Introduction to Hyperion
This poem deals with the overthrow of the primaeval order of Gods by Jupiter, son of Saturn the old king. There are many versions of the fable in Greek mythology, and there are many sources from which it may have come to Keats. At school he is said to have known the classical dictionary by heart, but his inspiration is more likely to have been due to his later reading of the Elizabethan poets, and their translations of classic story. One thing is certain, that he did not confine himself to any one authority, nor did he consider it necessary to be circumscribed by authorities at all. He used, rather than followed, the Greek fable, dealing freely with it and giving it his own interpretation.
The situation when the poem opens is as follows:—Saturn, king of the gods, has been driven from Olympus down into a deep dell, by his son Jupiter, who has seized and used his father’s weapon, the thunderbolt. A similar fate has overtaken nearly all his brethren, who are called by Keats Titans and Giants indiscriminately, though in Greek mythology the two races are quite distinct. These Titans are the children of Tellus and Coelus, the earth and sky, thus representing, as it were, the first birth of form and personality from formless nature. Before the separation of earth and sky, Chaos, a confusion of the elements of all things, had reigned supreme. One only of the Titans, Hyperion the sun-god, still keeps his kingdom, and he is about to be superseded by young Apollo, the god of light and song.
In the second book we hear Oceanus and Clymene his daughter tell how both were defeated not by battle or violence, but by the irresistible beauty of their dispossessors; and from this Oceanus deduces ‘the eternal law, that first in beauty should be first in might’. He recalls the fact that Saturn himself was not the first ruler, but received his kingdom from his parents, the earth and sky, and he prophesies that progress will continue in the overthrow of Jove by a yet brighter and better order. Enceladus is, however, furious at what he considers a cowardly acceptance of their fate, and urges his brethren to resist.
In Book I we saw Hyperion, though still a god, distressed by portents, and now in Book III we see the rise to divinity of his successor, the young Apollo. The poem breaks off short at the moment of Apollo’s metamorphosis, and how Keats intended to complete it we can never know.
It is certain that he originally meant to write an epic in ten books, and the publisher’s remark[245:1] at the beginning of the 1820 volume would lead us to think that he was in the same mind when he wrote the poem. This statement, however, must be altogether discounted, as Keats, in his copy of the poems, crossed it right out and wrote above, ‘I had no part in this; I was ill at the time.’
Moreover, the last sentence (from ‘but’ to ‘proceeding’) he bracketed, writing below, ‘This is a lie.’
This, together with other evidence external and internal, has led Dr. de Sélincourt to the conclusion that Keats had modified his plan and, when he was writing the poem, intended to conclude it in four books. Of the probable contents of the one-and-half unwritten books Mr. de Sélincourt writes: ‘I conceive that Apollo, now conscious of his divinity, would have gone to Olympus, heard from the lips of Jove of his newly-acquired supremacy, and been called upon by the rebel three to secure the kingdom that awaited him. He would have gone forth to meet Hyperion, who, struck by the power of supreme beauty, would have found resistance impossible. Critics have inclined to take for granted the supposition that an actual battle was contemplated by Keats, but I do not believe that such was, at least, his final intention. In the first place, he had the example of Milton, whom he was studying very closely, to warn him of its dangers; in the second, if Hyperion had been meant to fight he would hardly be represented as already, before the battle, shorn of much of his strength; thus making the victory of Apollo depend upon his enemy’s unnatural weakness and not upon his own strength. One may add that a combat would have been completely alien to the whole idea of the poem as Keats conceived it, and as, in fact, it is universally interpreted from the speech of Oceanus in the second book. The resistance of Enceladus and the Giants, themselves rebels against an order already established, would have been dealt with summarily, and the poem would have closed with a description of the new age which had been inaugurated by the triumph of the Olympians, and, in particular, of Apollo the god of light and song.’
The central idea, then, of the poem is that the new age triumphs over the old by virtue of its acknowledged superiority—that intellectual supremacy makes physical force feel its power and yield. Dignity and moral conquest lies, for the conquered, in the capacity to recognize the truth and look upon the inevitable undismayed.
Keats broke the poem off because it was too ‘Miltonic’, and it is easy to see what he meant. Not only does the treatment of the subject recall that of Paradise Lost, the council of the fallen gods bearing special resemblance to that of the fallen angels in Book II of Milton’s epic, but in its style and syntax the influence of Milton is everywhere apparent. It is to be seen in the restraint and concentration of the language, which is in marked contrast to the wordiness of Keats’s early work, as well as in the constant use of classical constructions,[247:1] Miltonic inversions[247:2] and repetitions,[247:3] and in occasional reminiscences of actual lines and phrases in Paradise Lost.[247:4]
In Hyperion we see, too, the influence of the study of Greek sculpture upon Keats’s mind and art. This study had taught him that the highest beauty is not incompatible with definiteness of form and clearness of detail. To his romantic appreciation of mystery was now added an equal sense of the importance of simplicity, form, and proportion, these being, from its nature, inevitable characteristics of the art of sculpture. So we see that again and again the figures described in Hyperion are like great statues—clear-cut, massive, and motionless. Such are the pictures of Saturn and Thea in Book I, and of each of the group of Titans at the opening of Book II.
Striking too is Keats’s very Greek identification of the gods with the powers of Nature which they represent. It is this attitude of mind which has led some people—Shelley and Landor among them—to declare Keats, in spite of his ignorance of the language, the most truly Greek of all English poets. Very beautiful instances of this are the sunset and sunrise in Book I, when the departure of the sun-god and his return to earth are so described that the pictures we see are of an evening and morning sky, an angry sunset, and a grey and misty dawn.
But neither Miltonic nor Greek is Keats’s marvellous treatment of nature as he feels, and makes us feel, the magic of its mystery in such a picture as that of the
tall oaks
Branch-charmèd by the earnest stars,
or of the
dismal cirque
Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,
When the chill rain begins at shut of eve,
In dull November, and their chancel vault,
The heaven itself, is blinded throughout night.
This Keats, and Keats alone, could do; and his achievement is unique in throwing all the glamour of romance over a fragment ‘sublime as Aeschylus’.
NOTES ON HYPERION.
Book I.
Page 145. ll. 2-3. By thus giving us a vivid picture of the changing day—at morning, noon, and night—Keats makes us realize the terrible loneliness and gloom of a place too deep to feel these changes.
l. 10. See how the sense is expressed in the cadence of the line.
Page 146. l. 11. voiceless. As if it felt and knew, and were deliberately silent.
ll. 13, 14. Influence of Greek sculpture. See Introduction, p. 248.
l. 18. nerveless... dead. Cf. Eve of St. Agnes, l. 12, note.
l. 19. realmless eyes. The tragedy of his fall is felt in every feature.
ll. 20, 21. Earth, His ancient mother. Tellus. See Introduction, p. 244.
Page 147. l. 27. Amazon. The Amazons were a warlike race of women of whom many traditions exist. On the frieze of the Mausoleum (British Museum) they are seen warring with the Centaurs.
l. 30. Ixion’s wheel. For insolence to Jove, Ixion was tied to an ever-revolving wheel in Hell.
l. 31. Memphian sphinx. Memphis was a town in Egypt near to which the pyramids were built. A sphinx is a great stone image with human head and breast and the body of a lion.
Page 148. ll. 60-3. The thunderbolts, being Jove’s own weapons, are unwilling to be used against their former master.
Page 149. l. 74. branch-charmed... stars. All the magic of the still night is here.
ll. 76-8. Save... wave. See how the gust of wind comes and goes in the rise and fall of these lines, which begin and end on the same sound.
Page 150. l. 86. See Introduction, p. 248.
l. 94. aspen-malady, trembling like the leaves of the aspen-poplar.
Page 151. ll. 98 seq. Cf. King Lear. Throughout the figure of Saturn—the old man robbed of his kingdom—reminds us of Lear, and sometimes we seem to detect actual reminiscences of Shakespeare’s treatment. Cf. Hyperion, i. 98; and King Lear, i. iv. 248-52.
l. 102. front, forehead.
l. 105. nervous, used in its original sense of powerful, sinewy.
ll. 107 seq. In Saturn’s reign was the Golden Age.
Page 152. l. 125. of ripe progress, near at hand.
l. 129. metropolitan, around the chief city.
l. 131. strings in hollow shells. The first stringed instruments were said to be made of tortoise-shells with strings stretched across.
Page 153. l. 145. chaos. The confusion of elements from which the world was created. See Paradise Lost, i. 891-919.
l. 147. rebel three. Jove, Neptune, and Pluto.
Page 154. l. 152. covert. Cf. Isabella, l. 221; Eve of St. Agnes, l. 188.
ll. 156-7. All the dignity and majesty of the goddess is in this comparison.
Page 155. l. 171. gloom-bird, the owl, whose cry is supposed to portend death. Cf. Milton’s method of description, ‘Not that fair field,’ etc. Paradise Lost, iv. 268.
l. 172. familiar visiting, ghostly apparition.
Page 157. ll. 205-8. Cf. the opening of the gates of heaven. Paradise Lost, vii. 205-7.
ll. 213 seq. See Introduction, p. 248.
Page 158. l. 228. effigies, visions.
l. 230. O... pools. A picture of inimitable chilly horror.
l. 238. fanes. Cf. Psyche, l. 50.
Page 159. l. 246. Tellus... robes, the earth mantled by the salt sea.
Page 160. ll. 274-7. colure. One of two great circles supposed to intersect at right angles at the poles. The nadir is the lowest point in the heavens and the zenith is the highest.
Page 161. ll. 279-80. with labouring... centuries. By studying the sky for many hundreds of years wise men found there signs and symbols which they read and interpreted.
Page 162. l. 298. demesnes. Cf. Lamia, ii. 155, note.
ll. 302-4. all along... faint. As in l. 286, the god and the sunrise are indistinguishable to Keats. We see them both, and both in one. See Introduction, p. 248.
l. 302. rack, a drifting mass of distant clouds. Cf. Lamia, i. 178, and Tempest, iv. i. 156.
Page 163. ll. 311-12. the powers... creating. Coelus and Terra (or Tellus), the sky and earth.
Page 164. l. 345. Before... murmur. Before the string is drawn tight to let the arrow fly.
Page 165. l. 349. region-whisper, whisper from the wide air.
Book II.
Page 167. l. 4. Cybele, the wife of Saturn.
Page 168. l. 17. stubborn’d, made strong, a characteristic coinage of Keats, after the Elizabethan manner; cf. Romeo and Juliet, iv. i. 16.
l. 28. gurge, whirlpool.
Page 169. l. 35. Of... moor, suggested by Druid stones near Keswick.
l. 37. chancel vault. As if they stood in a great temple domed by the sky.
Page 171. l. 66. Shadow’d, literally and also metaphorically, in the darkness of his wrath.
l. 70. that second war. An indication that Keats did not intend to recount this ‘second war’; it is not likely that he would have forestalled its chief incident.
l. 78. Ops, the same as Cybele.
l. 79. No shape distinguishable. Cf. Paradise Lost, ii. 666-8.
Page 172. l. 97. mortal, making him mortal.
l. 98. A disanointing poison, taking away his kingship and his godhead.
Page 173. ll. 116-17. There is... voice. Cf. i. 72-8. The mysterious grandeur of the wind in the trees, whether in calm or storm.
Page 174. ll. 133-5. that old... darkness. Uranus was the same as Coelus, the god of the sky. The ‘book’ is the sky, from which ancient sages drew their lore. Cf. i. 277-80.
Page 175. l. 153. palpable, having material existence; literally, touchable.
Page 176. l. 159. unseen parent dear. Coelus, since the air is invisible.
l. 168. no... grove. ‘Sophist and sage’ suggests the philosophers of ancient Greece.
l. 170. locks not oozy. Cf. Lycidas, l. 175, ‘oozy locks’. This use of the negative is a reminiscence of Milton.
ll. 171-2. murmurs... sands. In this description of the god’s utterance is the whole spirit of the element which he personifies.
Page 177. ll. 182-7. Wise as Saturn was, the greatness of his power had prevented him from realizing that he was neither the beginning nor the end, but a link in the chain of progress.
Page 178. ll. 203-5. In their hour of downfall a new dominion is revealed to them—a dominion of the soul which rules so long as it is not afraid to see and know.
l. 207. though once chiefs. Though Chaos and Darkness once had the sovereignty. From Chaos and Darkness developed Heaven and Earth, and from them the Titans in all their glory and power. Now from them develops the new order of Gods, surpassing them in beauty as they surpassed their parents.
Page 180. ll. 228-9. The key of the whole situation.
ll. 237-41. No fight has taken place. The god has seen his doom and accepted the inevitable.
Page 181. l. 244. poz’d, settled, firm.
Page 183. l. 284. Like... string. In this expressive line we hear the quick patter of the beads. Clymene has had much the same experience as Oceanus, though she does not philosophize upon it. She has succumbed to the beauty of her successor.
Page 184. ll. 300-7. We feel the great elemental nature of the Titans in these powerful similes.
l. 310. Giant-Gods? In the edition of 1820 printed ‘giant, Gods?’ Mr. Forman suggested the above emendation, which has since been discovered to be the true MS. reading.
Page 185. l. 328. purge the ether, clear the air.
l. 331. As if Jove’s appearance of strength were a deception, masking his real weakness.
Page 186. l. 339. Cf. i. 328-35, ii. 96.
ll. 346-56. As the silver wings of dawn preceded Hyperion’s rising so now a silver light heralds his approach.
Page 187. l. 357. See how the light breaks in with this line.
l. 366. and made it terrible. There is no joy in the light which reveals such terrors.
Page 188. l. 374. Memnon’s image. Memnon was a famous king of Egypt who was killed in the Trojan war. His people erected a wonderful statue to his memory, which uttered a melodious sound at dawn, when the sun fell on it. At sunset it uttered a sad sound.
l. 375. dusking East. Since the light fades first from the eastern sky.
Book III.
Page 191. l. 9. bewildered shores. The attribute of the wanderer transferred to the shore. Cf. Nightingale, ll. 14, 67.
l. 10. Delphic. At Delphi worship was given to Apollo, the inventor and god of music.
Page 192. l. 12. Dorian. There were several ‘modes’ in Greek music, of which the chief were Dorian, Phrygian, and Lydian. Each was supposed to possess certain definite ethical characteristics. Dorian music was martial and manly. Cf. Paradise Lost, i. 549-53.
l. 13. Father of all verse. Apollo, the god of light and song.
ll. 18-19. Let the red... well. Cf. Nightingale, st. 2.
l. 19. faint-lipp’d. Cf. ii. 270, ‘mouthed shell.’
l. 23. Cyclades. Islands in the Aegean sea, so called because they surrounded Delos in a circle.
l. 24. Delos, the island where Apollo was born.
Page 193. l. 31. mother fair, Leto (Latona).
l. 32. twin-sister, Artemis (Diana).
l. 40. murmurous... waves. We hear their soft breaking.
Page 196. ll. 81-2. Cf. Lamia, i. 75.
l. 82. Mnemosyne, daughter of Coelus and Terra, and mother of the Muses. Her name signifies Memory.
l. 86. Cf. Samson Agonistes, ll. 80-2.
l. 87. Cf. Merchant of Venice, i. i. 1-7.
l. 92. liegeless, independent—acknowledging no allegiance.
l. 93. aspirant, ascending. The air will not bear him up.
Page 197. l. 98. patient... moon. Cf. i. 353, ‘patient stars.’ Their still, steady light.
l. 113. So Apollo reaches his divinity—by knowledge which includes experience of human suffering—feeling ‘the giant-agony of the world’.
Page 198. l. 114. gray, hoary with antiquity.
l. 128. immortal death. Cf. Swinburne’s Garden of Proserpine, st. 7.
Who gathers all things mortal
With cold immortal hands.
Page 199. l. 136. Filled in, in pencil, in a transcript of Hyperion by Keats’s friend Richard Woodhouse—
Glory dawn’d, he was a god.
Footnotes:
[245:1] ‘If any apology be thought necessary for the appearance of the unfinished poem of Hyperion, the publishers beg to state that they alone are responsible, as it was printed at their particular request, and contrary to the wish of the author. The poem was intended to have been of equal length with Endymion, but the reception given to that work discouraged the author from proceeding.’
| e.g. | i. | 56 | Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a god |
| i. | 206 | save what solemn tubes ..... gave | |
| ii. | 70 | that second war Not long delayed. | |
| e.g. | ii. | 8 | torrents hoarse |
| 32 | covert drear | ||
| i. | 265 | season due | |
| 286 | plumes immense | ||
| e.g. | i. | 35 | How beautiful... self |
| 182 | While sometimes... wondering men | ||
| ii. | 116, 122 | Such noise... pines. | |
| e.g. | ii. | 79 | No shape distinguishable. Cf. Paradise Lost, ii. 667. |
| i. | 2 | breath of morn. Cf. Paradise Lost, iv. 641. | |
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
LONDON, EDINBURGH, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNE