The Traveller slaked

His thirst from Rill or gushing Fount, and thanked

The Naiad. – Sunbeams, upon distant Hills

Gliding apace, with Shadows in their train,

Might, with small help from fancy, be transformed

Into fleet Oreads sporting visibly.

The Zephyrs, fanning as they passed, their wings,

Lacked not, for love, fair Objects, whom they wooed

With gentle whisper. Withered Boughs grotesque,

Stripped of their leaves and twigs by hoary age,

From depth of shaggy covert peeping forth

In the low vale, or on steep mountain side;

And, sometimes, intermixed with stirring horns,

Of the live Deer, or Goat’s depending beard;

These were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood

Of gamesome Deities! or Pan himself,

The simple Shepherd’s awe-inspiring God.

(ll. 840–81)

William Hazlitt

from Lecture 4, Lectures on the English Poets (1818)

Keats had met Hazlitt in the winter of 1816–17, and admired his ‘depth of Taste’. Hazlitt’s eight lectures were first given at the Surrey Institution. Keats was a frequent member of the audience, and attended this lecture, given on 10 February 1818 (L I, p. 227). The extract is taken from Works, ed. P. P. Howe (1930–34), V, p. 102:

If we have once enjoyed the cool shade of a tree, and been lulled into a deep repose by the sound of a brook running at its foot, we are sure that wherever we can find a shady stream, we can enjoy the same pleasure again; so that when we imagine these objects, we can easily form a mystic personification of the friendly power that inhabits them, Dryad or Naiad, offering its cool fountain or its tempting shade. Hence the origin of the Grecian mythology.

Hazlitt was sharply aware that Wordsworth did not share his own (or, indeed, Keats’s) enthusiasm for classical mythology. In Lecture 8 he remarked that the Lake Poets, in their search for the ‘natural and new’, had discarded ‘the whole heathen mythology’, and that they considered a classical allusion ‘as a piece of antiquated foppery’ (Works, edn cit., V, p. 162).

APPENDIX 2

The Two Prefaces to Endymion

(1) Published Version

Appeared with Endymion when it was published in May 1818.

Knowing within myself the manner in which this Poem has been produced, it is not without a feeling of regret that I make it public.

What manner I mean, will be quite clear to the reader, who must soon perceive great inexperience, immaturity, and every error denoting a feverish attempt, rather than a deed accomplished. The two first books, and indeed the two last, I feel sensible are not of such completion as to warrant their passing the press; nor should they if I thought a year’s castigation would do them any good; – it will not: the foundations are too sandy. It is just that this youngster should die away: a sad thought for me, if I had not some hope that while it is dwindling I may be plotting, and fitting myself for verses fit to live.

This may be speaking too presumptuously, and may deserve a punishment: but no feeling man will be forward to inflict it: he will leave me alone, with the conviction that there is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object. This is not written with the least atom of purpose to forestall criticisms of course, but from the desire I have to conciliate men who are competent to look, and who do look with a zealous eye, to the honour of English literature.

The imagination of a boy is healthy, and mature imagination of a man is healthy; but there is a space of life between, in which the soul is in a ferment, the character undecided, the way of life uncertain, the ambition thick-sighted: thence proceeds mawkishness, and all the thousand bitters which those men I speak of must necessarily taste in going over the following pages.

I hope I have not in too late a day touched the beautiful mythology of Greece, and dulled its brightness: for I wish to try once more, before I bid it farewell.

Teignmouth, 10 April 1818

(2) Rejected Dedication and Preface

Keats’s original preface and dedication met with strong objections from J. H. Reynolds, and his publishers, Taylor and Hessey. The Dedication originally read: ‘INSCRIBED,/ WITH EVERY FEELING OF PRIDE AND REGRET/ AND WITH ‘A BOWED MIND’,/ TO THE MEMORY OF/ THE MOST ENGLISH OF POETS EXCEPT SHAKESPEARE,/ THOMAS CHATTERTON.’ The preface, written 19 March 1818, and sent to the publishers on 21 March, originally read:

In a great nation, the work of an individual is of so little importance; his pleadings and excuses are so uninteresting; his ‘way of life’ such a nothing, that a preface seems a sort of impertinent bow to strangers who care nothing about it.

A preface, however, should be down in so many words; and such a one that by an eye-glance over the type the Reader may catch an idea of an Author’s modesty, and non-opinion of himself – which I sincerely hcpe may be seen in the few lines I have to write, notwithstanding many proverbs of many ages’ old which men find a great pleasure in receiving for gospel.

About a twelve month since, I published a little book of verses; it was read by some dozen of my friends who lik’d it; and some dozen whom I was unacquainted with, who did not. Now, when a dozen human beings are at words with another dozen, it becomes a matter of anxiety to side with one’s friends: – more especially when excited thereto by a great love of Poetry.

I fought under disadvantages. Before I began I had no inward feel of being able to finish; and as I proceeded my steps were all uncertain. So this Poem must rather be considered as an endeavour than a thing accomplish’d; a poor prologue to what, if I live, I humbly hope to do. In duty to the Public I should have kept it back for a year or two, knowing it to be so faulty: but I really cannot do so: – by repetition my favorite Passages sound vapid in my ears, and I would rather redeem myself with a new Poem – should this one be found of any interest.

I have to apologise to the lovers of simplicity for touching the spell of loveliness that hung about Endymion: if any of my lines plead for me with such people I shall be proud.

It has been too much the fashion of late to consider men bigotted and addicted to every word that may chance to escape their lips: now I here declare that I have not any particular affection for any particular phrase, word, or letter in the whole affair. I have written to please myself and in hopes to please others, and for a love of fame; if I neither please myself, nor others, nor get fame, of what consequence is Phraseology?

I would fain escape the bickerings that all works not exactly in chime, bring upon their begetters, – but this is not fair to expect, there must be conversation of some sort and to object shows a man’s consequence. In case of a London drizzle or a Scotch Mist, the following quotation from Marston may perhaps ’stead me as an umbrella for an hour or so: ‘let it be the Curtesy of my peruser rather to pity my self hindering labours than to malice me.’

One word more: – for we cannot help seeing our own affairs in every point of view – Should any one call my dedication to Chatterton affected I answer as followeth: ‘Were I dead, sir, I should like a Book dedicated to me’ –

Teignmouth March 19th 1818

Keats explained why his preface had taken such a self-dismissive tone, and gives an account of the reasons for changing it, in his letter to Reynolds, 9 April 1818 (L I, pp. 266–7):

Since you all agree that the thing is bad, it must be so – though I am not aware there is anything like Hunt in it, (and if there is, it is my natural way, and I have something in common with Hunt) look it over again and examine into the motives, the seeds from which any one sentence sprung – I have not the slightest feel of humility towards the Public – or to any thing in existence, – but the eternal Being, the Principle of Beauty, – and the Memory of great Men – When I am writing for myself for mere the Moment’s enjoyment, perhaps nature has its course with me – but a Preface is written to the Public; a thing I cannot help looking upon as an Enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of Hostility – If I write a Preface in a supple or subdued style, it will not be in character with me as a public speaker – I wo[ul]d be subdued before my friends, and thank them for subduing me – but among Multitudes of Men – I have no feel of stooping, I hate the idea of humility to them –

I never wrote one single Line of Poetry with the least Shadow of public thought.

Forgive me for vexing you and making such a Trojan Horse of such a Trifle, both with respect to the matter in Question, and myself – but it eases me to tell you – I could not live without the love of my friends. – I would jump down Aetna for any great Public good – but I hate a Mawkish Popularity. – I cannot be subdued before them.