MEMORIALS OF JOHN KEATS.
To the Editor.
Sir,—The anecdote of Keats, which appeared in a late number of your Table Book,[356] recalled his image to my “mind’s eye” as vividly, through the tear of regret, as the long-buried pictures on the walls of Pompeii appear when water is thrown over them; and I turned to reperuse the written record of my feelings, at hearing him spoken of a few months since. These lines I trouble you with, thinking they may gratify the feelings of some one of his friends, and trusting their homeliness may be pardoned for the sake of the feeling which dictated them.
I should also be glad of this opportunity to express the wishes of many of his admirers for a portrait of Keats. There are two in existence; one, a spirited profile sketch by Haydon; the other, a beautiful miniature by his friend Severn; but neither have been engraved. Mr. Severn’s return to England will probably produce some memorial of his “span of life,” and a more satisfactory account of his last moments than can be gleaned from report. The opportunity that would thus be afforded of giving to the world the posthumous remains of his genius, will, it is to be hoped, not be neglected. Such a volume would be incomplete without a portrait; which, if seen by the most prejudiced of his literary opponents, would turn the laugh of contempt into a look of thoughtful regret. Hoping my rhymes will not frustrate my wishes, I remain, sir,
Your obliged correspondent,
and humble servant,
Gaston.
Sept. 13, 1827.
Extemporaneous Lines, suggested by some thoughts and recollections of John Keats, the Poet.
Thy name, dear Keats, is not forgotten quite
E’en in this dreary pause—Fame’s dark twilight—
The space betwixt death’s starry-vaulted sky,
And the bright dawn of immortality.
That time when tear and elegy lie cold
Upon the barren tomb, and ere enrolled
Thy name upon the list of honoured men,
In the world’s volume writ with History’s lasting pen.