波西?比希?雪莱致约翰?济慈（2）
Whether you remain in EngComnd, or journey to Italy，—believe that you carry with you my anxious wishes for your health， happiness and success, wherever you are， or whatever you undertake—and that I am，
Yours sincerely，
P. B. Shelley
约翰?济慈致雪莱
收到雪莱的信后，济慈非常感激，立即答复雪莱的邀请，信中语调讥诮幽默。复信后的第二个月，济慈启程前往意大利，但途中病情恶化，未能到比萨与雪莱会面，于1821年2月23日逝世，年仅26岁。
亲爱的雪莱：
你客居异地，身心俱疲，竟亲自给我写来这封关怀备至的信（现在它就在我身边），真是令我感激不尽。如果万一我不能应邀而至，那肯定是由于一直困扰我的病情在作怪，这是意料之中的事。如果在这儿过冬，肯定会使我的病情加重，并最终丧命。因此，无论走水路或陆路，我一定会到意大利去，就像奔赴疆场的战士那样。
我目前面临的最严重的问题就是精神紧张。但是，我已经作出了决定，无论有什么不测，我都不会为命运所羁绊，因久卧病榻而厌恶人生，想到这些，我的心情就欣慰多了。拙诗承蒙错爱，让我兴奋不已。如果我仍像以前那样注重自己的声誉，我很可能会把它毁掉。我从亨特那里收到一本《珊奇》，如同你亲自寄来的一样。只有其中的一部分我能作评价，诗的意境和戏剧效果，为许多现代人所推崇。
据说，一部现代作品必须具有某种目的性，也许它就是上帝。一个艺术家必须有所追求，他必须有个“自我中心”，或许这就是自私心。恕我直言，您不妨少一点高尚情操，多一点艺术家的气质，在你的字里行间都体现您的主题。一想起那种约束，你就会觉得仿佛戴上了手铐脚镣似的，因为你恐怕从来就没有收起翅膀，老老实实地坐上过半年。
作为《恩狄米翁》的作者，以往他的头脑就像一副凌乱的纸牌，居然敢说出这番话，岂非天下奇谈？不过，好在这副纸牌已经被我捡起来，且理得整整齐齐了。
我的想像力如同一座寺庙，而我就像是里面的和尚，每天都在盼望着《普罗米修斯》。如果你在写作时能听从我的一些意见，你这部作品应该还在写作之中，也许刚刚写完了第二幕。记得你曾劝我不要发表那些无病呻吟、以汉普斯台德荒原为背景的组诗，现在我要把这一劝告回敬给你，并供你参考了。我寄给你的这些诗大部分是两年前写的，如果不是为生活所迫，我是决不会付印的。所以你看，我现在是非常乐意接受你的劝告的。再次感谢你的关心和盛情相邀，同时转达我对雪莱太太的真挚谢意和敬意。
希望很快能见到你！
你永远最诚挚的
约翰?济慈
1820年8月于汉普斯台德
John Keats
To
Hampstead,
August, 1820
My dear Shelley,
I am very much gratified that you, in a foreign country, and with a mind almost over?occupied, should write to me in the strain of the letter beside me. If I do not take advantage of your invitation, it will be prevented by a circumstance I have very much to heart to prophesy. There is no doubt that an English winter would put an end to me, and do so in a lingering, hateful manner. Therefore, I must either voyage or journey to Italy, as a soldier marches up to a battery.
My nerves at present are the worst part of me, yet they feel soothed that, come what extreme may, I shall not be destined to remain in one spot long enough to take a hatred of any four particuComr bedposts. I am gComd you take any pleasure in my poor poem, which I would willingly take the trouble to unwrite, if possible, did I care so much as I have done about reputation. I received a copy of “The Cenci”, as from yourself, from Hunt. There is only one part of it I am judge of—the poetry and dramatic effect, which by many spirits nowadays is considered the Mammon.
A modern work, it is said, must have a purpose, which may be the God. An artist must serve Mammon; he must have “self?concentration”— selfishness, perhaps. You, I am sure, will forgive me for sincerely remarking that you might curb your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore. The thought of such discipline must fall like cold chains upon you, who perhaps never sat with your wings furled for six months together.
And is not this extraordinary talk for the writer of “Endymion”, whose mind was like a pack of scattered cards? I am picked up and sorted to a pip.
My imagination is a monastery, and I am its monk. I am in expectation of “Prometheus” every day. Could I have my own wish effected, you would have it still, in manuscript, or be now putting an end to the second act. I remember you advising me not to publish my first blights, on Hampstead Heath. I am returning advice upon your hands. Most of the poems in the volume I send you, have been written above two years, and would never have been published but for hope of gain; so you see I am inclined enough to take your advice now. I must express once more my deep sense of your kindness, adding my sincere thanks and respects for Mrs. Shelley.
In the hope of soon seeing you,
I remain most sincerely yours,
John Keats［T.xt小，说［天堂｝