race, as well as for himself. Everything in his unfortunate life vouches
for the sincerity of his statement, in the _Hymn to Intellectual
Beauty_:

Never joy illumed my brow
Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free
This world from its dark slavery.

Accordingly Shelley's injuries seem to have affected him as a sudden
hurt does a child, with a sense of incomprehensibility, and later poets
have rallied to his defense as if he were actually a child.[Footnote:
See E. C. Stedman, _Ariel_; James Thomson, B. V., _Shelley_; Alfred
Austin, _Shelley's Death_; Stephen Vincent Benet, _The General Public_.]

The vicariousness of the nineteenth century poet in bewailing the hurts
of his brethren is likely to have provoked a smile in us, as in the
mourners of Adonais, at recognizing one

Who in another's fate now wept his own.

Of course a suppressed personal grudge may not always have been a factor
in lending warmth to these defenses. Mrs. Browning is an ardent advocate
of the misunderstood poet, though she herself enjoyed a full measure of
popularity. But when Landor so warmly champions Southey, and Swinburne
springs to the defense of Victor Hugo, one cannot help remembering that
the public did not show itself wildly appreciative of either of these
defenders. So, too, when Oscar Wilde works himself up over the
persecutions of Dante, Keats and Byron, we are minded of the irreverent
crowds that followed Wilde and his lily down the street. When the poet
is too proud to complain of his own wrongs at the hands of the public,