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a decided claim to be considered as poetry, in point of expression only. Even the exquisite pathos of Lear, at the end of that mighty play, when his frenzy quits him, under the influence of Cordelia's care ("Pray do not mock me," etc.), cannot be called essentially poetical, though they are to us more touching than the grandest poetry. They are simple and unimaginative, and purely pathetic, as the situation of Lear then requires that they should be. His days of indignation and sorrow are over: his spirit is calm and sunk; and the winged words which became madness and the tempest, would have been out of place when his mind and body were relaxing gradually into the repose of death. In these cases, however, and in similar ones, it must be observed, that the picture presented, or the idea originated, may be poetical, although the mere words may have but little claim to that title. Thus, in that airy and exquisite account of "Mulciber," in the Paradise Lost, where Music and Poetry run clasped together down a stream of divine verse, there is title of the strictly poetical phrase, except where it is told that he

66 Dropt from the zenith like a falling star;"

but the whole picture is nevertheless beautiful, and conceived in the spirit of poetry. These are a few cases, and there are thousands of others. Generally speaking, however,-in the works of true poets, the phrases are glowing with Imagination or bright with Fancy, as well as the pictures presented; and we should have exceeding doubt as to the claims of a writer, whose characters or pictures only had some tinge of imagination, while his details remained couched in language which could not pretend to any other name than " prose."

There has of late been some discussion, amongst a few of our eminent writers, in regard to "objects which are or are not poetical." We are not about to revive the subject at any length; but we may observe, that the art of poetry originates in the faculty of its professors. If it existed in nature, and a writer had simply to transcribe her appearances, any body might become a poet as a matter of course. But the poetical faculty does not, as we apprehend, consist simply in describing what is splendid already, for that may be done by a prosaic mind; nor in selecting what is beautiful, for that is the employment of taste. Nevertheless, it is true that certain objects, inasmuch as they approach to that standard, to which it is the aim of poets to sublime the tamer and ordinary appearances of the world, and may therefore reasonably be considered as the models existing in the poet's mind, may so far be allowed to be the most "poetical," or the nearest allied to poetry. Poetry (we do not mean satire), it is to be remarked, deals with the grand, the terrible, the beautiful; but seldom or never with the mean. Its principle is elevation, and not depression or degradation. It is true that, in tragedy and narrative, characters and images of the lowest cast are sometimes admitted; but for the purposes of contrast only, or to "point a moral.” Poetry is not constituted of those base elements, nor does the true poet luxuriate in them: they are subject to his dominion, but do not rise to his favour.

The nearer then that an object approximates to what is evidently the

standard or the result of poetic inspiration, the nearer it may be said to approach to poetry itself. For the principle which animates the creator must exist in the thing created. The grandeur which he aspires to fashion, the beauty which he delights to mould, partake surely in some measure of. or bear some resemblance to, the grandeur and beauty which exist independent of his creation. Under this view, the stream, the valley, the time-wasted ruin and the mossy cell-the breathing Venus, and the marble Gods of Greece and Rome-the riotous waves and the golden sky-the stars, the storm, and the mad winds-ocean, and the mountain which kisses heaven-Love and Beauty, Despair, Ambition and Revenge-all objects or passions which lift our thoughts from the dust, and stir men into madness-almost every thing which has in it a strong principle of impulse, or elevation, has a claim to be considered poetical. It is the meaner things of life, its tameness and mediocrity, its selfishness and envy, and repining, which, though subdued occasionally to the use of poetry, are too base for an alliance with it; and which creep on from age to age, recorded indeed and made notorious, but branded with immortality for the sake of example only, and trampled under the feet of the Muse.

The object of poetry is not to diminish and make mean, but to magnify and aggrandise" to accommodate the shows of things to the desires of the mind; which, in its healthy state, all tend upwards. It does not seek to dwarf the great statures of nature, nor to reduce the spirit to the contemplation of humble objects: its standards are above mortality, and not below it. Surely then, if this be almost invariably the tendency of the poetic mind, those objects (be they in art or nature) which approach nearest to the ideas of the poet, must be fairly considered as being in themselves nearest to poetry. Whether art or nature is to be preferred to the highest station, is another question. For our own parts, we are inclined to prefer art to science, and nature to art. A brilliant light may be thrown upon a pack of cards, and the fancy may play and flutter over a game of ombre; but this proves nothing but the skill of the poet in this particular instance. Is it to be supposed, that if he had beheld the dissolution of a world, or seen Uriel gliding on a sunbeam, arrayed in his celestial armour and majestic beauty, he could have done no more? We think otherwise. Occasionally it may have appeared, that the poorest things have been exalted and made level with the loftiest, by a republican spirit of poetry; but we shall find, on close investigation, that most of these instances (if not all) are unavailable; that the things spoken of have reference to matters of higher moment; and that it is from these that they derive their importance. It is not, for instance, the "taper" only which throws a poetic lustre, but it is the flame which shines at "midnight," and burns in solitude and silence. It is not

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night's candle" only, but it is when the candle is connected with the time-when jocund Day

"Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops,"

that it rises into poetry.

With respect to the end or intention of poetry-its different kinds-and its origin, a very few words must suffice at present, our business being more particularly with the art, as understood and practised by the loftiest English writers. It has often been asserted, that the object of poetry is -to please; and assuredly this is one, though by no means the sole object

of the art. It is said that, although in moral poetry improvement be blended with amusement, the latter is nevertheless the object. We submit that this position is not clear. In the case of didactic poetry ("The Essay on Man" -the "Art of Preserving Health," etc.) the aim is instruction, and verse is but the medium or the attraction which the poet employs. In satire, the object is not to please a friend, but to sting an enemy; and we presume that the prophecies of the Bible must be admitted to have had an object beyond pleasure. The war-songs of the ancients were to stimulate the soldier; and their laments were to soothe regret. Poetry contains in it a strong stimulant; and although a feeling of pleasure may blend with other emotions, it does not follow that the attempts of poetry are not directed to objects different from those of merely "pleasing." As to the different kinds of poetry, there are so many upon each of which a treatise might be written, that we prefer referring the reader to essays on the subject, rather than delay him at present by a brief exposition of that which he would probably wish to see treated in more particular detail. For our own parts, we are not inclined to lay extraordinary stress upon the mere structure and mechanism of poetry. It is not very material, we think, that a poem should be built up according to rules, many of which originated in the caprice of former poets; nor whether it be called an epic or a romance, an epistle or a dirge, an epitaph, an ode, an elegy, a sonnet, or otherwise. If it be full of the matériel of poetry, and contain something of fitness also, it will go far to satisfy our critical consciences.

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ON THE UTILITY OF POETRY.*

THE advocates of Utility have long been in the habit of decrying Poetry, and have lately renewed their attacks on it with increased bitterness and vehemence. They have discovered, it seems, not only that it is of no earthly use, but that it actually does a great deal of mischief—induces us to disregard truth and admire falsehood, to indulge in exaggerated sentiment, and to weaken the authority of reason over passion and imagination. As to its positive evils, we believe we need not concern ourselves much but there are many people who really seem to think that it must be acknowledged that poetry is of no use; and consequently that, if at all to be tolerated in an industrious community, it ought to meet with no encouragement, and be treated with no respect. The short answer to this, to ask what is here meant by being of use," and whether any thing that gives pleasure may not properly be called useful? Unless we are to stop at the mere necessaries of life, it would be difficult to dispute this; and, after all, if life itself was not a pleasure, the utility even of its necessaries might very well be questioned. Even the rigorous definition of the proper object of all virtuous exertion, according to the utilitarians themselves, viz. the greatest happiness of the greatest number -obviously involves the consideration of pleasure and enjoyment; and makes this enjoyment, as indeed it truly is, the measure and test of utility. In what sense then can it be said that poetry is of no use to mankind-if it is admitted that it affords the most intense delight to great

* The Songs of Scotland. By Allan Cunningham.--Vol. xlvii. p. 184. January, 1828.

multitudes among them, and has always been recognised as a copious and certain source of enjoyment, in all conditions of life, and all stages of society? The only replication must be, that the pleasures it brings are accompanied by greater pains, or that the pursuit of them leads to the neglect of higher duties, or, what is the same thing, to the exclusion of still greater pleasures. We do not think, however, that this can be even plausibly pretended; and we do not observe that the champions of utility have ever seriously taken that ground. The truth is, that their irreverence to the Muses is much more a matter of habit and feeling with them than of reasoning; and, though attired occasionally in logical forms, proceeds in the main from mere prejudice and ignorance.

It frequently happens that circumstances direct the mind to the contemplation of truth in opposite directions. The faculties of men are practically developed in the exercise of their various pursuits, and the whole force of their intellect is generally exhausted in limited and particular investigations; and this necessarily detracts from their power of judging of arts and sciences alien to their own. It is thus that the great value placed on mathematical studies becomes not unfrequently a subject of doubts to a theologian or a moralist; while the excellence of poetry or art is questioned, in its turn, by the utilitarian or the legislator.

In all probability, it is with the mind as with the body-some limbs or sinews are occasionally kept in severe exercise, to the utter neglect of the rest; and the consequence is, that the one set gains strength and flourishes, while the other has a tendency to weaken or decay. Thus the Reason of some men is cultivated to the utter extinction of the Imagination; though it is but fair to suppose that the latter faculty was bestowed upon us for some use or purpose, equally with the former-the only question is, how to employ it profitably.

The motives which tempt a mere reasoner, a mathematician, or political economist, to abase the character of poetry, are, it must be allowed, as obvious as those which induce a writer of verse to exalt it. There is no sympathy with its pleasures in the one, while there is an over-wrought and interested admiration in the other. The former cannot be said, indeed, to be absolutely without the faculty of imagination, but it may be averred that he possesses it in a latent or undeveloped state; and we suspect that he cannot thoroughly understand the operations of a power which he himself has never individually felt. He sees only the ultimate consequence, without witnessing or experiencing the progress of the idea in the mind. He perceives what the imagination has produced, but is unable to judge of the impulse, or to speculate, otherwise than imperfectly, upon what it may produce hereafter.

Leaving the question, however, as to what his faculty may cause to be produced, or what a great poet may do, who shall task his powers to the uttermost, or wait patiently and sincerely for the illuminations of his imagination, it is enough to affirm that it exists. It is a POWER (and no mean one) not to be despised or neglected, but to be cherished and used, like any other power, for purposes beneficial to mankind. The most inveterate utilitarian would hesitate, we apprehend, to yield up any one nerve or fibre of the human frame, however useless it might, at first sight, appear to him to be. He would calculate wisely on the chance of its becoming at one time or other serviceable, and would be not without some misgivings as to the fallibility of his own particular opinions. Why then

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should the Imagination (a subject at least as mysterious and important) be entitled to less consideration than a nerve or a sinew? "It is a folly,' as Montaigne thinks, "to measure truth or error by our own capacity;" and we think so too.

As, therefore, the Imagination is an existing power,-as it has given birth to numerous works, some of which have had a prodigious effect upon the habits of thinking, and even upon the moral conduct of men,-it is not the part of a philosopher (however little he may be under its influence) to despise it. It is to be, used or misused, but not neglected nor contemned; for it can no more be extinguished than the mind of man. Ethical and political philosophy and mathematics are now held to be the master sciences; unquestionably they are most important ones. But there are other arts and sciences nearly as important, some of which are connected or collateral with those now mentioned, and some which may be said to be altogether independent of them. Amongst the first or collateral arts must undoubtedly be reckoned POETRY. It is, in the words of the great philosopher, "subservient to the Imagination, as Logic is to the Understanding;"* and its office "(if a man well weigh the matter) is no other than to apply and commend the dictates of Reason to the Imagination, for the better moving of the Appetite and the Will." Being an ally of reason and logic, therefore, as Lord Bacon says, it should not be treated as a foe, nor despised as a thing insignificant.

If man were merely an intellectual being, subject only to be influenced by pure reason, there might be some ground, perhaps, for maintaining that poetry was, strictly speaking, useless. A code of laws might then probably be framed excluding this delightful art from the commonwealth of letters, and substituting we know not what intellectual pleasure in lieu of it. But this most certainly neither is, nor can ever be our condition. We are not Houyhnhnms, but men; and we must seek the gratification, as well as guard against the abuse, of all the faculties with which we are actually gifted. In the formation of a system, a wise man will consider what has been, as well as what may be; for wisdom is little else than a synonyme for experience, and the future must always be built up from the past. It is desirable, therefore, to consider not only the value of the qualities with which we propose to endow any creature, but also the capacity of the creature to receive them. What should we think if some philosopher from the Ottomaques, or some follower of Brahma, should come hither, and insist -the one, that it would be more nutritious, the other, that it would be more virtuous, if we were for the future to feed upon pipe-clay mixed with oxyd of iron? We should scarcely respect even the zeal of one of our Christian missionaries, were he to attempt to extend the benefit of the Scriptures to any of the tribe of Simia, the Chimpansé, or the Pongo. It is true, that there is not so great a distinction amongst men, as between men and mere animals; yet the difference between the white race and the other varieties of the human species is greater than can be accounted for by climate or accident. Nay, amongst ourselves, distinctions are very obvious. We are not all mathematicians, or philosophers, or moralists, or poets. The human mind has certain defects (so called), and is liable to extraordinary changes. Its transitions, from vice to virtue, from equanimity to despair, have astonished all but the most profound philosophers. It is, in * Lord Bacon's Instauratio Magna, lib. vi. c. 3. + Humboldt, Tab. Phys. des Régions Equatoriales.

VOL. I.

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