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 60 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 65 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 70 of my poem, I should have been
tempted to add my feeble tribute of applause to the more solid
recompense which the virtuous man finds in the recollection of his own
motives. Mr. Severn can dispense with a reward from 'such stuff as
dreams are made of.
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