4. Opinions, feelings, manners, and customs
are made poetical by the delicacy or splendor
with which they are expressed. This is seen in
the ode, elegy, sonnet, and ballad, in which a
single idea, perhaps, or familiar occurrence, is[{20}]
invested by the poet with pathos or dignity. The
ballad of Old Robin Gray will serve for an instance
out of a multitude; again, Lord Byron's Hebrew
Melody, beginning, "Were my bosom as false,"
etc.; or Cowper's Lines on his Mother's Picture;[{25}]
or Milman's Funeral Hymn in the Martyr of
Antioch; or Milton's Sonnet on his Blindness; or
Bernard Barton's Dream. As picturesque
specimens, we may name Campbell's Battle of the
Baltic; or Joanna Baillie's Chough and Crow;[{30}]
and for the more exalted and splendid style,
Gray's Bard; or Milton's Hymn on the Nativity;
in which facts, with which every one is familiar,
are made new by the coloring of a poetical
imagination. It must all along be observed, that
we are not adducing instances for their own sake;[{5}]
but in order to illustrate our general doctrine, and
to show its applicability to those compositions
which are, by universal consent, acknowledged to
be poetical.
The department of poetry we are now speaking[{10}]
of is of much wider extent than might at first
sight appear. It will include such moralizing and
philosophical poems as Young's Night Thoughts,
and Byron's Childe Harold. There is much bad
taste, at present, in the judgment passed on[{15}]
compositions of this kind. It is the fault of the day
to mistake mere eloquence for poetry; whereas,
in direct opposition to the conciseness and
simplicity of the poet, the talent of the orator consists
in making much of a single idea. "Sic dicet ille ut[{20}]
verset sæpe multis modis eandem et unam rem,
ut hæreat in eâdem commoreturque sententiâ."
This is the great art of Cicero himself, who,
whether he is engaged in statement, argument, or
raillery, never ceases till he has exhausted the[{25}]
subject; going round about it, and placing it in every
different light, yet without repetition to offend or
weary the reader. This faculty seems to consist
in the power of throwing off harmonious verses,
which, while they have a respectable portion of[{30}]
meaning, yet are especially intended to charm the
ear. In popular poems, common ideas are
unfolded with copiousness, and set off in polished
verse—and this is called poetry. Such is the
character of Campbell's Pleasures of Hope; it is
in his minor poems that the author's poetical[{5}]
genius rises to its natural elevation. In Childe
Harold, too, the writer is carried through his
Spenserian stanza with the unweariness and
equable fullness of accomplished eloquence;
opening, illustrating, and heightening one idea, before[{10}]
he passes on to another. His composition is an
extended funeral sermon over buried joys and
pleasures. His laments over Greece, Rome, and
the fallen in various engagements, have quite the
character of panegyrical orations; while by the[{15}]
very attempt to describe the celebrated buildings
and sculptures of antiquity, he seems to confess
that they are the poetical text, his the rhetorical
comment. Still it is a work of splendid talent,
though, as a whole, not of the highest poetical[{20}]
excellence. Juvenal is perhaps the only ancient
author who habitually substitutes declamation for
poetry.
5. The philosophy of mind may equally be made
subservient to poetry, as the philosophy of nature.[{25}]
It is a common fault to mistake a mere knowledge
of the heart for poetical talent. Our greatest
masters have known better—they have
subjected metaphysics to their art. In Hamlet,
Macbeth, Richard, and Othello, the philosophy of[{30}]
mind is but the material of the poet. These personages
are ideal; they are effects of the contact
of a given internal character with given outward
circumstances, the results of combined conditions
determining (so to say) a moral curve of original
and inimitable properties. Philosophy is[{5}]
exhibited in the same subserviency to poetry in
many parts of Crabbe's Tales of the Hall. In the
writings of this author there is much to offend a
refined taste; but, at least in the work in question,
there is much of a highly poetical cast. It is a[{10}]
representation of the action and reaction of two
minds upon each other and upon the world around
them. Two brothers of different characters and
fortunes, and strangers to each other, meet. Their
habits of mind, the formation of those habits by[{15}]
external circumstances, their respective media of
judgment, their points of mutual attraction and
repulsion, the mental position of each in relation
to a variety of trifling phenomena of everyday
nature and life, are beautifully developed in a[{20}]
series of tales molded into a connected narrative.
We are tempted to single out the fourth book,
which gives an account of the childhood and
education of the younger brother, and which for
variety of thought as well as fidelity of[{25}]
description is in our judgment beyond praise. The
Waverley Novels would afford us specimens of a
similar excellence. One striking peculiarity of
these tales is the author's practice of describing
a group of characters bearing the same general[{30}]
features of mind, and placed in the same general
circumstances; yet so contrasted with each other
in minute differences of mental constitution, that
each diverges from the common starting point into
a path peculiar to himself. The brotherhood of
villains in Kenilworth, of knights in Ivanhoe,[{5}]
and of enthusiasts in Old Mortality are instances
of this. This bearing of character and plot on
each other is not often found in Byron's poems.
The Corsair is intended for a remarkable
personage. We pass by the inconsistencies of his[{10}]
character, considered by itself. The grand fault is,
that whether it be natural or not, we are obliged
to accept the author's word for the fidelity of his
portrait. We are told, not shown, what the hero
was. There is nothing in the plot which results[{15}]
from his peculiar formation of mind. An
everyday bravo might equally well have satisfied the
requirements of the action. Childe Harold, again,
if he is anything, is a being professedly isolated
from the world, and uninfluenced by it. One[{20}]
might as well draw Tityrus's stags grazing in the
air, as a character of this kind; which yet, with
more or less alteration, passes through successive
editions in his other poems. Byron had very
little versatility or elasticity of genius; he did not[{25}]
know how to make poetry out of existing materials.
He declaims in his own way, and has the
upper-hand as long as he is allowed to go on; but, if
interrogated on principles of nature and good
sense, he is at once put out and brought to a[{30}]
stand.
Yet his conception of Sardanapalus and Myrrha
is fine and ideal, and in the style of excellence
which we have just been admiring in Shakspeare
and Scott.
These illustrations of Aristotle's doctrine may[{5}]
suffice.
Now let us proceed to a fresh position; which,
as before, shall first be broadly stated, then
modified and explained. How does originality
differ from the poetical talent? Without[{10}]
affecting the accuracy of a definition, we may call the
latter the originality of right moral feeling.
Originality may perhaps be defined the power
of abstracting for one's self, and is in thought
what strength of mind is in action. Our opinions[{15}]
are commonly derived from education and society.
Common minds transmit as they receive, good and
bad, true and false; minds of original talent feel a
continual propensity to investigate subjects, and
strike out views for themselves, so that even old[{20}]
and established truths do not escape
modification and accidental change when subjected to this
process of mental digestion. Even the style of
original writers is stamped with the peculiarities
of their minds. When originality is found apart[{25}]
from good sense, which more or less is frequently
the case, it shows itself in paradox and rashness
of sentiment, and eccentricity of outward conduct.
Poetry, on the other hand, cannot be separated
from its good sense, or taste, as it is called, which[{30}]
is one of its elements. It is originality energizing
in the world of beauty; the originality of grace,
purity, refinement, and good feeling. We do not
hesitate to say, that poetry is ultimately founded
on correct moral perception; that where there is
no sound principle in exercise there will be no[{5}]
poetry; and that on the whole (originality being
granted) in proportion to the standard of a writer's
moral character will his compositions vary in
poetical excellence. This position, however,
requires some explanation.[{10}]
Of course, then, we do not mean to imply that
a poet must necessarily display virtuous and
religious feeling; we are not speaking of the actual
material of poetry, but of its sources. A right
moral state of heart is the formal and scientific[{15}]
condition of a poetical mind. Nor does it follow
from our position that every poet must in fact be
a man of consistent and practical principle;
except so far as good feeling commonly produces or
results from good practice. Burns was a man of[{20}]
inconsistent life; still, it is known, of much really
sound principle at bottom. Thus his acknowledged
poetical talent is in no wise inconsistent with
the truth of our doctrine, which will refer the
beauty which exists in his compositions to the[{25}]
remains of a virtuous and diviner nature within
him. Nay, further than this, our theory holds
good, even though it be shown that a depraved
man may write a poem. As motives short of the
purest lead to actions intrinsically good, so frames[{30}]
of mind short of virtuous will produce a partial
and limited poetry. But even where this is
instanced, the poetry of a vicious mind will be
inconsistent and debased; that is, so far only poetry
as the traces and shadows of holy truth still
remain upon it. On the other hand, a right moral[{5}]
feeling places the mind in the very center of that
circle from which all the rays have their origin
and range; whereas minds otherwise placed
command but a portion of the whole circuit of poetry.
Allowing for human infirmity and the varieties of[{10}]
opinion, Milton, Spenser, Cowper, Wordsworth,
and Southey may be considered, as far as their
writings go, to approximate to this moral center.
The following are added as further illustrations of
our meaning. Walter Scott's center is chivalrous[{15}]
honor; Shakspeare exhibits the characteristics of
an unlearned and undisciplined piety; Homer the
religion of nature and conscience, at times debased
by polytheism. All these poets are religious. The
occasional irreligion of Virgil's poetry is painful[{20}]
to the admirers of his general taste and delicacy.
Dryden's Alexander's Feast is a magnificent
composition, and has high poetical beauties; but to a
refined judgment there is something intrinsically
unpoetical in the end to which it is devoted, the[{25}]
praises of revel and sensuality. It corresponds to
a process of clever reasoning erected on an untrue
foundation—the one is a fallacy, the other is out
of taste. Lord Byron's Manfred is in parts
intensely poetical; yet the delicate mind naturally[{30}]
shrinks from the spirit which here and there reveals
itself, and the basis on which the drama is
built. From a perusal of it we should infer,
according to the above theory, that there was right
and fine feeling in the poet's mind, but that the
central and consistent character was wanting.[{5}]
From the history of his life we know this to be
the fact. The connection between want of the
religious principle and want of poetical feeling is
seen in the instances of Hume and Gibbon, who
had radically unpoetical minds. Rousseau, it[{10}]
may be supposed, is an exception to our doctrine.
Lucretius, too, had great poetical genius; but his
work evinces that his miserable philosophy was
rather the result of a bewildered judgment than
a corrupt heart.[{15}]
According to the above theory, Revealed
Religion should be especially poetical—and it is so
in fact. While its disclosures have an originality
in them to engage the intellect, they have a beauty
to satisfy the moral nature. It presents us with[{20}]
those ideal forms of excellence in which a poetical
mind delights, and with which all grace and
harmony are associated. It brings us into a new
world—a world of overpowering interest, of the
sublimest views, and the tenderest and purest[{25}]
feelings. The peculiar grace of mind of the New
Testament writers is as striking as the actual effect
produced upon the hearts of those who have
imbibed their spirit. At present we are not
concerned with the practical, but the poetical nature[{30}]
of revealed truth. With Christians, a poetical
view of things is a duty—we are bid to color all
things with hues of faith, to see a Divine meaning
in every event, and a superhuman tendency. Even
our friends around are invested with unearthly
brightness—no longer imperfect men, but beings[{5}]
taken into Divine favor, stamped with His seal,
and in training for future happiness. It may be
added, that the virtues peculiarly Christian are
especially poetical—meekness, gentleness,
compassion, contentment, modesty, not to mention[{10}]
the devotional virtues; whereas the ruder and
more ordinary feelings are the instruments of
rhetoric more justly than of poetry—anger,
indignation, emulation, martial spirit, and love of
independence.[{15}]