ABSTRACT
We have read with pleasure a volume of Poems, lately published by Mr Keats, the author of Endymion. There is a boldness of fancy and a classical expression of language in the poetry of this gentleman, which, we think, entitle him to stand equally high in the estimation of public opinion, as the author of Rimini, or as he of the Dramatic Scenes. Our pleasure, however, was not unmingled with sentiments of extreme disapprobation. The faults characteristic of his school, are still held up to view with as much affectation, by Mr K., as if he were fearful of not coming in for his due share of singularity, obscurity, and conceit. But though of the same genus, his poetic labours are specifically different from those of his fellow labourers in the same vineyard. There is more reach of poetic capacity, more depth and intenseness of thought and feeling, with more classical power of expression, than what we discover in the writings of his master, or of his fellow pupil Mr Cornwall. Mr C. is compounded of imitation—of Shakespeare and of Mr Leigh Hunt. Mr H. is a familiar copier of Dry den, with the manner, only a more sparkling one, but without the pathos, of Crabbe. Mr K., on the contrary, is always himself, and as long as fair originality shall be thought superior to good imitation, he will always be preferred. The Poems consist of various Tales, ‘Lamia’, ‘Isabella’, ‘The Eve of St Agnes’, of which we think the first is the best. Hyperion, however, is the most powerful.
