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AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF Adonais was printed, with Shelley's name, at Pisa, with the types of Didot, as early as July 13, 1821, and copies were sent to London to be issued by Ollier. The poem was composed at Pisa between the last days of May and June 11 or, at the latest, June 16, 1821. Keats died February 23, 1821, at Rome. The Pisan text is modified by changes made by Mrs. Shelley, 18391, also partially incorporated in Galignani's edition of Coleridge, Shelley and Keats, Paris, 1829, for which it is presumed she had Shelley's authority. A few fragments are among the Boscombe MSS.


'Αστήρ πρίν μεν έλαμπες ένα ζώοισιν εώος.
Νύν δε θανών, λάμπεις έσπερος εν φθιμένοις.



Φάρμακον ήλθε, Βίων, τοτί σον στόμα, φάρμακον είδες:
Πώς τευ τοις χείλεσσι ποτέδραμε, κούκ έγλυκάνθη;
Τίς δε βροτος τοσσούτον ανάμερος, ή κεράσαι τοι,
*Η δούναι λαλέοντι το φάρμακον και έκφυγεν ωδάν.


It is my intention to subjoin to the London edition of this poem a criticism upon the claims of its lamented object to be classed among the writers of the highest genius who have adorned our age. My known repugnance to the narrow principles of taste on which several of his earlier compositions were modelled prove, at least, that I am an impartial judge. I consider the fragment of Hyperion as second to nothing that was ever produced by a writer of the same years.

John Keats died at Rome of a consumption, in his twentyfourth year, on the of 1821 ; and was buried in the romantic and lonely cemetery of the Protestants in that city, under the pyramid which is the tonıb of Cestius and the massy walls and towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed the circuit of ancient Rome. The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

The genius of the lamented person to whose memory I have dedicated these unworthy verses was not less delicate and fragile than it was beautiful ; and where cankerworms abound what wonder if its young flower was blighted in the bud ? The savage criticism on his Endymion, which appeared in the Quarterly Review, produced the most violent effect on his susceptible mind; the agitation thus originated ended in the rupture of a blood-vessel in the lungs ; a rapid consumption ensued, and the succeeding acknowledgments from more candid critics of the true greatness of his powers were ineffectual to heal the wound thus wantonly inflicted.

It may be well said that these wretched men know not what they do. They scatter their insults and their slanders without heed as to whether the poisoned shaft lights on a heart made callous by many blows, or one like Keats's composed of more penetrable stuff. One of their associates is, to my knowledge, a most base and unprincipled calumniator. As to Endymion, was it a poem, whatever might be its defects, to be treated contemptuously by those who had celebrated with various degrees of complacency and panegyric Paris and Woman and a Syrian Tale, and Mrs. Lefanu and Mr. Barrett and Mr. Howard Payne and a long list of the illustrious obscure ? Are these the men who in their venal good nature presumed to draw a parallel between the Rev. Mr. Milman and Lord Byron ? What gnat did they strain at here after having swallowed all those camels ? Against what woman taken in adultery dares the foremost of these literary prostitutes to cast his opprobrious stone ? Miserable man! you, one of the meanest, have wantonly defaced one of the noblest specimens of the workmanship of God. Nor shall it be your excuse that, murderer as you are, you have spoken daggers but used none.

The circumstances of the closing scene of poor Keats's life were not made known to me until the Elegy was ready for the press. I am given to understand that the wound which his sensitive spirit had received from the criticism of Endymion was exasperated by the bitter sense of unrequited benefits; the poor fellow seems to have been hooted from the stage of life no less by those on whom he had wasted the promise of his genius than those on whom he had lavished his fortune and his care. He was accompanied to Rome and attended in his last illness by Mr. Severn, a young artist of the highest promise, who, I have been informed, “almost risked his own life, and sacrificed every prospect to unwearied attendance upon his dying friend.” Had I known these circumstances before the completion of

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