is ripe for them, know as well as coarser how to feed and replenish themselves, and maintain their stock alive, and multiply; for roses and violets renew their race like oaks, and flights of painted moths are as old as the Alleghanies. The balance of the world is kept, and dewdrop and haze and the pencil of light are as long-lived as chaos and dark ness.
Our science is always abreast of our self-knowl edge. Poetry begins, or all becomes poetry, when we look from the centre outward, and are using all as if the mind made it. That only can we see which we are, and which we make. The weaver sees gingham; the broker sees the stock-list; the politician, the ward and county votes; the poet sees the horizon, and the shores of matter lying on the sky, the interaction of the elements, — the large effect of laws which correspond to the inward laws which he knows, and so are but a kind of exten sion of himself. " The attractions are proportional to the destinies." Events or things are only the fulfilment of the prediction of the faculties. Bet ter men saw heavens and earths; saw noble in struments of noble souls. "We see railroads, mills, and banks, and we pity the poverty of these dreaming Buddhists. There was as much creative force then as now, but it made globes, and astro nomic heavens, instead of broadcloth and wine glasses.
38 POETRY AND IMAGINATION.
The poet is enamored of thoughts and laws. These know their way, and, guided by them, he is ascending from an interest in visible things to an interest in that which they signify, and from the part of a spectator to the part of a maker. And as everything streams and advances, as every faculty and every desire is procreant, and every perception is a destiny, there is no limit to his hope. " Any thing, child, that the mind covets, from the milk of a cocoa to the throne of the three worlds, thou mayest obtain, by keeping the law of thy members and the law of thy mind." It suggests that there is higher poetry than we write or read.
Rightly, poetry is organic. "YVe cannot know things by words and writing, but only by taking a central position in the universe, and living in its forms. We sink to rise.
" None any work can frame, • Unless himself become the same."
All the parts and forms of nature are the expression or production of divine faculties, and the same are in us. And the fascination of genius for us is this awful nearness to Nature's creations.
I have heard that the Germans think the creator of Trim and Uncle Toby, though he never wrote a verse, a greater poet than Cowper, and that Gold smith's title to the name is not from his " Deserted Village," but derived from the "Vicar of Wakefield." Better examples are Shakspeare's Ariel, CREATION. 39 his Caliban, and Ms fairies in the "Midsum mer Night's Dream." Barthold Niebuhr said well, "There is little merit in inventing a happy idea, or attractive situation, so long as it is only the author's voice which we hear. As a being whom we have called into life by magic arts, as soon as it has received existence acts independently of the master's impulse, so the poet creates his persons, and then watches and relates what they do and say. Such creation is poetry, in the literal sense of the term, and its possibility is an unfathomable enigma. The gushing fulness of speech belongs to the poet, and it flows from the lips of each of his magic beings in the thoughts and words peculiar to its nature." * This force of representation so plants his figures before him that he treats them as real; talks to them as if they were bodily there; puts words in their mouth such as they should have -spoken, and is affected by them as by persons. Vast is the dif ference between writing clean verses for magazines, and creating these new persons and situations, — new language with emphasis and reality. The hu mor of Falstaff, the terror of Macbeth, have each their swarm of fit thoughts and images, as if Shak- speare had known and reported the men, instead of inventing them at his desk. This power ap pears not only in the outline or portrait of his * Niebuhr, Letters, etc., Vol. III. p. 196.
40 POETRY AND IMAGINATION.
actors, but also in the bearing and behavior and style of each individual. Ben Jonson told Drum- mond "that Sidney did not keep a decorum in making every one speak as well as himself."
This reminds me that we all have one key to this miracle of the poet, and the dunce has expe riences that may explain Shakspeare to him, — one key, namely, dreams. In dreams we are true poets; we create the persons of the drama; we give them appropriate figures, faces, costume; they are perfect in their organs, attitude, manners: more over, they speak after their own characters, not ours; — they speak to us, and we listen with sur prise to what they say. Indeed, I doubt if the best poet has yet written any five-act play that can compare in thoroughness of invention with this unwritten play in fifty acts, composed by the dull est snorer on the floor of the watch-house.
Melody, Rhyme, Form. — Music and rhyme are among the earliest pleasures of the child, and, in the history of literature, poetry precedes prose. Every one may see, as he rides on the highway through an uninteresting landscape, how a little water instantly relieves the monotony: no matter what objects are near it, — a gray rock, a grass- patch, an alder-bush, or a stake, — they become beautiful by being reflected. It is rhyme to the eye, and explains the charm of rhyme to the ear.
MELODY, EHYME, FORM. 41 Shadows please us as still finer rhymes. Archi tecture gives the like pleasure by the repetition of equal parts in a colonnade, in a row of windows, or in wings; gardens, by the symmetric contrasts of the beds and walks. In society, you have this figure in a bridal company, where a choir of white- robed maidens give the charm of living statues; in a funeral procession, where all wear black; in a regiment of soldiers in uniform.
The universality of this taste is proved by our habit of casting our facts into rhyme to remember them better, as so many proverbs may show. Who would hold the order of the almanac so fast but for the ding-dong, " Thirty days hath September," etc.; or of the Zodiac, but for "The Kara, the Bull, the heavenly Twins," etc.?
We are lovers of rhyme and return, period and musical reflection. The babe is lulled to sleep by the nurse's song. Sailors can work better for their yo-heave-o. Soldiers can march better and fight better for the drum and trumpet. Metre begins with pulse -beat, and the length of lines in songs and poems is determined by the inhalation and ex halation of the lungs. If you hum or whistle the rhythm of the common English metres, — of the decasyllabic quatrain, or the octosyllabic with alter nate sexisyllabic, or other rhythms, you can easily 42 POETRY AND IMAGINATION.
believe these metres to be organic, derived from the human pulse, and to be therefore not proper to one nation, but to mankind. I think you will also find a charm heroic, plaintive, pathetic, in these caden ces, and be at once set on searching for the words that can rightly fill these vacant beats. Young people like rhyme, drum-beat, tune, things in pairs and alternatives; and, in higher degrees, we know the instant power of music upon our temperaments to change our mood, and give us its own: and hu man passion, seizing these constitutional tunes, aims to fill them with appropriate words, or marry music to thought, believing, as we believe of all marriage, that matches are made in heaven, and that for every thought its proper melody or rhyme exists, though the odds are immense against our finding it, and only genius can rightly say the banns.
Another form of rhyme is iterations of phrase, as the record of the death of Sisera: — " At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down: at her feet he bowed, he fell: where he bowed, there he fell down dead."
The fact is made conspicuous, nay, colossal, by this simple rhetoric.
" They shall perish, but thou shalt endure: yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed: but thou art the same, and thy years shall have no end."
MELODY, EHYME, FORM. 43 Milton delights in these iterations: — " Though fallen on evil days, On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues."
"Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud Turn forth its silver lining on the night? I did not err, there does a sable cloud Turn forth its silver lining on the night. " Comus.
"A little onward lend thy guiding hand, To these dark steps a little farther on."
Samson.
So in our songs and ballads the refrain skilfully used, and deriving some novelty or better sense in each of many verses: — " Busk thee, busk thee, my bonny bonny bride, Busk thee, busk thee, my winsome marrow. " HAMILTON.
Of course rhyme soars and refines with the growth of the mind. The boy liked the drum, the people liked an overpowering jewsharp tune. Later they like to transfer that rhyme to life, and to detect a melody as prompt and perfect in their daily affairs. Omen and coincidence show the rhythmical struc ture of man; hence the taste for signs, sortilege, prophecy and fulfilment, anniversaries, etc. By and by, when they apprehend real rhymes, namely, the correspondence of- parts in nature, — acid and alkali, body and mind, man and maid, character and his tory, action and reaction, — they do not longer value rattles and ding-dongs, or barbaric word-jingle. As- 44 POETRY AND IMAGINATION.
tronomy, Botany, Chemistry, Hydraulics and the elemental forces have their own periods and returns, their own grand strains of harmony not less exact, up to the primeval apothegm "that there is nothing on earth which is not in the heavens in a heavenly form, and nothing in the heavens which is not on the earth in an earthly form." They furnish the poet with grander pairs and alternations, and will require an equal expansion in his metres.
There is under the seeming poverty of metres an infinite variety, as every artist knows. A right ode (however nearly it may adopt conventional metre, as the Spenserian, or the heroic blank-verse, or one of the fixed lyric metres) will by any sprightliness be at once lifted out of conventionality, and will modify the metre. Every good poem that I know I recall by its rhythm also. Rhyme is a pretty good measure of the latitude and opulence of a writer. If unskilful, he is at once detected by the poverty of his chimes. A small, well-worn, sprucely brushed vocabulary serves him. Now try Spenser, Marluw, Chapman, and see how wide they ily for weapons, and how rich and lavish their profusion. In their rhythm is no manufacture, but a vortex, or musical tornado, which falling on words and the experience of a learned mind, whirls these materials into the same grand order as planets and moons obey, ami seasons, and monsoons.
There are also prose poets. Thomas Taylor, the MELODY, RHYME, FORM. 45 Platonist, for instance, is really a better man of imagination, a better poet, or perhaps I should say a better feeder to a poet, than any man between Milton and Wordsworth. Thomas Moore had the magnanimity to say, " If Burke and Bacon were not poets (measured lines not being necessary to con stitute one), he did not know what poetry meant." And every good reader will easily recall expressions or passages in works of pure science which have given him the same pleasure which he seeks in pro fessed poets. Eichard Owen, the eminent paleon tologist, said: — "All hitherto observed causes of extirpation point either to continuous slowly operating geologic changes, or to no greater sudden cause than the, so to speak, spectral appearance of mankind on a limited tract of land not before inhabited."
St. Augustine complains to God of his friends offering him the books of the philosophers: — " And these were the dishes in which they brought to me, being hungry, the Sun and the Moon instead of Thee."
It would not be easy to refuse to Sir Thomas Browne's "Fragment on Munmiies" the claim of poetry: — " Of their living habitations they made little account, conceiving of them but as hospitia, or inns, while they adorned the sepulchres of the dead, and, planting there- 46 POETRY AND IMAGINATION.
on lasting bases, defied the crumbling touches of timo, and the misty vaporousness of oblivion. Yet all were but Babel vanities. Time sadly overcometh all tilings, and is now dominant, and sitteth upon a Sphinx, and looketh unto Memphis and old Thebes, while his sister Oblivion reclineth semi-somnous on a pyramid, gloriously triumphing, making puzzles of Titanian erections, and turning old glories into dreams. History sinketh be neath her cloud. The- traveller as he paceth through those deserts asketh of her, Who builded them? and she mumbleth something, but what it is he heareth not."
Rhyme, being a kind of music, shares this advan tage with music, that it lias a privilege of speaking truth which all Philistia is unable to challenge. Music is the poor man's Parnassus. With the first note of the llute or horn, or the first strain of a song, we quit the world of common-sense, and launch on the sea of ideas and emotions: we pour contempt on the prose you so magnify; yet the sturdiest Philistine is silent. The like allowance is the pre scriptive right of poetry. You shall not speak ideal truth in prose uncontradicted: you may in verse. The best thoughts run into the best words; imagi native and affectionate thoughts into music and metre. We ask for food and fire, we talk of our work, our tools, and material necessities in prose, that is, without any elevation or aim at beauty; but when we rise into the world of thought, and think MELODY, RHYME, FORM. 47 of these things only for what they signify, speech refines into order and harmony. I know what you say of mediaeval barbarism and sleighb ell-rhyme, but we have not done with music, no, nor with rhyme, nor must console ourselves with prose poets so long as boys whistle and girls sing.
Let Poetry then pass, if it will, into music and rhyme. That is the form which itself puts on. We do not enclose watches in wooden, but in crys tal cases, and rhyme is the transparent frame that allows almost the pure architecture of thought to become visible to the mental eye. Substance is much, but so are mode and form much. The poet, like a delighted boy, brings you heaps of rainbow bubbles, opaline, air-borne, spherical as the world, instead of a few drops of soap and water. Victor Hugo says well, " An idea steeped in verse becomes suddenly more incisive and more brilliant: the iron becomes steel." Lord Bacon, we are told, "loved not to see poesy go on other feet than poeti cal dactyls and spondees"; and Ben Jonson said, " that Donne, for not keeping of accent, deserved hanging."
Poetry being an attempt to express, not the com mon-sense, as the avoirdupois of the hero, or his structure in feet and inches, but the beauty and soul in his aspect as it shines to fancy and feeling, — and so of all other objects in nature, — runs into fable, personifies every fact: — " the clouds clapped 48 POETRY AND IMAGINATION.
their hands," — "the hills skipped," - — " the sky spoke." This is the substance, and this treatment always attempts a metrical grace. Outside of the nursery the beginning of literature is the prayers of a people, and they are always hymns, poetic, — the mind allowing itself range, and therewith is ever a corresponding freedom in the style which becomes lyrical. The prayers of nations are rhyth mic, — have iterations, and alliterations, like the marriage-service and burial-service in our liturgies. Poetry will never be a simple means, as when history or philosophy is rhymed, or laureate odes on state occasions are written. Itself must be its own end, or it is nothing. The difference between poetry and stock-poetiy is this, that in the latter the rhythm is given, and the sense adapted to it; while in the former the sense tlictates the rhythm. I might even say that the rhyme is there in the theme, thought, and image themselves. Ask the fact for the form. For a verse is not a vehicle to carry a sentence as a jewel is carried in a case: the verse must be alive, and inseparable from its con tents, as the soul of man inspires and directs the body; and we measure the inspiration by the music. In reading prose, I am sensitive as soon as a sen tence drags; but in poetry, as soon as one word drags. Ever as the thought mounts, the expression mounts. 'T is cumulative also; the poem is made up of lines each of which filled the ear of the poet MELODY, RHYME, FORM. 49 in its turn, so that mere synthesis produces a work quite superhuman.
Indeed, the masters sometimes rise above them selves to strains which charm their readers, and which neither any competitor could outdo, nor the bard himself again equal. Try this strain of Beau mont and Fletcher: — "Hence, all ye vain delights, As short as are the nights In which you spend your folly! There 's naught in this life sweet, If men were wise to see't, But only melancholy. Oh! sweetest melancholy! Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, A look that 's fastened to the ground, A tongue chained up, without a sound; Fountain-heads and pathless groves, Places which pale Passion loves, Midnight walks, when all the fowls Are warmly housed, save bats and owls; A midnight bell, a passing groan, These are the sounds we feed upon, Then stretch our bones in a still, gloomy valley. Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy."
Keats disclosed by certain lines in his " Hyperion " this inward skill; and Coleridge showed at least his love and appetency for it. It appears in Ben Jon- son's songs, including certainly "The faery beam upon you," etc., Waller's " Go, lovely rose! " Her bert's " Virtue " and " Easter," and Lovelace's lines 50 POETRY AND IMAGINATION.
" To Althea " and " To Lucasta," and Collins's " Ode, to Evening," all but the last verse, which is aca demical. Perhaps this dainty style of poetry is not producible to-day, any more than a right Gothic cathedral. It belonged to a time and taste which is not in the world.
As the imagination is not a talent of some men, but is the health of every man, so also is this joy of musical expression. I know the pride of mathema ticians and materialists, but they cannot conceal from me their capital want. The critic, the philoso pher, is a failed poet. Gray avows " that he thinks even a bad verse as good a thing or better than the best observation that was ever made on it." I honor the naturalist; I honor the geometer, but he has before him higher power and happiness than he knows. Yet we will leave to the masters their own forms. Newton may be permitted to call Terence a play-book, and to wonder at the frivolous taste for rhymers; he only predicts, one would say, a grander poetry: he only shows that he is not yet reached; that the poetry which satisfies more youth ful souls is not such to a mind like his, accustomed to grander harmonies; — this being a child's whistle to his ear; that the music must rise to a loftier strain, up to Handel, up to Beethoven, up to the thorough-bass of the sea-shore, up to the largeness of astronomy: at last that great heart will hear in the music beats like its own: the waves of melody BAEDS AND TROUVEUES. 51 will wash and float him also, and set him into con cert and harmony.
Bards and Trouveurs. — The metallic force of primitive words makes the superiority of the remains of the rude ages. It costs the early bard little talent to chant more impressively than the later, more cul tivated poets. His advantage is that his words are things, eaeh the lucky sound which described the fact, and we listen to him as we do to the Indian, or the hunter, or miner, each of whom represents his facts as accurately as the cry of the wolf or the eagle tells of the forest or the air they inhabit. The original force, the direct smell of the earth or the sea, is in these ancient poems, the Sagas of the North, the Nibelungen Lied, the songs and ballads of the English and Scotch.
I find or fancy more true poetry, the love of the vast and the ideal, in the Welsh and bardic frag ments of Taliessin and his successors than in many volumes of British Classics. An intrepid magnilo quence appears in all the bards, as: — " The whole ocean flamed as one wound."
King Regner LodbooTc, " God himself cannot procure good for the wicked."
Welsh Triad.
A favorable specimen is Taliessin's "Invocation of the Wind " at the door of Castle Teganwy.
52 POETEY AND IMAGINATION.
"Discover thou what it is, — The strong creature from before the flood, Without flesh, -without bone, without head, without feet, It will neither be younger nor older than at the beginning; It has no fear, nor the rude wants of created things. Great God! how the sea whitens when it comes! It is in the field, it is in the wood, Without hand, without foot, Without age, without season, It is always of the same age with the ages of ages, And of equal breadth witli the surface of the earth. It was not born, it sees not, And is not seen; it does not come when desired; It has no form, it bears no burden, For it is void of sin.
It makes no perturbation in the place where God wills it, On the sea, on the laud."
In one of his poems he asks: — " Is there but one course to the wind? But one to the water of the sea? Is there but one spark in the fire of boundless energy? " He says of his hero, Cunedda, - " He will assimilate, he will agree with the deep and the shallow."
To another, — "When I lapse to a sinful word, May neither you, nor others hear."
Of an enemy, — " The caldron of the sea was bordered round by his land, but it would not boil the food of a coward." To an exile on an island he says, — " The heavy blue chain of the sea didst thou, O just man, endure."
BARDS AND TROUVEUKS. 53 Another bard in like tone says, — " I am possessed of songs such as no son of man can repeat; one of them is called the 'Helper'; it will help thee at thy need in sickness, grief, and all adversities. I know a song which I need only to sing when men have loaded me with bonds: when I sing it, my chains fall in pieces and I walk forth at liberty."
The Norsemen have no less faith in poetry and its power, when they describe it thus: — "Odin spoke everything in rhyme. He and his temple-gods were called song-smiths. He could make his enemies in battle blind or deaf, and their weapons so blunt that they could no more cut than a willow-twig. Odin taught these arts in runes or songs, which are called incantations."* The Crusades brought out the genius of France, in the twelfth century, when Pierre d'Auvergne said, — " I will sing a new song which resounds in my breast: never was a song good or beautiful which resembled any other."
And Pons de Capdeuil declares, — " Since the air renews itself and softens, so must my heart renew itself, and what buds in it buds and grows outside of it."
54 POETRY AND IMAGINATION.
There is in every poem a height which attracts more than other parts, and is best remembered. Thus, in " Morte d' Arthur," I remember nothing so well as Sir Gawain's parley with Merlin in his wonderful prison: — "After the disappearance of Merlin from King Ar thur's court he was seriously missed, and many knights set out in search of him. Among others was Sir Gawain, who pursued his search till it Avas time to return to the court. Ho came into the forest of Broceliande, lament ing as he went along. Presently, he heard the voice of one groaning on his right hand; looking that way, ho could see nothing save a kind of smoke which seemed like air, and through which ho could not pass; and this impediment made him so wrathful that it deprived him of speech. Presently ho heard a voice which said, ' Gawain, Gawain, be not out of heart, for everything which must happen will come to pass.' And when ho heard the voice which thus called him by his right name, he replied, ' Who can this bo who hath spoken to me 1 ' ' How,' said the voice, ' Sir Gawain, know you me not? You were wont to know me well, but thus tilings are interwoven and thus the proverb says true, " Leave the court and the court will leave you." So is it with me. Whilst I served King Arthur, I was well known by you and by other barons, but because I have left the court, I am known no longer, and put in forgetfulness, which I ought not to be if faith reigned in the world.' When Sir Gawain heard the voice which spoke to him thus, he BARDS AND TROUVEURS. 55 thought it was Merlin, and he answered, ' Sir, certes I ought to know you well, for many times I have heard your words. I pray you appear before me so that I may be able to recognize you.' 'Ah, sir,' said Merlin, ' you will never see me more, and that grieves me, but I cannot remedy it, and when you shall have departed from this place, I shall nevermore speak to you nor to any other person, save only my mistress; for never other person will be able to discover this place for anything which may befall; neither shall I ever go out from hence, for in the world there is no such strong tower as this wherein I am confined; and it is neither of wood, nor of iron, nor of stone, but of air, without anything else; and made by enchantment so strong, that it can never be demolished while the world lasts, neither can I go out, nor can any one come in, save she who hath enclosed me here, and who keeps me company when it pleaseth her: she cometh when she listeth, for her will is here.' ' How, Merlin, my good friend,' said Sir Gawain, ' are you restrained so strongly that you cannot deliver yourself nor make yourself visible unto me; how can this happen, seeing that you are the wisest man in the world? ' ' Bather,' said Merlin, ' the greatest fool;