The Complete Works: Poetry, Plays, Letters and Extensive Biographies. John Keats

      Trust me for once, that you may be assured

      ’Tis not confiding to a broken reed,

      A poor Court-bankrupt, outwitted and lost,

      Revolve these facts in your acutest mood,

      In such a mood as now you listen to me:

      A few days since, I was an open rebel

      Against the Emperor, had suborn’d his son,

      Drawn off his nobles to revolt, and shown

      Contented fools causes for discontent

      Fresh hatch’d in my ambition’s eagle nest

      So thrived I as a rebel, and behold

      Now I am Otho’s favourite, his dear friend,

      His right hand, his brave Conrad.

      I confess

      You have intrigued with these unsteady times

      To admiration; but to be a favourite

      I saw my moment. The Hungarians,

      Collected silently in holes and corners,

      Appeared, a sudden host, in the open day.

      I should have perish’d in our empire’s wreck,

      But, calling interest loyalty, swore faith

      To most believing Otho; and so helped

      His blood-stained ensigns to the victory

      In yesterday’s hard fight, that it has turn’d

      The edge of his sharp wrath to eager kindness.

      So far yourself. But what is this to me

      More than that I am glad? I gratulate you.

      Yes, sister, but it does regard you greatly,

      Nearly, momentously, aye, painfully!

      Make me this vow

      Concerning whom or what?

      Albert!

      I would inquire somewhat of him:

      You had a letter from me touching him?

      No treason ‘gainst his head in deed or word!

      Surely you spar’d him at my earnest prayer?

      Give me the letter it should not exist!

      At one pernicious charge of the enemy,

      I, for a moment-whiles, was prisoner ta’en

      And rifled, stuff! the horses’ hoofs have minc’d it!

      He is alive?

      He is! but here make oath

      To alienate him from your scheming brain,

      Divorce him from your solitary thoughts,

      And cloud him in such utter banishment,

      That when his person meets again your eye,

      Your vision shall quite lose its memory,

      And wander past him as through vacancy.

      I’ll not be perjured.

      No, nor great, nor mighty;

      You would not wear a crown, or rule a kingdom.

      To you it is indifferent.

      What means this?

      You’ll not be perjured! Go to Albert then,

      That camp-mushroom dishonour of our house.

      Go, page his dusty heels upon a march,

      Furbish his jingling baldric while he sleeps,

      And share his mouldy ration in a siege.

      Yet stay, perhaps a charm may call you back,

      And make the widening circlets of your eyes

      Sparkle with healthy fevers. The Emperor

      Hath given consent that you should marry Ludolph!

      Can it be, brother? For a golden crown

      With a queen’s awful lips I doubly thank you!

      This is to wake in Paradise ! Farewell

      Thou clod of yesterday ’twas not myself!

      Not till this moment did I ever feel

      My spirit’s faculties! I’ll flatter you

      For this, and be you ever proud of it;

      Thou, Jove-like, struck’dst thy forehead,

      And from the teeming marrow of thy brain

      I spring complete Minerva! But the prince

      His highness Ludolph where is he?

      I know not:

      When, lackeying my counsel at a beck,

      The rebel lords, on bended knees, received

      The Emperor’s pardon, Ludolph kept aloof,

      Sole, in a stiff, fool-hardy, sulky pride;

      Yet, for all this, I never saw a father

      In such a sickly longing for his son.

      We shall soon see him, for the Emperor

      He will be here this morning.

      That I heard

      Among the midnight rumours from the camp.

      You give up Albert to me?

      Harm him not!

      E’en for his highness Ludolph’s sceptry hand,

      I would not Albert suffer any wrong.

      Have I not laboured, plotted ?

      See

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