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sion, such a faith exalts the bard to an apocalyptic prophet, to the consecrated interpreter, of whom Plato said in "Ion," "A poet is a thing light, with wings, and unable to compose poetry until he becomes inspired and is out of his sober senses, and his imagination is no longer under his control; for he does not compose by art but through a divine power."

At the close of the first summer month of 1861, a memorable year for Italy, the land of song was free, united, once more a queen among the nations; but the voice of its sweetest singer was hushed, the golden harp was broken; the sibylline minstrel lay dying in the City of Flowers. She was at the last, as

Opposed to relative, comparative,

And temporal truths; the only holders by His sun-skirts."

And this in a period when technical refinement has caused the mass of versemakers to forget that art is vital chiefly as a means of expression. Like her Hebrew poets, she was obedient "to the heavenly vision," and I think that the form of her religion, which was in sympathy with the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg, enables us clearly to understand her genius and works. I have no doubt that she surrendered herself to the play of her imagination, as if some angelic voice were speaking through her, —and of what other modern poet can this be said? With equal powers of expres

sion, such a faith exalts the bard to an apocalyptic prophet, to the consecrated interpreter, of whom Plato said in "Ion," "A poet is a thing light, with wings, and unable to compose poetry until he becomes inspired and is out of his sober senses, and his imagination is no longer under his control; for he does not compose by art but through a divine power."

At the close of the first summer month of 1861, a memorable year for Italy, the land of song was free, united, once more a queen among the nations ; but the voice of its sweetest singer was hushed, the golden harp was broken; the sibylline minstrel lay dying in the City of Flowers. She was at the last, as

Opposed to relative, comparative,

And temporal truths; the only holders by His sun-skirts."

And this in a period when technical refinement has caused the mass of versemakers to forget that art is vital chiefly as a means of expression. Like her Hebrew poets, she was obedient "to the heavenly vision," and I think that the form of her religion, which was in sympathy with the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg, enables us clearly to understand her genius and works. I have no doubt that she surrendered herself to the play of her imagination, as if some angelic voice were speaking through her, -and of what other modern poet can this be said? With equal powers of expres

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sion, such a faith exalts the bard to an apocalyptic prophet, to the consecrated interpreter, of whom Plato said in "Ion,” “A poet is a thing light, with wings, and unable to compose poetry until he becomes inspired and is out of his sober senses, and his imagination is no longer under his control; for he does not compose by art but through a divine power."

At the close of the first summer month of 1861, a memorable year for Italy, the land of song was free, united, once more a queen among the nations; but the voice of its sweetest singer was hushed, the golden harp was broken; the sibylline minstrel lay dying in the City of Flowers. She was at the last, as

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