must go back to Spenser to find an Englishman of his sensitiveness to beauty, and he was much simpler than Spenser, whose moral idealism expressed itself in a refined symbolism. Keats was the son of a stable keeper, went to school for a few years, and was conspicuous chiefly for his pugnacious disposition. The impression that he was a weak, sentimental boy and man is without foundation. He became the victim of a heart-breaking disease; but his was essentially a brave and manly nature.

THE LIFE MASK OF KEATS

Attributed to Haydon by the artist Joseph Severn. From a cast made in New York, presumably from a cast of the original. An electrotype of the mask is in the National Portrait Gallery, London.

His later work is notable not only for its beauty, but for its solidity of texture. He became an apprentice to a surgeon. Through his acquaintance with a family of cultivated people he became a reader of good books, and discovered his vocation when he opened the “Faerie Queene.” That poem did not make him a poet: it opened his eyes to the fact that he was a poet. “Endymion,” published when he was twenty-three years old, was immature in construction and diction; but it was the first bloom of a beautiful genius. “Hyperion,” which came near the end, is a fragment, for he was still very young in knowledge of life and the practice of art; but it has nobility and a certain largeness of handling that predict strength as well as art. The first line of “Endymion” showed where he stood as a poet, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever,” and on his deathbed he said, “I have loved the principle of beauty in all things.” He not only loved it, but gave it illustration in short poems of unsurpassed perfection. “The Eve of St. Agnes,” the “Ode to a Nightingale,” the “Ode to Autumn,” the “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” have a deathless loveliness and are stamped by that finality of shape which marks the best pieces of Greek sculpture. Matthew Arnold said of these shorter poems that they had “that rounded perfection and felicity of loveliness of which Shakespeare is the great master.”

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

WORDSWORTH’S BIRTHPLACE IN THE LAKE REGION

WORDSWORTH’S MOTHER

By Margaret Gillies.

While these poets died before maturity, Wordsworth, Tennyson, and Browning had ample time in which to harvest all the fruits of their genius. Wordsworth’s life was in striking contrast to the lives of his brilliant contemporaries. Born before them, he lived twenty-seven years after the oldest of them died. Byron was an extensive traveler, Shelley lived five years in Italy, and Keats’ last months were spent in the same country. Byron died in Greece, Shelley was drowned in the Gulf of Spezia (spet´-see-eh), and Keats came to the end of his sufferings in the little room that looks out on the Spanish steps which are gay with flowers in the Roman spring.

DOVE COTTAGE

At Town End, Grasmere.

GRASMERE CHURCH

With the exception of a brief residence in France and Germany, Wordsworth spent eighty years on English soil, and mainly in the Lake Country. He was born in the North, went to school in a little village near Lake Windermere, and spent his life at Grasmere and at Rydal Mount only three or four miles distant. His life was free from struggles, either mental or material, and was one of meditation and quiet growth. In contrast with Byron, he was a poet of reflection; unlike Shelley, he saw Nature as the intimate companion of the spirit; and he sought beauty in the simplicity of obscure lives and daily experience rather than in the richness of imagination or in that fairy land of mythology which laid its spell on Keats. He was deeply religious, and saw Nature as a revelation of the divine mind; a visible and material creation, penetrated and filled by the divine spirit. His years of inspiration were few; but his conscientious industry was untiring. In his creative moods he wrote some of the noblest and most perfect poetry in English; in his moods of faithful industry he wrote much thoughtful but unpoetic verse. In the latter class fall his long poems; in the former class fall many of his shorter pieces, in which lofty thought and deep feeling are fused in an art of exquisite simplicity and purity. “The Prelude” and “The Excursion” contain passages of great beauty; but they are valuable chiefly to students. In the ten years which followed the publication of the “Lyrical Ballads” in 1798 he wrote many poems which are for all people and for all time. Such poetry as “Lucy,” “To a Highland Girl,” “The Solitary Reaper,” “To a Cuckoo,” “I Wandered Lonely,” “She Was a Phantom of Delight,” “Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shade,” ought to be planted in the minds of children as refuges from the commonplace, and as a protection from all that is cheap and inferior in life and art. In the “Ode to Duty,” that on “Intimations of Immortality,” in many stanzas from the long poems, and in a group of sonnets, Nature and Life are interpreted in an art which is both commanding and beautiful. At his best, in depth of thought, loyalty to truth, spiritual insight, purity of feeling, and that simplicity which is the last achievement of art, Wordsworth belongs among