AND OF ITS PREFACE.
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he expression of my indignation and sympathy. I will allow myself afirst and last word on the subject of calumny as it relates to me. As anauthor I have dared and invited censure. If I understand myself, I havewritten neither for profit nor for fame: I have employed my poeticalcompositions and publications simply as the instruments of that sympathybetween myself and others which the ardent and unbounded love Icherished for my kind incited me to acquire. I expected all sorts ofstupidity and insolent contempt from those.... These compositions(excepting the tragedy of _The Cenci_, which was written rather to trymy powers than to unburden my full heart) are insufficiently....Commendation then perhaps they deserve, even from their bitterestenemies; but they have not obtained any corresponding popularity. As aman, I shrink from notice and regard: the ebb and flow of the worldvexes me: I desire to be left in peace. Persecution, contumely, andcalumny, have been heaped upon me in profuse measure; and domesticconspiracy and legal oppression have violated in my person the mostsacred rights of nature and humanity. The bigot will say it was therecompense of my errors--the man of the world will call it the result ofmy imprudence: but never upon one head.... Reviewers, with some rare exceptions, are a most stupid and malignantrace. As a bankrupt thief turns thief-taker in despair, so anunsuccessful author turns critic. But a young spirit panting for fame,doubtful of its powers, and certain only of its aspirations, isill-qualified to assign its true value to the sneer of this world. Heknows not that such stuff as this is of the abortive and monstrousbirths which time consumes as fast as it produces. He sees the truth andfalsehood, the merits and demerits, of his case, inextricablyentangled.... No personal offence should have drawn from me this publiccomment upon such stuff. The offence of this poor victim seems to have consisted solely in hisintimacy with Leigh Hunt, Mr. Hazlitt, and some other enemies ofdespotism and superstition. My friend Hunt has a very hard skull tocrack, and will take a deal of killing. I do not know much of Mr.Hazlitt, but.... I knew personally but little of Keats; but, on the news of hissituation, I wrote to him, suggesting the propriety of trying theItalian climate, and inviting him to join me. Unfortunately he did notallow me. * * * * * 1. And the green paradise which western wavesEmbosom in their ever-wailing sweep,--Talking of freedom to their tongueless caves,Or to the spirits which within them keepA record of the wrongs which, though they sleep, 5Die not, but dream of retribution,--heardHis hymns, and echoing them from steep to steep,Kept-- * * * * * 2. And ever as he went he swept a lyreOf unaccustomed shape, and ... stringsNow like the ... of impetuous fireWhich shakes the forest with its murmurings,Now like the rush of the aërial wings 5Of the enamoured wind among the treen,Whispering unimaginable things,And dying on the streams of dew sereneWhich feed the unmown meads with ever-during green. 3. And then came one of sweet and earnest looks,Whose soft smiles to his dark and night-like eyesWere as the clear and ever-living brooksAre to the obscure fountains whence they rise,Showing how pure they are: a paradise 5Of happy truth upon his forehead lowLay, making wisdom lovely, in the guiseOf earth-awakening morn upon the browOf star-deserted heaven while ocean gleams below. 4. His song, though very sweet, was low and faint,A simple strain. * * * * * 5. A mighty Phantasm, half concealedIn darkness of his own exceeding light,Which clothed his awful presence unrevealed,Charioted on the ... nightOf thunder-smoke, whose skirts were chrysolite. 5 6. And like a sudden meteor which outstripsThe splendour-wingèd chariot of the sun,... eclipseThe armies of the golden stars, each onePavilioned in its tent of light--all strewn 5Over the chasms of blue night--
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