Class P-H-^0. Book ■ -> ' - Copyright }1° COH^'KIGIIT DEPOSm Class HR Book . G ^ Gop!ghtl^^_ ENGLISH POETS. ENGLISH POETS TWELVE ESSAYS BY JOSEPH GOSTWICK, \\ Aiillior of ihc I/aiidhooks, " Gavtan Litcrotiire'' and "Ameria Literature,'" " Geri7ian Poets,'" WITH TWELVE TORTRAITS. STROEFER & KIRCHXER, NEW YORK. x^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S75, h' Stroefer and Kirchner, /// t/ie Office 0/ the Li/jrarian of Co/igress, at JFashingto//. ;his\vici-: press: — i'rinteu uv whittingha.m and wii.ki.n tooks colrt, chanciikv lane. ENGLISH POETS. INTRODUCTION. T is obvious that complete biographies of twelve poets, with analyses of all their writ- ings, cannot be given in a volume like the present. The limits of the work must pre- scribe the author's plan. With all the reverence due to men of poetic genius, he would endeavour to describe their chief characteristics, and would add a few words respecting the tendencies of their writings. A brief introductory essay is given for the purpose of showing that the theory of poetry maintained or implied in the following memoirs and essays is neither arbitrary nor narrow. Poetry is a word having a wider and a closer meaning. How extensive must be the general notion that includes the writings of SHAKESPEARE and MiLTON, PoPE and B 2 EXGLISH POETS. Burns, Crabbe and Wordsworth ! All these writers are called poets. To all belong more or less the traits — vivid imagination, sympathy, wit, humour, command of language and love of harmony in verse. But all these qualities, except the last, may be found in the form of prose. Addison's " Roger de Coverley,"' in prose, is more genial and imaginative than his " Cato " in blank verse. Sir Walter Scott's novels and romances, in prose, are more richly imaginative than his metrical poetr>-. Jeremy Taylor and Sir Thomas Browne are poets, and Irving and Hawthorne may be classed with the poets of America. It may, therefore, for a moment appear that verse is but an accidental form of some writings called poetr}-, and that — suppressing the formal distinction of verse and prose — creative or poetical writers may be well classified with a view to their more important characteristics ; their thoughts, sympathies, and tendencies. For, putting aside their verse-writing, there is hardly one characteristic of the men commonly called poets that may not be found in prose-writers. On the other hand, the fact that two men write in verse serves of itself to indicate but a superficial likeness. Though Swift wrote verses and Shelley wrote verses, what concord had one with the other .' After all, it remains true that, in popular language, a poet means a man who writes with imaginative and emotional power, and who writes well in verse. And there are good reasons for this closer definition. For, INTRODUCTION. 3 while it is true that the talent of making verses may exist apart from poetical genius, it is also true that poets of the highest order have mostly chosen verse as their own natural form of expression. If we ask " why?" the answer will be found in the closer or higher meaning of the word Poetr}'. Accepting that word in its higher sense, we would not attempt to give a formal definition, but would, in the first place, follow COLERIDGE and WORDSWORTH in saying : " Poetry is the opposite, not of prose, but of science." If there is one word that may indicate the nature of that which we would call the essence, the spirit of poetry, that one word is Union. A theory founded on this general notion can hardly be called narrow or arbitrary, when it is found in accordance with the theory held by WoRDSWORTH, the poet, and by Francis Jeffrey, the critic ; when we find Macaulay — no mystical writer — taking the same view of poetry, and, accordingly, placing Shelley far above crowds of other men called poets. To justify fully our view of the one essential power that makes high poetr}-, it would be requisite to give the best analysis of poetry ever written in English ; in other words, we must quote some pages from Words\VORTH'S essays called " prefaces," and lately re-published. But, for the sake of brevity, the words of the critic, Jeffrey, may be given : — " It has always been our opinion," he says, " that the real essence of poetry — apart from the pathos, the wit, or 4 ENGLISH POETS. the brilliant description which may be embodied in it, but may equally exist in prose — consists in the fine perception, the vivid expression of that subtle and mysterious analogy which exists between the physical and the moral world, which makes outward things and qualities the natural types and emblems of inward gifts and emotions, and leads us to ascribe life and sentiment to everything that interests us in the aspect of external nature." This definition is true as far as it goes, but does not include all that may be said of unitive, or poetic, genius. A definition, more concise, yet more comprehen- sive, is given by Charles Lamb. He describes poetical imagination as " the power that draws all things to one ; which makes things animate and inanimate, beings with their attributes, subjects with their accessories, take one colour and serve to one effect." The purest and highest poetry knows nothing of the hard lines, divisions, and abstractions of science ; but takes for granted a union of the real with the ideal ; of the past with the present and the future ; of the mind with the surrounding world. For the poet, outward signs are the words of one all- pervading mind ; all nature lives, thinks, and feels ; stars, rivers, flowers, trees — yea, rocks and old stony ruins are his friends. He can call up emotion from the depth of calm, and can make all the passions excited by tragedy lead to a subjugation of the will, and end in the repose of resignation. He can find a "joy in grief," and can transmute faded sorrows into "pleasures of memory." INTRODUCTION. 5 The question, " whence come metres and rhymed or unrhymed verses ? " is ah'eady answered. The expression must accord with the meaning ; the form must be united with the idea. If the essence of the purest poetry is union, or harmony, then the language of poetry must be harmonious. " Verse," says an essayist, " is necessary to the form of poetry " [in its higher definition] ; " the perfection of the poetical spirit demands it ; the circle of its enthusiasm, beauty, and power is incomplete without it. Verse is the final proof to the poet that his mastery over his art is complete. Poetry, in its complete sympathy with beauty, must leave no sense of the beautiful, and no power over its forms unmanifested." It may be said, that these characteristics, here noticed as belonging to the higher poetry, are by no means found everywhere, even in the writings of true poets. True ; for poetry must have variety and contrast. The greatest poets write, only here and there, in their highest strain of inspiration ; some parts of their works may include graphic descriptions of facts as they are, or may contain traits of wit and humour, or moral maxims, or meditative passages. Many pages in WORDSWORTH'S writings may be fairly described as consisting of sermons in verse. Crabbe could write poetry ; but his mind was so closely engaged with life's sad realities — as seen in workhouses, prisons, and " the huts where poor men lie," — that he often seemed forgetful of all poetry. In Cowper an earnest desire to teach often suppressed, or 6 ENGLISH POETS. held in strict control, the poet's imagination. In a word — it does not follow, because a man is a poet, that he is to be nothing more than a poet. Poetry has, of course, relationship with the sister arts, music and painting. In metre and rhyme a peculiar melody, distinct from singing, is supplied. There are comparatively few poems well adapted to be set to music ; but many poems have their own melody, and, when well read aloud by a sympathetic voice, want no accompaniment. The minute gradations of a fine read- ing voice have shades of expression that cannot be given by any arrangement of tones and semitones in the diatonic scale. The definition that calls poetry "a kind of painting in words" has been already condemned by Lessing, one of the best of critics. Poetry, he tells us, does not consist in exact portraiture. Why should the artist, whose means of expression are words, attempt to do the work that may be done better by a painter } Each of the fine arts has its own special bounds. In painting, harmony is displayed in space ; in poetry, as in music, a succession of time is required. Painting sets before us forms, colours, and expressions, of which the general harmony may be seen and felt in a moment. In narra- tive poetry, a succession of pictures may be suggested by words ; but the pictures must be only passingly named, as scenery is noticed by a traveller still proceeding on his journey. To this rule some exceptions may be found IN TRODUC TION. 7 in the writings of great poets. For example, in Shelley's "Alastor" may be found an elaborate de- scription of forest scenery ; but let it be noticed that the tone of the passage accords well with the preceding and the following narrative, and that personal sentiment is intimately blended with the whole description. On the other hand, the examples that might be given to confirm our theory of poetry are abundant. Men who have no care for any formal definitions can see and feel, in a moment, that there is no poetry in the following lines, written by a dry versifier who made rhymes in the seventeenth century : — " Twenty-four miles surveyors do account Between the eastern and the western mount. Hither the eagles fly and — lay their eggs." This is a part of a description of two mountains. To find a contrast, we may open one of Wordsworth's volumes anywhere, so that we avoid his didactic verses. By accident, we turn to some lines — not remarkably good — addressed to a ruined castle, standing near Loch Awe, with a mountain and a torrent in the back- ground : — " The mountain stream Roars in thy hearing ; but thy hour of rest Is come, and thou art silent in thy age." Here the gray old pile is alive and thinks. It had a loud and stormy youth in ancient and warlike times, and now it has a serene old age. A human interest is thus 8 ENGLISH POETS. given to the castle. To find other examples of poetic and unitive imagination, we might refer to the two beauti- ful elegies — " Lycidas," by MiLTON, and " Adonais," by Shelley ; or, for bolder expressions, we might turn to a passage of Hebrew poetry, where " fir-trees " and " the cedars of Lebanon " blend their voices, while the dead are called up from their graves, that they may unite in a song of triumph over a fallen oppressor. From this sublime example of lyric enthusiasm we might turn to tales of fairy-land and other stories for childhood, and here might find the spirit of poetry expressing itself in playful forms. When all human tongues are silent, " a bird in the forest brings to light the cruelty of a step- mother." To rebuke avarice, " a fountain refuses to flow." The kindness of a child is recognized and is well rewarded, not only by an angel, but also " by a bird, a fish, and a rivulet ! " This is playful fiction, and, at the same time, it is true poetry. It would be vain to attempt an enumeration of all the forms in which the general idea of union finds poetic ex- pressions ; but we may briefly divide them into two classes, and for this purpose may employ, with distinct meanings, the two words " Imagination" and " Fancy." The former may be used to denote every union of ideas that may be accepted as natural or possible, or as having some ground in faith or in earnest emotion. As exer- cises of Fancy we may treat all light, accidental, or arbi- trary associations of ideas. Imagination gives birth to INTRODUCTION. 9 profound thoughts of union. Fancy is pleased with shallow analogies. Imagination may harmonize well with religious belief or with bold speculation. Fancy may excite a smile. Imagination may become formidable or may assert its dominion over the mind. Imagination is earnest. Fancy is playful. For one example of ima- ginative power we may turn to a well-known passage in Shakespeare's marvellous play, " The Tempest." Here all the pageants of a masque — "a most majestic vision " — fade away as clouds, and "leave not a rack behind;" and so, says the poet, " The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces. The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve And — like this insubstantial pageant faded- Leave not a rack behind." Here all things that men usually call realities are likened to dreams," "pageants," and mere shows ! This bringing together of two opposite classes of objects is bold and earnest ; it accords well with, at least, one in- terpretation of a creed held by millions, and it is closely connected with premonitions by which the souls of men have often been disturbed. This is an example of earnest and profound imagination. To find a specimen of Fancy's power we may turn to one of Wordsworth's several addresses " To the Daisy : " " A little Cyclops ! with one eye Staring, to threaten and defy, That thought comes next — and instantly The freak is over, C lo ENGLISH POETS. The shape will vanish — and behold ! A silver shield, with boss of gold, That spreads itself, some faery bold In fight to cover." Here the likenesses supposed to exist are slight and evanescent, and may be even called — wilful. They have no basis in earnest feeling, such as may be found in another passage here given as a noble example of ima- ginative power. The poet, travelling in Italy, sees the marble statues on the cathedral of Milan, and afterwards he is sailing on a lake when an eclipse of the sun (1820) takes place. The darkening billows remind him of the shadow passing over the faces of the marble angels at Milan : " All steeped in this portentous light I All suffering dim eclipse ! " Then follows this bolder expression of imaginative power : " Thus, after man had fallen — if aught These perishable spheres have wrought May with that issue be compared— Throngs of celestial visages, Darkening, like water in the breeze, A holy sadness shared." So far the essence — the master idea — of poetry has been described. But an idea must be developed and embodied. The means for its incorporation are found in studies of nature, and of human life in union with nature. On his mastery of these studies depends our estimate of INTRODUCTION. ii a poet, with respect to his greatness or his grasp of the materials required for the expansion of poetic power. A poet's genius may be true in its kind, but may, at the same time, be small in evolution. Though it seems un- fair to compare any poet with SHAKESPEARE, we may, for the sake of clear illustration, point to the distance existing between our greatest poet and the lively fabulist, John Gay. So vast was the evolution of Shakespeare's genius, that the hundreds of volumes already written hardly suffice for its analysis. But a few pages might give a fair estimate of all the poetic work of Gav, and the same remark might be applied to many writers who, in their several small spheres, have displayed some poetic powers. Human life, viewed as a whole, and with respect to the past, the present, and the future, is the chief theme of poetry. History — though lately expanded by union with the spirit of poetry — has too often treated men as if they were machines, urged on by external forces. The poet should be the historian's companion, and should do more than the historian can do. While the latter notices the bodies of events, the former tells of the spirit that moves them. The historian describes the outward life and records facts ; the poet reveals feelings, thoughts, hopes, desires — the germs of far-distant events. The historian tells us what man has been ; the poet shows, either in dreams of the past or in visions of the future, what man may be. To the poet, fulfilling the duties here 12 ENGLISH POETS. named, the praise awarded by WORDSWORTH belongs : " He is the rock of defence for human nature, an up- holder and preserver, carrying everywhere with him re- lationship and love. In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs, in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the poet binds together, by passion and knowledge, the vast empire of human society as it is spread over the whole earth and over all time." It is obvious that all this praise cannot be fairly awarded to every writer of poetry, and cannot have refer- ence to every passage found in the greatest of poets. In the ideal, as in the real world, are found day and night, beauty and deformity, harmony and discord. But who can doubt that goodness, kindness, and expansive sympathy are the master-tones and the general tenden- cies of such poets as Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott .-' Have writers of their order ever separated classes in society one from another, or divided men into narrow sects, or taught them to hate one another } Is teaching, by means of poetry, to be called ineffectual, be- cause it is indirect and not dogmatic ? Is not influence deeper and stronger than precept } Good or bad moral influence may be ascribed to an imaginative work. But it is not the poet's duty to give directly instruction in faith or in morals. He may, sometimes, wander away from poetry, and write sermons in rhyme or in blank verse ; but in such instances he INTRODUCTION. 13 trespasses upon ground that strictly belongs to others. Poems are not didactic essays. But, as all things good, true, and beautiful, live naturally in union, a compre- hensive survey of poetical literature, from Homer's time to our own, will show that the tones of true poetry accord well, on the whole, with the best culture, the purest faith, the highest hopes of mankind. Caution is always re- quired when we speak of the control that intellect, in any form of manifestation, may exert over the crude passions of men. So far are men governed by their stubborn habits and their physical wants, that the progress of good teaching — direct or indirect — must be slow. But the predictions uttered and the hopes excited by seers and poets are not altogether barren and deluding, though they may have to wait long for their fulfilment. After all the failures of so many hundred years, millions still cherish the hope that the fair visions of our purest poetry may gradually shine forth out of literature into life, and make the world all around us brighter and more beautiful. Has too much been said of the good influence of poetry.!* Let us turn over slowly the pages of some volumes containing selections from the works of English poets. Where shall we find so many expressions of kindness flowing forth towards man and the whole ani- mated world ? Where so many noble thoughts of free- dom and contentment .-' Where so little of that hateful and destructive principle — bigotry .!* In poetical litera- 14 ENGLISH POETS. ture we find, of course, as in social and political history, the duality that belongs to human nature — darkness as well as light — and, if we search diligently for errors and vices, we shall not fail to find them in abundance, es- pecially in dramatic poetry. Here it is always to be remembered that a work of art — above all, a drama — must be viewed as a whole ; must be estimated with re- spect, not to isolated passages, but to the prevalent tone and the general effect. There are dark places in " The Tempest," but how noble and healthful the summary — the conclusion ! So may we speak generally of the greater part of all true poetry. There can be no perma- nent alliance of genius with frivolity. The enthusiasm called poetic inspiration can be excited only by noble aims and ideas. There are three relations that poetic art may bear to religion and virtue. The artist may regard his work as done for his own amusement or for the diversion of his readers. In this instance, the relation of art to morality is indifference. Or a poet, by deplorable error, may em- ploy art as the slave of passion, and make of poetry a beautiful robe for deformity. Or thirdly, while enjoying his own artistic freedom with respect to forms of expres- sion, he may write poetry, by no means dryly didactic, but such as, when fairly and generously interpreted, will be found harmonious with all things true, honest, pure, and lovely. These prefatory words may serve to indicate the INTRODUCTION. 15 general design of the following memoirs and essays. To form an estimate of a poet's genius and its evolution, we would ask such questions as these : What is the range of his ideas and sympathies ? How much does he tell of the living world around us — of men and women, as indi- viduals, and as members of society ? Lastly, what are the moral tones and tendencies of his writings ? The subjects of these twelve essays are chosen for the purpose of indicating the variety included in poetry. The selection is not intended to represent a first rank of English poets, and it by no means implies that names omitted belong to a second rank. Some biographical outlines are given ; but our aim is to show, that a poet's true life is found in his own poetry. mi m. SHAKESPEARE. T Stratford-on-Avon, a quiet town situate in a midland district of meadows, pasture-land, and corn-fields, there lived, in the sixteenth century, a family bearing the name Shake- speare. The father, John Shakespeare, was a yeoman of good position, who lived in Henley Street, and was the owner of a small farm, an orchard, and some tenements. At one time he was a maker of gloves, most probably such coarse and strong leather gloves as are worn by men who plash hedges. Of his family, three sons — William, Gilbert, and Richard — and one daughter, named Joan, were living in 1579. William Shakespeare, the oldest son, was born at Stratford-on-Avon in April, 1564. (For the date April 23rd no evidence has been found.) That the son of a yeoman or small farmer might be well educated at the D 1 8 ENGLISH POETS. Grammar School of Stratford-on-Avon, might have some knowledge of stage-players, and might hear news of religious plays, or Mysteries, performed at Coventry, are three suppositions having some considerable proba- bility ; but vague traditions and guesses are all the grounds that can be found for the stories telling us that the poet was, during his youth, a " deer-stealer," a "butcher," and a "lawyer's clerk." When hardly nineteen years old, he married Anne Hathaway, the daughter of " a husbandman," or small farmer, dwelling at Shottery, a hamlet near Stratford-on-Avon. Anne was, apparently, about seven years older than her husband. Their first child was a daughter, Susannah, born in 1583, and, two years later, twins — Hamnet and Judith — were born. William Shakespeare had, therefore, three children when he was only twenty-three years old. About the time 1586 (as biographers suppose), he went to London, to win the means of subsistence by writing and acting plays. It is not conceivable that he could be, at that time, wholly unconscious of his intellectual resources. He knew that they could find no adequate employment in any little town, like that in which he was born, and, doubtless, thoughts of future fame had already visited him in his solitude. There was another motive that might urge him, at the same time, to make some new effort for the support of himself and his family. The prosperity of his father's household was waning. Accord- ingly, Shakespeare (1586) went away from his native 6- HA KE S r E A R E. 1 9 place, and left there his wife and three children ; but there is no evidence to show that they were forsaken. The notion that the poet was an illiterate man when he left Stratford-on-Avon may be classified, as im- probable, with some stories told of his early adventures in London. He was once, we are told, the premier in a company of boys, called " Shakespeare's boys," who earned money by holding horses for gentlemen visiting playhouses. Afterwards, it is said, he served on the stage as a call-boy, or prompter's attendant, and gradu- ally rose, until he could take the part of the Ghost in " Hamlet" These stories are very slightly founded on evidence. The London stage was still in a rude condition when the poet came up from Warwickshire. About the time 1577 the first theatre, then simply called "The Theatre," was built on a site near Finsbury Fields ; and, soon afterwards, a second theatre, called " The Curtain," was erected near the first. The people who frequented these places of amusement — especially on Sundays and other holidays — included many of the less educated classes, who were, from time to time, called unruly, and were otherwise denounced by magistrates. At one time it was proposed that all acting of plays within or near the boundaries of the city should be prohibited and, in terms of extreme severity, both players and the sup- porters of stage plays were reprobated by several Puritan writers and preachers. The arrangements and the pro- 20 ENGLISH POETS. parties of theatres were primitive. The roof covered only the stage and the galleries, while the pit was left open to the sky. One penny was charged for admission, twopence for entrance to the galleries, and sometimes threepence was paid for a reserved seat. On Sundays and other holidays the house and the galleries were often densely crowded, and one of the arguments used for the suppression of playhouses was founded on fear lest they might be means of spreading the plague. Exer- cises in fencing and the performances of tumblers were sometimes introduced to give variety to theatrical amuse- ments. One of the writers against stage plays admitted that some good might be said of them, and that some- times good morals were taught in the theatre. Of Shakespeare's first association with players nothing- is known ; but it is clear that, about the time 1592, when he was twenty-eight years old, he had won among them a fair reputation, for they described him as a versatile and practical man, and as a Jack-of-all-Trades (or a *' Factotum "), who was ready to turn his hand to any- thing, and to undertake any part in which he could make himself serviceable. Some friendly notices and some expressions of envy coincide well, so as to lead to one conclusion : — that the greatest poet who ever lived in this world was a pleasant companion and a modest man. He worked on patiently, in concert with others, and did not esteem himself " a star " of the first magni- tude. But, however great his modesty, it was impossible SNA KESPEA RE. 21 that such powers as he possessed could be concealed. It was reported, with some exaggeration, that he wrote very rapidly and never blotted a line. The "facetious grace" of his style was commended. These and other praises excited the envy of less prosperous playwrights and actors. Robert Greene {a poor playwright who could never '* keep a friend ") described Shakespeare as a man who, " in his own conceit," was " the only Shake-scene in a country." Other words, written by the same unfortu- nate rival, express a fear lest " an upstart crow " should win praise due to the birds from whom his fine feathers were stolen. These words are mere expressions of envy, but they serve to make clear the fact that Shakespeare and his associates were winning popularity in 1592, the year when Robert Greene died in miserable circum- stances. He would have died of starv^ation in the streets of London if he had not been succoured by one of his creditors — a poor shoemaker to whom the playwright owed ten pounds. After Greene's death, the little book containing his expressions of envy was published by his friend, Chettle, who, soon afterwards, expressed his regret that he had not cancelled the false words. To make amends, Chettle, in his antique style, described Shake- speare as a man whose uprightness and civility, in all his dealings with others, were as well known as was the excellence of his dramatic writings. The words written by Greene, and the recantation made by his friend and editor, are important contributions to our know- 22 ENGLISH POETS. ledge of Shakespeare's character and position. Greene tells us that his rival had gained, in 1592, a great suc- cess; and Chettle tells us the success was fairly won. If Chettle had written in the style of our own times, he would have said briefly that, in the old and true mean- ing of the word, Shakespeare was a gentleman. The testimonials referred to in Chettle's recantation were given by men of high respectability. It is clear, then, that the poet's reputation was Avell established as early as 1592. A word is hardly wanted to remind any reader that, in the times of Marlowe, Chapman, and Shakespeare, the style of writing prevalent in dramatic and epic poetry was energetic, bold, and luxuriant. A freedom of ex- pression that in our time would be called licence, was esteemed as one of the essential traits of poetry. These qualities, with others of a higher kind, are all found in Shakespeare's first published poem — " Venus and Adonis," which appeared in 1593. Most probably the poet had been introduced as early as 1589 to his young friend and patron, Henry Wriothesley, Earl of South- ampton, who concluded his studies at Cambridge and came to London before he was twenty years old. In a dedication addressed to Southampton, the poet spoke of his work as hardly v/orthy of his patron's notice, and promised that, if well received, it should be followed by " some graver labour." Accordingly, in the following year, he dedicated to his young friend the tragic narra- SHAKESPEARE. 23 tive poem " Lucrece," and in the dedication wrote these words : — " What I have done is yours ; what I have to do is yours." These words accord well with many ex- pressions found in the sonnets written in the course of a few years following the first publication of " Lucrece." The two narrative poems are alike remarkable, as evi- dences of strong imagination united with boundless wealth and freedom of expression. Their faults belong to the times in which they appeared. The assertion already made — that, as early as 1 592, Shakespeare's character as a poet and a player of the higher class was established, has been confirmed by the researches of Mr. Halliwell. To this gentleman we are indebted for our knowledge of the poet's position in 1594. In that year the Queen's Treasurer of the Chamber paid to William Kempe, WILLIAM SHAKE- SPEARE, and Richard Burbage (described as " servants to the Lord Chamberlain "), several sums of money as pay- ment, and " by way of Her Majesty's reward," for " two comedies showed by them before Her Majesty, in Christmas time last past — namely, upon St. Stephen's Day and Innocents' Day." In the same year the same company of players, Shakespeare, Kempe, and Burbage — as one of the two companies who were licensed and were patronized by the Queen — made application for a renewal of their licence to give dramatic performances at a tavern, the Cross Keys in Gracechurch Street. No evidence has been found to show that Shakespeare was, 24 ENGLISH POETS. at that time or afterwards, one of the proprietors of any theatre ; but as an actor he would, of course, have his share of " the house money " and " the gallery money " — in other words, a share in the profits gained by per- formances of his own plays and others. It is obvious that the old story of his playing no part save that of the Ghost in "Hamlet" is contradicted by the facts here given, as well as by the fact that in 1598 he took a part in one of Ben Jonson's comedies. In 1596, when he paid a visit to his native place, the poet had already gained money enough to make his own circumstances easy, though by no means wealthy, and it is pleasant to observe that about the same time the family of John Shakespeare, at Stratford-on-Avon, were released from pecuniary difficulties, and restored to their former social position. In 1557, when he married, John Shakespeare took possession of a farm of fifty-four acres, besides some houses and tenements. Twenty years later — when the poet was a boy, twelve years old — the father found himself compelled to mortgage his farm and some tenements. But in 1596, when the poet's own cir- cumstances were good, a grant of arms was made to his father. The Shakespeares of Stratford-on-Avon were then comparatively prosperous. This coincidence accords well with a natural belief that the man who wrote " King Lear " was a kind and thankful son. There can be no reason for doubting that at various times, of which no memoranda have been preserved, he came down to his SHAKESPEARE. 25 native place. The vague rumour that he was a cold or unkind husband is founded on nothing better than the misconstruction of a few words added to his will. How welcome to the poet, coming down from London — from the overwork and excitement of the stage — that interval of repose in 1596 must have been ! But it was a time of rest not undisturbed by grief; for then he buried, at Stratford-on-Avon, his only son, Hamnet, who died when twelve years old. In the following year the poet again visited his native town, and there bought, for sixty pounds, a house called New Place, with two barns and two gardens. In the same year, John Shakespeare, the father, filed a bill in Chancery for a recovery of the farm that had been mortgaged in 1577. Here is another pleasing coincidence. In 1598 the first theatre, situate near Finsbury Fields, was finally closed, and its materials were used for build- ing the new theatre called the Globe. At that time Shakespeare still belonged to one of the two companies of players licensed by the Lord Chamberlain, and engaged now and then to prepare comedies and other plays to be performed in the presence of the Queen. The players belonging to a third company were at the same time denounced by authority as unlicensed in- truders, who had never " prepared any play for Her Majesty," and were not obedient, as were the two licensed companies, to rules and regulations prescribed by the Master of the Revels. Orders were, therefore, given by E 26 ENGLISH POETS. the Lord Admiral and the Lord Chamberlain, that the said Master of the Revels and the Justices of the Peace in Middlesex and Surrey should put in force measures for the suppression of unlicensed players. This prohibi- tion serves to show that, in 1 598, Shakespeare had still the advantage of being recognized as one in a licensed company of players, distinguished as " Her Majesty's servants." In this capacity he was engaged, in the course of the same year, as one of the actors in a performance of Ben Jonson's comedy, " Every Man in His Humour." This fact leads us to notice Jonson's eulogy of Shake- speare. After all that has been said of Jonson's self-esteem, his pride of learning, and his want of feeling for the finer tones in Shakespeare's poetry, there can be no doubt that the distance between the two poets was clearly seen, though not exactly measured by Jonson. His own defects served to make the eulogy more remarkable. Jonson could hate a rival, and could express bitterly his contempt of men inferior to himself. Vague and indis- criminate "hero-worship," though the hero was the greatest of poets, had often made Jonson angry. But these considerations and others serve to make his eulogy more glorious. It forms a fine contrast to the mysterious silence of Lord Bacon, and to the " faint praise " of smaller cotemporaries. Let it be recalled to mind that one of Jonson's own admirers, when referring to the English drama of the sixteenth century, would not name SNA KESPEARE. 27 Shakespeare, but addressed to Jonson an ode praising him as the sole creator of English dramatic poetry. Other examples of the same kind might be given. The eulogy written by Ben Jonson is a solitary and noble monument, telling us that Shakespeare's greatness was fully recognized by one of his cotemporaries. Jonson describes his friend as " honest " (in the old and true sense), and as " a man of an open and free nature ; " then goes on to say : — " I do honour him, on this side idolatry, as much as any." With manly independence he notices, without admiration, the poet's extreme facility in writing, and regrets that it was not followed by greater care in revision and severity in cancelling. These and other expressions of fair criticism make more remarkable such lines as the following : — " He was not for an age, but for all time, And all the Muses still were in their prime When, like Apollo, he came forth." If Jonson could Avrite thus of Shakespeare, why were many cotemporaries silent .-* Lord Bacon's imaginative powers would surely make him a critic well qualified for recognizing the presence of a great poet ; but, with re- spect to inferior men, it may be noticed that a strange fatality of error, in extreme laudation or undeserved con- tempt, too often attends cotemporary criticism. In our own century, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Keats and Shelley have been condemned, and would have been sup- pressed, if it had been possible. In Shakespeare's time, 28 ENGLISH POETS. many readers, who admired the rich imagery and fluent diction of his narrative poems, could not appreciate fairly the nobler characteristics of his plays. As one exception Francis Meres may be named. His book, published in 1598, contains praise of Shakespeare's poems (including the sonnets), and of several plays Meres writes in terms which, though inadequate, are intended to express ad- miration. The plays to which he refers include the fol- lowing : — The " Two Gentlemen of Verona," the " Comedy of Errors," " Love's Labour's Lost," the " Mid- summer Night's Dream," the " Merchant of Venice," " Richard the Second," " Richard the Third," " Henry the Fourth," "King John," "Titus Andronicus," and " Romeo and Juliet." The notices preserved of Shakespeare's life, during eleven years following 1600, are scanty. In 1601 his father died at Stratford-on-Avon, and the poet's friend, Southampton — accused as one of the accomplices of Essex — was sent to the Tower. Soon afterwards the poet seems to have visited his native place, for in 1602 the property called New Place was increased by a pur- chase of land lying between the house and the Avon. Shakespeare's name appears in a licence granted to a company of players in the year 1603, and in the time 1 600-4 several of his plays were printed. The sonnets, which have given rise to so much con- troversy, were noticed, as we have seen, as early as 1 598, but were first collected and printed in 1609, when they SHAKESPEARE. 29 were introduced by the following hopeless riddle, given in the shape of a dedication : " To the only Begetter of these ensuing Sonnets, Mr. W. H., all happiness and that eternity promised by our ever-living Poet wisheth the well-wishing adventurer in setting forth, T. T." The first seventeen of the sonnets are addressed to a young Adonis, In others are found admiration of beauty, declarations of love and of friendship, complaints refer- ring to adverse circumstances, solemn thoughts of mor- tality, and expressions of a belief in the immortality of fame bestowed by poetry. Here and there are given passages of grave admonition, and some expressions are found that may be called mystical. The wealth of illus- tration, especially of images derived from the four seasons of the year, is abundant, and there are several sonnets, so individual and so earnest, that they seem to flow directly from the writer's heart. The history of this little book of sonnets is hardly less remarkable than its contents. One editor, Steevens, talks of an Act of Par- liament as hardly strong enough to make a man read such verses. This flippant criticism was denounced by Coleridge and by Wordsworth. The latter, perhaps too boldly and indiscriminately, maintained that in these poems Shakespeare expressed, " in his own person, his own feelings." One elaborate exposition of the sonnets treats them as a dramatic series, and finds in them references to the love-affairs of Southampton, and those of the Earl of Pembroke, who, in his >'outh, was named 30 ENGLISH POETS. William Herbert. This theory is opposed by a writer who maintains that the sonnets should be viewed as a collection of fugitive pieces, put together mostly without any regard for order, and dedicated to Southampton by W. H., who (as the critic says) might be William Hathaway, one of the poet's relatives. Lastly may be noticed the opinion of one of Shakespeare's most careful editors. Mr. Dyce expresses a belief that the sonnets were mostly written in an assumed character, and for the amusement of the author's friends, and that, while one or two may reflect the poet's own feelings, the whole series must not be accepted as having reference to his personal circumstances. Perhaps the word " several " might here be well substituted for the words " one or two." The Sonnets addressed by Sydney to " Stella " may be noticed to show that, in his time, such poems might be unreal, and have no reference to facts. The expressions of love and friendship found in such poems must obviously be interpreted with a reference to tastes prevalent at the time when the Sonnets were written. In 1611 " The Tempest " was performed, perhaps for the first time. If it could be proved that this was the writer's last work, there might be found, in the conclu- sion, a reference to his own feelings. After more than twenty years of intellectual work, he was thinking of quiet, green fields and a home near the Avon, and he might well repeat, with reference to himself, some words spoken by the magician. In 161 2, or about that SHAKESPEARE. 31 time, when his annual income was probably equivalent to a respectable competency, the Poet left London, and retired to New Place at Stratford-on-Avon. He was then only forty-eight years old ; but his true age, measured by work and expenditure of power, might, in all pro- bability, exceed the age indicated by that number of his years. He might use truly, speaking in his own person, the words he had written some time before his final retirement : — " That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold — Bare, ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As, after sunset, fadeth in the west, Which, by-and-by, black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest." The Poet died at Stratford-on-Avon, on the 23rd of April, in the year 161 6. By his will, executed in March, 161 6, he bequeathed to his wife the "second best bed," and these words, oddly misconstrued, have been sup- posed to imply some want of kindness. His widow, who was sixty years old at the time of his decease, died in 1623. There remains now no lineal representative of the Poet. The name Shakespeare might be supposed to have reference to some peculiar incident in the history of one family ; but it is borne by several unconnected families. In 1623 the Poet's dramatic writings were first col- 32 ENGLISH POETS. lected in a folio entitled "Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies." Other editions in folio appeared in the years 1632, 1663, and 1685. A com- plete list of later editions, of translations, and of com- mentaries, English, German, and American, would fill a volume. Ben Jonson's words — retrospective in form, but implying a remarkable prediction — have been fulfilled. Great poets and able critics have been rivals in the task of exploring and setting forth the wealth of the Poet, " Who was not for an age, but for all time." Is it credible that all the plays ascribed to Shake- speare were written by one man, in the course of about twenty years t The question implies wonder, arising, not from ignorance, but from insight. Careful investi- gation may justify the subtraction of some inferior portions of several plays, and of such coarse passages as might be foisted in by audacious actors. But it can hardly be doubted that the great Poet was compelled to write with some submission to " the emergencies of the stage," as it existed in his time. Under the pressure of association with players urged by precarious circum- stances, he would sometimes find himself constrained to amend, re-cast, or complete work partly done by inferior men. He perhaps referred to work of that description when he said : — " Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in — like the dyer's hand." SHAKESPEARE. 33 But, when all reasonable subtraction is made from plays ascribed to Shakespeare, he is a gainer by the loss. There exists no doubt that the greatest and best plays are substantially the work of one man. The wonder attending his name can never be suppressed, but may be, in some degree, moderated by studies of life and literature in the sixteenth century. Marvellous powers of intellect and imagination were, at that time, the at- tendants of stormy passions. To supply expression for newly excited powers of thought, a vast expansion of the English language took place with great rapidity. With respect, therefore, to the energy and wealth of poetic diction, the arrival of Shakespeare had been heralded by preceding writers. But, with regard to the truth, the power, the beauty and the variety of his dramatic poetry, his appearance, after all that had been done, was like a sudden coming-on of Summer, immediately after a stormy March. The Poet's dramatic writings may be collectively called a whole world of poetry. To notice, within concise limits, the scenery and the people of that world — its contrasts and harmonies, heights and depths, beauties and deformities — the rapidity of Ariel's flight would be required. We may, however, give some aid to young readers who would explore the wealth of thought, feeling, and imagery found in Shakespeare's world. First may be noticed the harmonizing of natural scenery with the motives and ideas of several dramas. In "The F 34 ENGLISH POETS. Tempest," when the usurper and his company are cast by a storm on the island, seas and shores, " all creatures," conspire to punish them, until their "heart's sorrow" leads to a better life. In " As You Like It '' the tone of the whole play accords well with the freedom and gladness o( life in the Forest of Arden. There — " . • • lif' is better tlian rash judgment. The Poet allows his characters to speak for tliemselves, and not as direct reporters of his own thoughts and sentiments. He would not be a dramatist if he made every speaker a teacher of good morals. Nevertlieless, works of art, including poetry, must, with respect to their general tones and tendencies, have some relationship with moral culture and social interests. There can be no doubt that the general, the ultimate tendencies of Shakespeare's best plays are good and healthful. Though direct moral lessons are not the passages that display the Poet's po^\•er, he has given them in such abundance, that they have supplied materials for several volumes of selections from his works. Here and there he gives hot only advice, but also the grounds or reasons by which it may be supported. A remarkable example is found in " Troilus and Cressida," act iii. scene 3. SHAKESPEARE. 39 There are found, in the plays ascribed to Shakespeare, some objectionable passages which, in all probability, he did not write. At the same time, it would be ridiculous to imagine that he was a precisian. He wrote, no doubt, many of the passages in which boldness and licence of expression, characteristic of his times, seem carried be- yond due bounds. Of all virtues and graces in writing, reserve was the last to be dreamed of by an Elizabethan dramatist. A land may be fair, and on the whole may be well cultivated, though it includes some fenny dis- tricts. Nothing is here said with reference to two plays, of which the authorship seems partly dubious. On in- ferior passages in others it would be bad taste to dwell. It would be like turning away from the lights to peer into the darkest shades of some old picture. Turning from morals to politics, we find some interest in the question — do the historical plays tell anything of the writer's views of society and government .' Several of the characters introduced speak forcibly on the side of authority, and for the conservation of old institutions, while in several plays, especially in "Coriolanus" and " Julius Caesar," demagogues and their followers are treated with humorous contempt. But must such ex- pressions be regarded as more than dramatic .^ Does the zest with which the poet wrote some invectives against mob-leaders betray his own antipathy.^ That question may be left open. Of his general religious sentiments more may be said, with some degree of confidence. 40 ENGLISH POETS. The so-called religious controversy raging in his time must be noticed, if we would place in fair contrast with its bitterness the tolerant and reverent words of the Poet. He lived in times when kingdoms were disturbed by contentions arising from differences of belief. In England men were divided into three classes — members of the Established Church, Roman Catholics, and Puritans. Some of their disputes were carried on in a style described mildly in a few words written by Lord Bacon : — " It is more than time," he says, " that there were an end made of that immodest and deformed manner of writing whereby matters of religion are handled in the style of the stage." The Puritans — stern enemies of the stage — said many bitter things of players. How does Shakespeare reply t In "What You Will" a Puritan is named respectfully, and is favourably placed in contrast with " a time- pleaser." Other religious men, without reference to their several creeds, are treated with respect. The "friars" introduced in "Romeo and Juliet" and "Much Ado About Nothing" are both represented as good and kind men. In " As You Like It," forms of public worship are referred to as bonds of society and as defences against barbarism. The general purport of the historical play " King Henry VIII." is truly religious, and may be reduced to a summary given in the words of Cardinal Wolsey : — " Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then, SHAKESPEARE. \\ The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; And, — Prithee, lead me in : There take an inventory of all I have, To the last peimy ; 'tis the king's : my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal I serv'd my king. He would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies." A word is hardly wanted to refer to several passages indicating the Poet's belief in an unseen world. He speaks of death as a transition, not as an extinction. Several remarkable expressions found in his plays might be placed together with others found in his sonnets, to show that a tendency to meditation on mortality and on a future state of existence was one of the Poet's own characteristics. The fears named in Hamlet's well- known soliloquy are more fully expressed by Claudio (in *' Measure for Measure "), when he is pleading for his own life. As all the world knows, two of the most eloquent of all passages in the plays are pleas in behalf of mercy and forgiveness. The first is Portia's appeal in the " Merchant of Venice ;" the second is found in " Measure G 42 ENGLISH POETS. for Measure." An Israelite may regret that, in the former appeal, the Poet — accepting an old tradition — ascribes an intensely revengeful feeling to a Jew. Let it be remembered, on the other side, that we are clearly told how Shylock was made cruel by persecuting men who called themselves Christians. Here the Poet cannot be called one-sided in his reprobation of a persecuting and vindictive temper. Was Shakespeare's own creed one in accordance with the established orthodoxy of his own times .-* That is another of the questions that may be left open. One truth is as clear as daylight ; he speaks of kindness, reverence, and mercy as including the essential elements of the Christian religion. He was not a bigot, though he lived in times when too many accepted bigotry as a sort of quint- essence of piety. The words which he used when speak- ing of some harsh constructions of law were, moreover, truly descriptive of the intolerance prevalent in his day : — " Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder : nothing but thunder." The general tone of Shakespeare whenever he refers to controversies is moderate and conciliatory. It was, doubtless, the natural expression of his own temper. All the powers of his genius, without a motive power of love, would not have sufficed to create such a world of kindness, playfulness, and good humour as we find in his best comedies. SHAKESPEARE. 43 The good temper of the Poet seems, in some instances, to have communicated itself to the men who have studied his writings. He has instituted among men of several nations a new bond of fellowship. On their common estimate of his genius has been founded an intellectual union of students, dwelling in England, Germany, and America. There must exist an affinity between the creative mind of the Poet and the receptive mind of a genial critic or commentator. The men who find delight in studies of the Poet's writings may fairly claim some true, though perhaps distant, relationship with his genius. Of all the questions that have engaged the attention of Shakespearean students, the most difficult may here be named : — Do the Poet's writings reveal his own general views of life > There are men called optimists who, like Paley, believe that, throughout the world, good predominates over evil. On the other hand, men have lived whose meditations have ended with a belief in the predominance of physical and moral evil. They have, moreover, maintained the theory that evil and suffering are inseparably united with life itself. This was the doctrine taught by the founder of Buddhism. Could Shakespeare accept such teaching as that 1 True ; he sounded the depths of misanthropy in " Timon of Athens," and in " Hamlet" are found cogitations that " sink as low As, through the abysses of a joyless heart, The heaviest plummet of despair can go." 44 ENGLISH POETS. But can despair of mankind be ascribed to the author of the " Tempest," and the other plays ending happily with conciliation? Could he have sympathy, stronger than that which is called dramatic, with such feelings as have driven religious men into drear cells in desert places, and have urged them to make as slender as possible their attachments to life ? There is a third class of meditative men. They see and feel the beauty and the happiness of life in its most favourable conditions, while they are not unconscious of the misery existing in the world. Their consolation is derived from a faith that looks beyond the boundary of their experience. Does this third class include the greatest of our poets } Or is it possible that, in all his various writings, he makes no personal confession, and gives us no means of knowing his own deepest thoughts } Such reserve is by no means easily maintained. In the series of "novels and romances by the Author of Waver- ley," the writer, in spite of all his caution, told the world almost everything about himself, excepting his name. It by no means follows, that the greatest of all dramatic poets would, to the same extent, make manifest his own character ; but these questions remain : — Did he make no indirect confession .^ Is there none discoverable, in the predominance of some tendencies, or in the frequent recurrence of certain thoughts and sentiments .? Much caution will be required if any attempt be made to find answers to such questions. SHAKESPEARE. 45 Of all the complex characters found in the Poet's plays, Hamlet's is the most individual and most mys- terious. Nevertheless, it seems to include some traits corresponding with expressions that may be accepted as having reference to the Poet's own experience. Nothing is here said of the story in the play. The traits referred to are those found in Hamlet's own character. He is a youth endowed with genius, goodness of heart, and general amiability. In his mind a vigorous poetical imagination is combined with a tendency to meditation. He is associated with players, and is well acquainted with the rules of dramatic art. His character, as seen before the time when it suffered alteration, is described in words telling us that he is, at once as a courtier, a scholar, and a soldier, "the observed of all observers." Above all, he is a devoted son and a most faithful friend. The aspi- rations of a youth thus endowed are naturally such as can have no fulfilment, save in a world as bright and happy as his own world of imagination. From that Paradise, made complete by the presence of Ophelia, he is suddenly ex- pelled. The brightness of the early hopes there cherished is implied in the words telling of their desolation : — " This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air (look you) — this brave, o'erhang- ing firmament — this majestical roof fretted with golden fire — why, it appears no other thing to me, than a foul and pestilent congre- gation of vapours." The irony of Hamlet, his long discourse on acting (in 46 ENGLISH POETS. which he seeks diversion of his grief), his bitter words that spring from kindness, his strange speeches to Ophelia, whom he still loves : all are expressions of a desolation that, for him, seems spread over the whole universe. The scene in the churchyard accords well with the whole tone of the play, and indicates that, for Hamlet, death is the only possible way to re'st. His delay in executing vengeance on the guilty arises not from weakness but from kindness, and serves to prolong and make more intense his own suffering. At last, almost without an exertion of his own will, the guilty fall, and Hamlet dies. There is, in the deaths of Hamlet and Ophelia, an apparent victory of evil. But no stain has fallen upon their lives. True and pure as when they first loved each other, they die. Youth, beauty, hopes of happiness perish, and when Hamlet, expiring, says " The rest is silence," he leaves his friend to feel a grief " too deep for tears." At the same time, when speak- ing of " this harsh world," he implies his belief in another state of being, and so the conclusion of the tragedy calls the mind away from a world of passion, guilt, and grief, to find repose in resignation, and in thoughts of a life where all passions are stilled. The conflict of good with evil may seem a thought too old and commonplace to be accepted as the theme in the tragedy of "Hamlet." But the Poet's genius is displayed by giving to that central idea a form of development that may be called intensely individual. SHAKESPEARE. 47 All reference to the story must be set aside when some traits in Hamlet's character are considered as expressions of the Poet's own thoughts. It is not for a moment to be supposed that anything like Hamlet's overwhelming sorrow ever formed a part of Shakespeare's personal history. But it is more than probable, that the clear daylight of his intellectual lifetime was preceded by a gloomy and stormy night. His own references to " the spite of fortune," to his " public means " of winning a subsistence, and to his " nature subdued," by the emer- gencies of the stage: these are passages that recall to mind some of Hamlet's complaints. Studies of the con- dition of the London Stage, and of the lives of players in the Elizabethan time, may make it more than pro- bable that the Poet, in the earlier stages of his career, was painfully conscious of a hard strife existing between his own ideas and his actual circumstances. " That he stooped to accommodate himself to the people is suffi- ciently apparent " (says Wordsworth), " and one of the most striking proofs of his almost omnipotent genius is, that he could turn to such glorious purpose those mate- rials which the prepossessions of the age compelled him to make use of. Yet even this marvellous skill appears not to have been enough to prevent his rivals from having some advantage over him in public estimation ; else how can we account for passages and scenes that exist in his works, unless upon a supposition that some of the grossest of them — a fact which, in my own mind, I have 48 ENGLISH POETS. no doubt of— were foisted in by the players, for the gratification of the many?" The theory here maintained by Wordsworth, as his own belief, might be confirmed by many references to dramatic literature in the age of Elizabeth. There can hardly remain a doubt that Shakespeare often sighed when he found that his own deepest thoughts and his most refined expressions were coldly received in theatres, where passages in which he stooped so low as to follow Marlowe and Greene were hailed with thunders of applause ! Regret, following such instances of conde- scension, seems to be expressed in such Hnes as the following : — " O for my sake do thou with fortune chide. The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide, Than public means, which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand." In these lines, as in other expressions, read with reference to facts for commentary, may be found evi- dence that the Poet, during one part of his life, endured a hard struggle with adverse circumstances. How could he feel himself at home and with friends in his early asso- ciation with such players as are represented by Robert Greene ; with men who could call the Poet " an upstart crow," classify him with " apes and puppets," and de- SHAKESPEARE. 49 scribe him as one having " a tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide?" Let men of genius be patient if their merits are not speedily recognized. Two centuries passed away before the world would believe that all the eulogy bestowed by Ben Jonson, and more than all that praise, was deserved by his cotemporary, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. MILTON. OHN MILTON was born in Bread Street, Cheapside, London, on the ninth of Decem- ber, 1608. There exists evidence in favour of a belief that the Poet's grandfather was a Catholic, who had a farm near Shotover, in Oxfordshire. In the same district there lived — at Forest Hill, not far from Oxford — a Cavalier family bearing the name Powell, and most probably friendly relations were maintained between the Miltons and the Powells. It is also probable that the Poet's father was disinherited because he had declared himself a Protestant. He went to London, and there established himself as a scrivener ; but his routine of drawing legal contracts was often relieved by a taste for vocal music. Some lovers of choral harmony were numbered among his friends, and he composed several psalm-tunes, including one called " York," well known in our own times. His musical taste was inherited by 52 ENGLISH POETS. the Poet, whose writings abound in references to the power of harmony. When twelve years old, Milton was sent to St. Paul's School, and it is clear that, during his four years' course of studies, he was very diligent in learning. At school he won the friendship of Charles Diodati, by descent on the father's side an Italian, but " in all other respects," as Milton says, " English." About seventeen years old, Milton went to Cambridge and was admitted at Christ Church College. There his favourite studies were the writings of Greek and Roman poets, and before he was twenty years old he wrote Latin elegies deserving high commendation. The scrivener was hardly pleased by his son's devotion to poetry, and, with reference to some parental reproof, young Milton addressed to his father some Latin verses, reminding him that music and poetry are sisters. " How can you wonder," said the writer, " that a musician's son should be a poet t We are both inspired by Apollo." That this belief— so far as it re- ferred to himself — was well founded was soon proved, when, at the age of twenty-one, he wrote in English his " Hymn on the Nativity," which contains all the finest elements of his later poetry. One stanza is enough to show that at that age he could write in a sublime strain. Thus he described the advent of " the Prince of Peace" : — "No war or battle's sound Was heard the world around ; MILTON. 53 The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with human blood ; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still, with awful eye, As if they surely knew their Sovereign Lord was by." A sonnet, dated two years later than the " Hymn," tells us that the writer, though he had been since his twelfth year a diligent student, still retained a youthful appearance. From other sources we learn that he had a fair complexion, with luxuriant light brown hair and dark grey eyes, and that his voice was melodious. In 1632 he graduated as M.A., and soon afterwards left, without any regret, the flat pastures of Cambridgeshire. Meanwhile his father, retired from business, had left London, and had gone to live at Horton, a village near Windsor. There, in rural quietude, the Poet continued his extensive course of reading, including the best litera- ture of modern European languages, and there, while dwelling amid green fields and woodlands, he produced the two lyrical-descriptive poems, " L' Allegro" and "II Penseroso." In both a love of nature's life and its genial transitions finds expression in melodious tones. Each of these twin-poems tells the story of a day spent among woods, fields, and hamlets, and each tells us that the colours of the outward world are partly " borrowed from the heart." The joyous man, " L'Allegro," rises early, " To hear the lark begin his flight And, singing, startle the dull night 54 ENGLISH POETS. From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled morn doth rise." Then, coming to the margin of a wide river, he sees on the opposite bank the " towers and battlements" of a stately mansion " Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where, perhaps, some Beauty lies The cynosure of neighbouring eyes." From the mansion and the dream the Poet turns away to find contentment in the cottage " Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses." At eventide, leaving peasants dancing in the shade, the mirthful man returns to town, there to find pleasure in the pageantry of a masque, or to see one of Shake- speare's comedies. And with strains of Lydian music the day comes to a close. The meditative man, " II Penseroso," also loves rural sights and sounds, but with him all hues and tones are made to harmonize with a calm and pensive mind. He loves the subdued light of grey dawn, and from noon- day brightness retires into the shade of a wood. Its shadows remind him of another calm place — the cathe- dral. Then follows one of many passages in which Mil- ton writes well of music : — MILTON. 55 " There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced quire below, In service high and anthems clear, As may, with sweetness, through mine ear. Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes." The thought of the last two lines is expanded in an- other poem on " Solemn Music." This blending of imagination and aesthetic taste with religion mostly belongs to minds who like old forms better than new, dislike hard logic, and would make Faith herself the sister of Poetry. Hence it might be imagined that Milton, while living at Horton, knew nothing of stern feelings afterwards called forth by controversy. But he refused to take holy orders in the Church of England, and (in 1637, when he wrote "Lycidas") he censured with severity the lives of some ordained ministers of that Church. In 1634 the masque of " Comus " was performed in the great hall of Ludlow Castle, the residence of John Egerton, Earl of Bridgewater, who had also a mansion and a park not far from Horton. For the entertainment of his family — two sons and eight daughters — "Comus" was written by Milton, and the music for the masque was supplied by his friend Henry Lawes. The story is simple. A lady, travelling with her two brothers, is parted from them and loses her way in a wood, where, for a time, she is detained by an evil enchanter called Comus. Her restoration to her brothers is ascribed to 56 ENGLISH POETS. the care of a good genius, Thyrsis. When the masque was first performed, the heroine's part was taken by Lady Alice, the Earl's youngest daughter, and the two brothers were represented by the sons. Lord Brackley and Mr. Thomas Egerton. The composer of the music took the part of Thyrsis. " Comus" is the most beautiful of all the Poet's writings, and contains some parts that may be described as the quintessence of poetry. There are found also passages of declamation, directed against vice and having no reference to religious controversy. Low tones of controversial thunder are heard in the elegy, " Lycidas," written on the death of Edward King, a fellow of Christ Church and a candidate for holy orders. When about twenty-five years old, he left England and went to spend the long vacation in Ireland. In calm weather and near the coast of Wales the ship in which he sailed struck on a rock, and all on board perished. The elegy, blending pastoral scenes with religious thoughts, contains fine poetry and one satiric passage. Milton describes the deceased as a faithful shepherd too soon called away, and leaving the sheep to be neglected by false pastors, who "grate out lean and flashy songs from scrannel pipes of wretched straw." In this style the Poet describes some sermons preached in his time. The words are noticeable, as containing an early indication of principles afterwards asserted in controversial prose writings. Soon after the publication of the elegy, Milton left MILTON. 57 England, and, in the course of about fifteen months, visited Paris, Florence, Rome, Naples, and Venice. In the neighbourhood of Florence, he paid a visit to the astronomer Galileo, who, at that time, was old and blind. At Naples the traveller was introduced to Manso, Marquis of Villa, who had been the friend of Tasso, and wrote his biography. At Rome three Latin epigrams were written by the traveller, to express his admiration of a vocalist — Leonora Baroni — whose singing he ascribed to divine inspiration. In 1639 he returned to England, here (as he said afterwards), " to take the trumpet and blow a dolorous or jarring blast ;" in other words, to take a part in the great controversy of the time. After his return to London he hired part of a house in St. Bride's Churchyard, but soon found a quieter abode in Aldersgate Street, where he employed his time in teaching two nephews, and in prosecuting his own studies. All previous exercises in poetry were viewed as preparations for the task of writing some great poem ; perhaps an epic on " King Arthur," or a drama on " Paradise Lost." Instead of a great poem, there came forth, in 1642, from the study in Aldersgate Street, a pamphlet on " Church Government." This transition from poetry to controversy seems like a sudden desolation pass- ing over a fine landscape. Instead of green slopes and wooded banks of rivers, there appear bare rocks, withered trees, and fields devastated by hail-storms. I 58 ENGLISH POETS. The Poet, having promised that he would sing of " King Arthur," is soon afterwards heard blowing " a dolorous blast" on a trumpet. His change of purpose must be ascribed to the general movement of the age. Men who, in other times, might have quietly employed their several gifts, felt themselves compelled to take some part or other in a great controversy. Whatever various forms the dispute might assume, its substance was an assertion of freedom, in opposition to traditional claims of author- ity. About ninety years before the second Stuart reigned in England, supreme authority over the Church had been claimed by the throne, and it was never in- tended that this should be followed by any extension of freedom. But the notion of submission to one absolute power had been long associated with the claims of one dominant Church, and when that Church had been over- thrown there arose, in Elizabeth's reign, the question : " To whom shall the obedience once claimed by Rome be yielded .'' " " To the Prelacy, as supported by Royal authority," was the reply given by men called High Churchmen. But in England, as in Scotland, the power- ful party of Presbyterians rejected, at once. Episcopal Church government and the claims of Royal supremacy. At the same time they would not proceed so far as to grant to every man complete religious freedom. This had been claimed, in Elizabeth's reign, by men whose followers were, in Milton's time, called Independents, and of their principles he was the champion. With them MILTON. 59 he maintained that every man must be left free in the interpretation of the Bible, and that every congregation of free Christian men must be independent. In their contest with Prelacy he gave aid to the Presbyterians ; but, when they would grant no freedom beyond the pale of their own Church, he declared himself an Independ- ent, and said, — " New Presbyter is but Old Priest, writ large." In a word, Milton was a thorough-going man in the assertion of principles held by the Independents, though he had no liking for some of their peculiar traits, their scorn of culture, and their austere manners. While the demands of Presbyterians and Independents were growing more and more urgent, the Stuart kings, James I. and his son, still maintained their assertion of Royal supremacy. That subjects could not be free unless they had a share in the government— this notion, accepted afterwards as an axiom, was so new and strange for Charles I., that it was never clearly understood by him. Defeated by an idea of which he could not esti- mate the power, he made a declaration of innocence with respect to charges preferred against him, and then placed his head upon the block. Soon after his death, a book entitled " The Royal Image," written by a chaplain named Gauden, was accepted as expressing the late king's own sentiments, and served to awaken a widely spread sympathy with his fate. In reply to that book 6o ENGLISH POETS. Milton wrote one called " The Image-Breaker," which was published (by authority) in 1649. In the same year he w^as called upon by the Council of State to write a reply to a book written by a French scholar, Claude de Saumaise, who had condemned the act of the English regicides. As this book, written in Latin, was an appeal to the minds of educated men throughout Europe, Milton's reply, called " A Defence of the English Peo- ple," was also written in Latin. For more extended notices of Milton's controversial prose writings, reference is given to a biography, in which his public life is described in close connection with the history of his times.^ His private life, during the time of the great controversy, may be briefly noticed. In 1643, when the Poet was thirty-five years old, he formed (or renewed) an acquaintance with a Royalist family — the Powells, resident at Forest Hill, near Oxford — and married Mary Powell, who was only eighteen years old when she left home and came to London. The change was not agreeable, and, in the course of a few weeks, she longed to see again her relatives in Oxfordshire. Accordingly their invitation was readily accepted, and once more Mary found herself surrounded with rural scenes, and enjoying the cheerful society of her friends. This she apparently liked better than her husband's course of life, which one of his nephews called ' "A Life of Milton," by David Masson. 3 vols. 1859-73. MILTON. 6i " philosophical." Some weeks of summer passed away, and her friends, perhaps incited by her own desire, made earnest suit by letter, that they might have her com- pany during the remainder of the season. Milton made some fruitless attempts to call back his young wife, and, when he despaired of success, he wrote a treatise, main- taining that uncongeniality ought to be considered a suffi- cient reason for divorce. To some opponents of his thesis he replied in a book called " Tetrachordon," and, when detraction followed its publication, he wrote two polemical sonnets. The first is playful, as these lines may show : — " Cries the stall-reader : ' Bless us ! what a word on A title-page is this ! ' And some, in file. Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile- End Green." But the second sonnet begins with these severe lines: — " I did but prompt the age to quit their clogs, By the known rules of ancient liberty. When straight a barbarous noise environs me Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs." These expressions of anger were excited by contro- versy. A far higher strain of writing is found in an eloquent discourse, published in 1644, and called, " Areo- pagitica." This plea for the freedom of the press is generally accepted as the finest specimen of the author's prose writing. In 1645 the Royalists suffered their great defeat at 62 ENGLISH POETS. Naseby, and the family of the Powells were, soon after- wards, placed in adverse circumstances. About this time, Milton went one day to pay a visit to a friend living near St. ]\Iartin's-le-Grand, and was there surprised when his wife suddenly came in and prayed for forgive- ness. It was immediately granted, and she returned to share once more his " philosophical life " in Aldersgate Street. Assisted by his brother (who was a Royalist and a lawyer), Milton gave such aid to the Powell family that they were once more placed in a good position. His wife did not again leave him. They had two daughters, when he was appointed, in 1649, foreign secretary to the Council of State, and went to live near Spring Gardens, Charing Cross. Thence he soon re- moved to 19, York Street, Westminster, and here his wife, after giving birth to a third daughter (Deborah), died in May, 1652. Two years later, he was afflicted with total blindness. No disfigurement appeared in the organs of sight ; but the power of vision, too long strained by arduous studies, was lost for ever. In a dramatic poem (written at a later time) he thus gave expression to his own sense of privation : — " O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark. Total eclipse, Without all hope of day ! " Left blind, and with three daughters dependent on his care, Milton, four years after the decease of his first wife, married Catherine, daughter of Captain Woodcock, MIL TON. 63 of Hackney ; but hardly more than a year had passed away, when he was again left a widower. It is of this second bereavement that he speaks in a beautiful sonnet, which was suggested by a dream : — " My late espoused saint « * * * * Came, vested all in white, pure as her mind ; Her face was veil'd ; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness in her person shined So clear, as in no face with more delight. But O ! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked ; she fled j and day brought back my night." In 1657 Milton's salary was reduced to half its former amount, because his work was partly done by an assistant, who was paid by the Government. In the following year Cromwell died. His foreign secre- tary, who had retired into private life, was arrested and imprisoned in 1660; but was soon released, and lived for a short time in Jewin Street. Thence he removed to a small house in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields, where he passed the remainder of his days. His quiet domestic habits are described in notices left by his youngest daughter, and by friends who often visited him. He was strictly temperate, rose early in summer and winter, and dined at one. In the morning he dictated, or listened while some friend read to him, and, when the reader could not understand a passage, the Poet would soon make it clear. These studies were varied by play- ing sometimes on a small organ, placed behind a curtain 64 ENGLISH POETS. of faded green cloth. When he could not walk out, he took exercise in a swing fixed in his room. His evenings were often given to friendly visitors, in whose society he was generally cheerful, and took the leading part in conversation. After an early supper he smoked a pipe, and went to bed at nine. In 1663, about seven years after the decease of his second wife, Milton married a third, Elizabeth Minshull, who was twenty-four years old. The change thus made in their domestic circumstances was by no means wel- come to the three daughters. Two years later, when fear of plague prevailed in London, the Poet found a rural place of retreat at Chalfont, in Buckinghamshire, and there, before the close of the year 1665, his epic poem, " Paradise Lost," was completed. The production of this work by a blind man more than fifty years old, who had spent in controversial prose writing almost twenty years, is one of the wonders of literature. In 1667 the poem was published in a small quarto volume, sold for three shillings. " Paradise Re- gained" and the drama " Samson Agonistes " were pub- lished together in 167 1, and three years later the second edition of " Paradise Lost" appeared. When the greater part of the first edition was sold, the Poet received from his publisher (Samuel Simmons) five pounds, and another five pounds was paid after the appearance of a second edition. For " Paradise Lost " the author re- ceived only ten pounds, but retained an interest in the MIL TON. 6s copyright. Thus rewarded by the world, John Milton died, aged sixty-six, on Sunday, the eighth of November, 1674. Four years after his death, his widow received eight pounds as full payment for her remaining interest in the copyright of " Paradise Lost." She inherited a fortune of one thousand pounds, out of which she gave one hundred pounds to each of Milton's three daughters. Anne, the oldest, married an architect, and soon afterwards died. The second (Mary) remained single. Deborah, who married a weaver (Mr. Clarke, of Spitalfields), was the mother of ten children. The fame of" Paradise Lost" w^as not rapidly spread. Its theme had attractions for readers who were religious men, and this partly accounts for the sale of thirteen hundred copies in two years. But hardly more than three thousand copies were sold in the eleven years following its first publication, though in that time such poems as were written by Flatman, Waller, and Norris found many admirers. Addison gave, in the " Spec- tator," a series of papers serving to call attention to the epic, and its reputation was increased when a fine edition was published under the patronage of Lord Somers. Li Germany translations from Milton led, in the eighteenth century, to a revival of poetical literature. Of all traits in Milton's poetry the most obvious is afifluence of imagery. Before his sight was lost, the Poet, in the time spent at Horton and in the course of his K 66 ENGLISH POETS. travels, collected and stored in a capacious memory his wealth of impressions derived from nature, and to these were added grand conceptions of supernatural agents, and of a universe inclosing heaven, hell, chaos, and the earth. For these latter notions he was partly indebted to the old theory of astronomy. Galileo had already spread a new theory of the earth's revolutions, but this was not accepted by Milton. It was based on mathe- matical evidence, but could supply to the Poet's imagin- ation nothing better than a series of monotonous gyra- tions in infinite space, and he was therefore — with respect to imaginative freedom — a winner by his want of science. For him the earth was fixed. Above was heaven, or the empyrean, made glorious by light shining forth from the immediate presence of God. Far below, and separated from earth by immeasurable tracts of chaos, lay hell, with enormous gates guarded by the monstrous forms of Sin and Death. Within were drear regions of extreme heat and cold, here lighted by flames, there overspread with twilight, or " darkness visible." Such was the gigantic scenery of the Poet's world. Of all the agents introduced, Satan is made the most prominent. The description of his character and the narration of his expul- sion from heaven are so impressive, that they have been received, by many readers, as passages well founded on the authority of the Bible. It would be hard, indeed, to tell when and by whom the outline of Satan's character was first drawn. Its rudiments are certainly found in poems ascribed to a monk — Csedmon, who lived at MILTON. 67 Wliitby in the seventh century — and there can hardly exist a doubt that Milton had read those poems, or knew something of them, for they were edited by Francis Junius, who was one of the Poet's friends. Like Milton, " The Monk of Whitby " made " pride " the source of evil, and it is noticeable that several mystic writers, who never heard of Caedmon, used words like his own, when they wrote on the same mysterious subject. The crea- tion of Satan's character cannot, with respect to its rudiments, be fairly ascribed to Milton ; but to him be- longs all the grandeur of representation found in many passages, of which the following is an example : — . . . " As when the sun, new risen, Looks through the horizontal, misty air, Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon, In dim echpse, disastrous twihght sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs — darken'd so, yet shone Above them all the Archangel ; but his face Deep scars of thunder had intrench'd, and care Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows Of dauntless courage and considerate pride, Waiting revenge : cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime— the followers rather- Far other once beheld in bliss, condemn'd For ever now to have their lot in pain. He now prepared To speak ; whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to wing, and half enclose him round, With all his peers. Attention held them mute. Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn. Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth." 68 ENGLISH POETS. After descriptions of events taking place in hell and in chaos, the transition to scenes in Paradise is well intro- duced by an invocation addressed to Light. This pas- sage includes, with reference to loss of sight, an expression of the writer's own feelings : — " Hail, holy Light ! offspring of heaven, first-born ; Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam, May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light. And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity — dwelt then in thee. Bright effluence of bright essence increate ! But thou Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; So thick a drop serene hath quench'd their orbs, Or dim suffusion veil'd." Readers who would notice how the Poet's language becomes energetic or melodious, in concert with his themes, may turn from the sixth book, telling of war- fare in heaven, to passages describing morning and evening in Paradise. Thus the Poet tells how warfare in heaven was brought to a close : — " So spake the Son, and into terror changed His countenance, too severe to be beheld, And full of wrath bent on his enemies. Full soon Among them he arrived, in his right hand Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent Before him, such as in their souls infix'd Plagues ; they, astonish'd, all resistance lost, All courage ; down their idle weapons dropp'd. MILTON. 69 O'er shields and helms and helmed heads he rode Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrdte, That wish'd the mountains now might be again Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire." The music of Milton's verse is not a psalm tune, but a fugue of ever-varying modulations. Its more harmonious tones are heard in such lines as the following, taken from the Morning Hymn chanted by Adam and Eve in Para- dise : — " His praise ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud ! and wave your tops, ye pines ! With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise ! Join voices, all ye living souls ! Ye birds That, singing, up to heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise. Ye that in waters ghde, and ye that walk The earth and stately tread, or lowly creep, Witness, if I be silent, morn or even, To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise." " Paradise Regained " has been cast into the shade by the Poet's greater epic, but contains some beautiful passages and others marked by great energy of expres- sion. The story of a stormy night, as given in the fourth book, is enough to show that Milton's imagination was not waning when he wrote his second epic ; but its quiet, general tone accords well with a tradition respecting its origin. Among friends whom Milton sometimes employed as readers, one named EUwood was a Quaker. 70 ENGLISH POETS. He read with pleasure the first epic, and then, address- ing the author, said : " What hast thou to say of ' Para- dise Found?'" The Poet at the time gave no answer. Afterwards, when the plague was stayed in London, and Milton had returned from Chalfont to his home, the Quaker paid him another visit, and found that he had completed a second epic. He showed the copy to Ellwood, and said : '* This is owing to you, for you put it into my head by the question you put to me at Chalfont." " Samson Agonistes " is, in form, a dramatic poem, but is essentially lyrical, and sei-ves partly to express the writer's personal feelings at a time when men of his own party were as powerless as the blind hero Samson, a prisoner at Gaza. Some passages of declamation against " Philistines " were, in fact, aimed at gay cour- tiers in the time when Charles the Second was reigning. Milton's poetical works, though contained in one small volume, include fine traits too numerous to be named in this short essay. His learning, animated by genius, could blend poetic feeling with a list of names, as may be seen in the first book of " Paradise Lost," where he musters a host of fallen angels, and gives to each of their chieftains " a local habitation," as well as a name. The theology partly implied in Milton's poems, and main- tained in one of his prose writings, is Arian. His phi- losophy may be generally described as Platonic. The apparent materialism of the sixth book in the first epic MILTON. 71 is merely imaginative, as the author tells us in these lines : — ..." What surmounts the reach Of human sense, I shall deUneate so, By likening spiritual te corporal forms, As may express them best." Milton's theory of the permission of evil is implied in one word, for he maintains that angels (like man), when created, were endowed with freedom. In the first epic, Adam, yielding willingly to one temptation, falls and loses Paradise; in the second. One, firmly standing opposed to a long seriesof temptations, regains Paradise, not for himself alone, but for all his followers. On such themes as were treated by Milton, in prose and verse, the creeds and opinions of men widely differ ; but he is still honoured by men of several parties, because they know he was sincere and independent. His treatment of the Presbyterians, when they had power, was nobly con- sistent with his own principles. His lofty spirit of independence made him deserving of praise bestowed by a poet, who was a churchman and a conservative. To Milton that later poet addressed the line, " Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart." This essay must not conclude without some reference to the Poet's sonnets. These are not to be classed with easily composed little poems, each containing fourteen lines and therefore falsely called "sonnets." Milton's sonnets, though truly constructed in accordance with old 72 ENGLISH POETS. Italian rules, have both freedom and variety of expres- sion. One, beginning with the words, "Avenge, O Lord ! thy slaughtered saints," still remains unrivalled for energy. Another, addressed "to the Nightingale," might be quoted, to show how melodiously words may be made to flow in a very difficult form of composition ; but surely every lover of poetry knows by heart that sonnet. Milton, like his father, was a lover of music. His first epic contains many references to choral har- mony, and the second closes with "heavenly anthems," sung by " angelic choirs." He grants even to inmates of Pandemonium some relief in strains of pensive melody, and the evil genius, "Comus," thus describes the effect of a beautiful song : — . . . " I was all ear, And took in strains that might create a soul Under the ribs of death." A more complete expression of the Poet's intense love of harmony is given in the following lines, written after hearing " solemn music " : — " Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of heaven's joy, Sphere-born, harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse ! Wed your divine sounds and mix'd power employ, Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce, And to our high-raised phantasy present That undisturbed song of pure concent, Aye sung, before the sapphire-colour'd throne, To Him that sits thereon, "With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; Where the bright seraphim, in burning row, MIL TON. 73 Their loud, uplifted angel-trumpets blow, And the cherubic host, in thousand choirs, Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just spirits that wear victorious palms. Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly ; That we, on earth, with undiscording voice, May rightly answer that melodious noise, As once we did, till disproportioned sin Jarred against nature's chime and, with harsh din. Broke the fair music that all creatures made To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed In perfect diapason, while they stood In first obedience and their state of good. * « * * « O, may we soon again renew that song. And keep in tune with heaven ! till God, ere long. To His celestial concert us unite, To live with Him, and sing, in endless morn of light ! " M *». ~3m ^ ADDISON. HE poetry of the Elizabethan time may be compared to a region lately disforested. Signs of cultivation are everywhere mingled with vestiges of native rudeness, and no- where is found such trim culture as belongs to a small park or a garden. The poetry of " The Augustan age " may be rather compared to the scenery of a small park. All sights and sounds belonging to a ruder world are here excluded, and of roads leading to towns hardly a trace is visible. Gray smoke, rising over orchards, shows that a hamlet is near; but the huts where poor men dwell are not seen. A smooth lawn slopes down to the park, and, beyond the south boundary, nothing is seen save the ridge of a distant blue hill. Such placid scenery may represent some traits of poetical literature in the time to which the writings of Addison belong. Com- pared with the poetry of Shakespeare's time, the lite- rature mostly admired during the reigns of King William 76 ENGLISH POETS. III. and Queen Anne may be called narrow or exclusive; but it was by no means destitute of natural elegance and beauty. Joseph Addison, son of Lancelot Addison, Dean of Lichfield, was born at Milston (Wilts), on the 1st of May, 1672. After some preparatory training at Lich- field, he went to the Charterhouse, where Richard Steele (born in 1672) was his schoolfellow and friend. They were again associated as students at Oxford, and, in later life, as writers in "The Tatler " and "The Spec- tator," so that it is almost impossible to think of Addi- son apart from his faithful friend Richard Steele, At Oxford Addison wrote Latin and Enghsh verses, translated the greater part of Virgil's fourth " Georgic," and published, in Dryden's "Miscellany" (1694), some lines noticeable as indicating the literary taste of the age. \\\ these lines the young author, giving as he says "an account of the greatest English poets," speaks without any great respect of Chaucer, says nothing of Shake- speare, and thus describes the poetry of Spenser : — " Old Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage, In ancient tales amused a barbarous age ; An age that, yet uncultivate and rude, Where'er the poet's fancy led, pursued Through pathless fields and unfrequented floods, To dens of dragons and enchanted woods. But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore, Can charm an understanding age no more ; The long-spun allegories fulsome grow, While the dull moral lies too plain below." ADDISON. 77 When these hues were written, Shakespeare's name was by no means dominant Dryden, the greatest of all writers then living, was old, and such men as Garth, Blackmore, and Pomfret were called poets. The so-called " Augustan Age," or Queen Anne's reign (1702-14), was introduced by a rather dreary time when there was found, among the younger men, no better poet than Prior. During that interval, literary men were mostly dependent on aid bestowed by such patrons as the Earl of Dorset, Lord Somers, and Charles Montague, after- wards made Lord Halifax. Addison, who had intended to take holy orders in the Church of England, was soon diverted from that course by hopes of secular promotion. When twenty-three years old, he addressed to King William some verses on the " Capture of Namur," and these were soon followed by a Latin poem on the "Peace of Ryswick," which was sent to Charles Montague, and gained his patronage. Through his recommendation, the author received a pension of ^300, which enabled him to make a tour in Europe. In France he stayed some time to learn the language of the nation then dominant in literature, and wrote letters pleasantly describing the manners of the people, as in the following passage : — " They are the happiest nation in the world. 'Tis not in the power of want or slavery to make 'em miserable. There is nothing to be met with in the country but mirth and poverty. Every one sings, laughs, and starves. Their conversation is generally agree- 78 ENGLISH POETS. able ; for, if they have any wit or sense, they are sure to show it. They never mend upon a second meeting, but use all the freedom and familiarity at first sight that a long intimacy or abundance of wine can scarce draw from an Englishman." The last sentence has an unconscious allusion to the writer's own reserve. No enthusiasm was kindled when he crossed the Alps. He tells us only that it was a troublesome journey, that made his head giddy, and that he felt delight when once more he saw level ground. His thankfulness for escape from a storm in the Gulf of Genoa was subsequently expressed in one of his hymns. There was no peculiarity in his indifference respecting Alpine views. Other travellers of his time might have expressed the same feeling. Among the poets of the eighteenth century. Gray was the first who spoke of nature in tones harmonizing with Wordsworth's enthu- siasm. From Italy the traveller sent to his friend. Lord Halifax, a versified " letter," in which laudation of the Italian climate led to higher praise of English liberty : — " 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile." Some passages in this " Letter from Italy " may re- mind a reader of a finer poem, Goldsmith's " Traveller." In 1702, when Addison hoped to obtain some diplomatic appointment, a change of government deprived him of his pension. In Italy he had collected materials for his " Dialogues on the Uses of Ancient Medals," of which he had written the outlines when he visited Vienna in ADDISON. 79 1/02. In the following summer he went to Hamburg, and in the autumn returned to London, where, for some time, he hired apartments in the Haymarket. There he was soon found by his energetic friend Steele, who had made himself captain of a regiment of Fusileers, had written a book called " The Christian Hero," and was employed in writing a comedy. He proposed that Addison, whose income was small, should give assistance in writing some work that should serve as a monument of their friendship ; but this was not carried into effect until 1709, when "The Tatler" appeared. Meanwhile Lord Halifax gained for Addison a place in the Excise. The Poet's second time of prosperity began in 1704, when London was full of rejoicing for a great victory, and he wrote soon afterwards his poem called " The Campaign," The following passage, referring to Marl- borough's generalship and to a recent storm, was greatly admired : — " Great Marlbro's mighty soul Inspired repulsed battalions to engage. And taught the doubtful battle where to rage : So, when an angel, by divine command, With rising tempests shakes a guilty land- Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed — Calm and serene, he drives the furious blast, And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform. Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm." In 1706, when Addison was made Under-Secretary of State, he produced an opera, " Rosamond," so contrived 8o ENGLISH POETS. that it might be accepted as another compliment paid to the great general. About this time and afterwards, the Poet partly employed his leisure in giving lessons to a boy, ten years old, son of the Countess-Dowager of Warwick, His introduction to her family subsequently led the tutor to cherish thoughts by which his peace of mind was disturbed. He was returned, in 1708, member of Parliament for Malmesbury, but had no success in the House. He had neither the nerve and readiness of a good debater, nor the volubility, vox ct prcsterea nihil, of a commonplace orator. He was in fact a silent member. Meanwhile his friend Steele, whose author- ship always had some reference to practical life, had been thinking of starting a journal, and in 1709 he brought out " The Tatler," to which Addison was a contributor. The two fellow-workers were alike in their good purpose ; but Steele was impatient of restraint, and wrote against the minister Harley. The result was that, in 171 1, "The Tatler" came to an end ; but it was soon followed by the appearance of another journal, " The Spectator," which did not meddle with political affairs. In this periodical Steele pleaded earnestly for the best interests of society, while his friend treated both ethics and minor morals in his own graceful style, blend- ing purity of sentiment with refined humour. Their didactic writing was relieved by the introduction of several imaginary characters, whose various traits were represented w^ith some dramatic skill. Of all these cha- ADDISON. 8 1 racters the most complete and life-like, " Sir Roger de Coverley," was mainly created by Addison. It was, in fact, his greatest success ; but this was by no means believed in 17 13, when his tragedy " Cato " appeared. All things conspired to make complete the success of the drama. It was well studied, correctly written, and in tone was accordant with the time when Whigs and Tories were alike professionally "patriotic." Pope, a young poet, whose reputation was already established, wrote the prologue. Bolingbroke pretended to like the play, though it was admired by his own political foes Last, not least, the author gave the profits of perform- ance to the players, so that they acted with all the zeal of self-love. One fierce critic, John Dennis, was bold enough to attack "Cato;" but he was soon severely treated, not by Addison, but by a young poet who had his own private reasons for disliking Dennis. With grave and audacious humour. Pope replied by publishing " an Account of the Frenzy of J. D.," and ascribed the author- ship of the tract to a Dr. Norris, noted for his skill in the management of insane patients. Though the blow seemed aimed in defence of his own play, Addison liked not Pope's choice of a weapon, and would not in any way sanction the publication. At that time he could not dream that his own character would, some day, be attacked by the satirist. Richard Steele, in 1713, started another journal, "The Guardian," as a successor to " The Spectator ; " but the M 82 ENGLISH POETS. new adventure came to an end before the close of the year. He was soon afterwards actively engaged in politics ; was returned member for Stockbridge, and spent or gave freely his own money, with a considerable sum lent by Addison, who was at last compelled to remind his gene- rous friend that debts ought to be paid. This did not se- riously disturb their friendship. Ultimately Steele paid all his creditors. In 17 15 he was returned member for Boroughbridge, received the honour of knighthood, and was made Governor of Drury Lane Theatre. There he brought out a slight comedy written by Addison, and called " The Drummer," but, like the opera " Rosa- mond," the comedy proved a failure on the stage. In the principal scene a so-called " atheist " is haunted, as he imagines, by the ghost of a drummer, and is soon frightened into some sort of belief. In the following year (17 16) Addison was accepted as her husband by the Countess-Dowager of Warwick, and went to live at Holland House, Kensington. So far his life, as compared with the lives of many scholars and poets, had been prosperous ; but he had dreamed some- times that he might be happier. The dream was not fulfilled when he married. Soon afterwards he was ap- pointed colleague of Lord Sunderland, Secretary of State ; but failing health led to Addison's retirement from office in 17 18, and he died on the seventeenth of June in the following year. His friend Richard Steele died in 1729. ADDISON. 83 The true character of Joseph Addison may be read in his works. In private Hfe his general tone was quiet and reserved ; he required some excitement to make him fluent in conversation, and.Avhile ready to praise his own intimate friends, he received with pleasure the praises be- stowed by them. He retained throughout his lifetime the friendship of Steele and Swift, and against this favourable evidence there is hardly anything to be adduced, save one remarkable passage in Pope's satirical writings. It cannot be forgotten ; for Pope never wrote satire more polished and elegant than the following lines : — " Were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires ; Blest with each talent and each art to please, And born to write, converse and live with ease : Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne. View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caused himself to rise; Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer. And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer; Willing to woiind, and yet afraid to strike. Just hint a fault and hesitate dislike ; Alike reserved, to blame or to commend, A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ; Dreading even fools, by flatterers besieged, And so obliging that he ne'er obliged ; Like Cato, give his little senate laws. And sit attentive to his own applause ; While wits and Templars every sentence raise. And wonder with a foolish face of praise — Who but must laugh, if such a man there be.' Who would not weep, if Atticus were he .'"' 84 ENGLISH POETS. In Addison's defence some facts may here be named. When Pope's first work of great merit, the " Essay on Criticism," had appeared, it was highly commended by Addison, who called " The Rape of the Lock " (in its first form) an exquisite piece, and at a later time ex- pressed a belief that Pope's translation of Homer would rival Dryden's Virgil. It should be also noticed that, when the first four books of Pope's translation were pub- lished, there appeared almost simultaneously the first book of the " Iliad," translated by Addison's intimate friend, Tickell, who gracefully retired from apparent rivalry with Pope. But comparisons followed, of course, and Addison, talking with friends at a coffee-house, said both the translations were well done, but Tickell's was more like Homer. On the other side the facts seem weak. Tickell (who was supposed to represent his friend's opinions) preferred the pasto'-als written by Ambrose Philips to those written by Pope, " when he was sixteen years old." Addison, while praising " The Rape of the Lock," would not recommend the poet to extend that fine work of fancy. Such trifles seem in- sufficient to justify Pope's satirical sketch. If Addison failed to recognize fully Pope's genius, it should be re- membered that " The Dunciad," the " Imitations of Horace," "The Essay on Man," — all the latter poet's best ethical and satirical writings — appeared after the death of Addison. As Pope's severe lines have been given, it is fair to place in contrast with them other lines ADDISON. 85 on the same subject. These are found in an elegy- written by Tickell, whose "highest honour," as he said, was that he had been Addison's friend : — " If pensive to the rural shades I rove, His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove; 'Twas there of just and good he reasoned strong, Cleared some great truth, or raised some serious song ; There, patient, showed us the wise course to steer, A candid censor and a friend severe ; There taught us how to live ; and — oh ! too high The price for knowledge — taught us how to die." So much has been said in praise of Addison's style that hardly a word can be added. Johnson's well-known commendation is the more remarkable, as it implies censure of his own Latin-English, aptly called "John- sonese." With respect to graceful ease and art in which there seems to be no art, Oliver Goldsmith and Washington Irving might be called followers of Addison. But the temper of his writings is even more admirable than their style. He reproves with genial and sometimes playful kindness, and when he teaches never assumes the grave and dogmatic air of " Sir Oracle." His placid religion was naturally associated with hopeful views of human life, and might be called optimistic rather than comprehensive. Of such hard questions and obstinate doubts as have vexed greater and less harmonious minds, he perhaps knew but little. His firm belief in a Divine Providence is expressed in an essay, remarkable as containing ideas afterwards expanded by Pope, in one 86 ENGLISH POETS. of his most eloquent passages ; though there is no reason for suspecting that the ideas were borrowed by the later writer. The passage (in the " Essay on Man ") begins with these well-known lines — " All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul." Addison's essay, entitled "The Works of Creation," begins with the following sentence : " I was yesterday about sunset walking in the open fields, until the night insensibly fell upon me." The whole of the essay may be noticed as a fair specimen of the author's more elevated prose-style. As a writer of hymns he, with pure taste, avoided the error of several earlier authors, whose pious verses were too often disfigured by the use of quaint or low expressions. Of his love of simple words an example may be given in a few stanzas, having reference to his own experience, at a time when he was exposed to the fury of a storm at sea : — " The storm was laid, the winds retired, Obedient to thy will ; The sea, that roared at thy command, At thy command was still. " In midst of dangers, fears and death, Thy goodness I'll adore ; I'll praise thee for thy mercies past, And humbly hope for more. " My life, if thou preserv'st my life. Thy sacrifice shall be ; And death, if death must be my doom. Shall join my soul to thee. ADDISON. 87 The prose-writings of Addison include — besides those already noticed— a critique on "Paradise Lost," a series of essays on "The Pleasures of Imagination," and a work on the " Evidences of Christianity." His prose contains more wealth of thought and illustration than can be found in all his verses. " Cato " is a correctly written tragedy, but is cold and almost destitute of dramatic life. On the other hand, "Sir Roger de Coverley " is a poem in prose, and surely must have been written by a poet who was, moreover, an amiable man. All the papers containing the portraiture of that " English Gentleman of the Olden Time " should be read consecutively; but a short quotation may here serve as one specimen of the author's quiet and genial humour : — " I am always well pleased w^ith a country Sunday, and think, if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institution, it would be the best method that could have been thought of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the country peo- ple would soon degenerate into a kind of savages and barbarians, were there not such frequent returns of a stated time, in which the whole village meet together with their best faces, and in their cleanliest habits, to converse with one another upon different sub- jects, hear their duties explained to them, and join together in adoration of the Supreme Being. " My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beautified the inside of his church with several texts of his own choosing. He has likewise given a handsome pulpit-cloth, and railed in the com- munion-table at his own expense. He has often told me, that at his coming to his estate he found his parishioners very irregular : and that in order to make them kneel, and join in the responses, he gave every one of them a hassock and a Common Prayer Book ; and at the same time employed an itinerant singing-master, who 88 ENGLISH POETS. goes about the country for that purpose, to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the Psalms, upon which they now very much value themselves, and indeed outdo most of the country churches that I have ever heard. " As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it be- sides himself ; for if by chance he has been surprised into a short nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks about him, and if he sees anybody else nodding, either wakes them himself, or sends his servants to them. Several other of the old knight's particularities break out upon these occasions. Sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing Psalms, half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done with it ; some- times, when he is pleased with the matter of his devotion, he pro- nounces Amen three or four times in the same prayer ; and some- times stands up when everybody else is upon their knees, to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants are missing. " I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. This John Matthews it seems is remarkable for being an idle fellow, and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. This authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner which accompa- nies him in all the circumstances of life, has a very good effect upon the parish, who are not polite enough to see anything ridiculous in his behaviour ; besides that the general good sense and worthiness of his character make his friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set off than blemish his good qualities." POPE. NECDOTES of poets and other authors have too often served as substitutes for studies of their writings. A great dramatic poet, hke Shakespeare, must have a mar- vellous power of concealing himself in the midst of the world he creates. But this does not contradict the general truth — that the character of a great and sincere poet will be found in his works taken as a whole. Ex- amples are indicated by the names, Horace, Burns, Wordsworth, Byron, and to these may be added Pope. It does not follow, because a man is a poet, that he can be nothing else. He may be a naturalist, or a moralist, or may forget poetry and lose himself in ab- stract theory. The development of imaginative genius may be a chief aim, or may be made subordinate to the culture of other faculties. A man born a poet may write books in which faithful description and clear logic, or wit N 90 ENGLISH POETS. and humour, may be generally made more prominent than poetic imagination ; though this faculty may give life and power to the best passages. Pope was a poet ; but he mostly employed his talents in writing satires and moral essays. It was his boast — " That not in fancy's maze he wandered long, But stooped to truth, and moraUzed his song." In his later years, the rationalism of the time led him to write, in verse, on such themes as natural theology and optimism. His error was great, and he was himself half-conscious of it. But in his satires, moral essays, and reasonings about good and evil, Pope brightened didactic verse with the light of poetry. He installed himself as a professor of ethics and wrote lectures in verse ; but these lectures were, almost everywhere, irradiated with gleams of fancy and imagination. The professor of ethics could not conceal the fact, that he was a poet. Alexander Pope, whose parents were members of the Roman Catholic Church, was born in Lombard Street, London, on the 21st of May, 1688, Soon after that time, his father, who was a linen-draper, retired from business and went to live at Binfield, near Windsor Forest. There young Pope received some instruction from a priest, and then went to a school at Twyford ; but for his higher education he was mainly indebted to the kindness of his parents, who allowed him to select his own studies. In him Nature united poetic genius and a clear intellect POPE. 91 with a physical constitution so frail that he called his life "a long disease." As he tells us, " he lisped in num- bers," wrote verses when he was twelve years old, and about that time was introduced to the old poet, Dryden, who, still retaining his marvellous powers, was near the close of his career. Studies of Dryden's " Fables " and Chaucer's " Tales " led the young poet to write some free imitations, and he read Milton's early poems, Eng- lish and Latin, of which traces are found in four " Pastorals " written by Pope at the age of sixteen, but afterwards revised, and first published in 1709. Recol- lections of rural life at Binfield supplied imagery for the best passages of " Windsor Forest," first published in 1713. Here and there are found, among more ambitious verses, some lines of truthful description, such as these : — " There, interspersed in lawns and opening glades, Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades. Here in full light the russet plains extend, There, wrapt in clouds, the bluish hills ascend. E'en the wild heath displays her purple dyes." Before Pope had attained the age of twenty-three, his intellect had assumed predominance over sentiment and imagination. This may be seen in the " Essay on Criti- cism," which first appeared in 171 1, when it was highly commended by Addison. In this work the author, partly following the great critic, Boileau, turned his attention away from nature and life, and began to write about rules for writing. The following lines, giving apposite 92 ENGLISH POETS. examples of bad versification, were admired at the time when the " Essay " was pubHshed : — " In the bright muse though thousand charms conspire, Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire, Who haunt Parnassus but to please the ear, Not mend their minds ; as some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require. Though oft the ear the open vowels tire, While feeble expletives their aid do join, Ami ten low words oft creep in one dull line" When the " Essay " had been praised in the " Spec- tator," the writer contributed to that journal a poem called "The Messiah," remarkable as a specimen of ornate diction and smooth verse. The thoughts and the imagery are (with full acknowledgment) borrowed from Isaiah and Virgil. Again the young author displayed versatility when, soon after the appearance of " The Messiah," he published a first sketch of his " Rape of the Lock." This also was praised by Addison, who thought it so good that it could hardly be mended. But the poet was pleased with the subject, and, soon afterwards, greatly extended his work by the introduction of sylphs, gnomes, and nymphs, such as are found in the Entretiens dii Cointe de Gabalis, an odd book, written by the French Abbe de Montfaucon de Villars. It seems clear that Pope had read that book. The real story of his mock- heroic poem is very simple. It tells us that a young lord clipped away, without asking for permission, a lock of POPE. 93 hair from the head of a reigning beauty, and dire anger followed the transgression : — " Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of terror rend the affrighted skies. Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands, or when lap-dogs breathe their last ! Or when rich China vessels, fallen from high. In glittering dust and painted fragnients lie." The quarrel thus begun went on until two families, who had lived on friendly terms, were separated like Greeks and Trojans. The poet's aim is reconciliation, and good humour is the general tone of the poem. If to fancy we assign such combinations of ideas and images as have no basis in faith, reason, or deep feeling ; in other words, if fancy may be defined as the playful sister of imagination, then Pope's " Rape of the Lock " may be called the most brilliant of all works of fancy found in English literature. Its success, when published in its complete form in 17 14, was remarkable; though the publisher paid to the writer little more than twenty pounds. Another proof of versatility was soon given, when he published, at Chiswick, the volume of poems including the " Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard." This alone is enough to show that Pope was a poet in the higher sense of the word, and had full command of such language as only true passion can inspire. All the imagery of the poem is coloured by one sentiment. The convent with " relentless walls," the " darksome pines," 94 ENGLISH POETS. the grief that "shades every flower" and "darkens every scene," " Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods " — all are well blended, like faint lights, dim colours, and dark shadows in an old and mellow painting ; and surely there is pathos in such lines as these : — " In sacred vestments mayst thou stand, The hallowed taper trembling in thy hand ; Present the cross before my lifted eye, Teach me at once, and learn of me to die. Ah, then thy once-loved Eloisa see ! It will be then no crime to gaze on me. See from my cheek the transient roses fly ! See the last sparkle languish in my eye ! Till every motion, pulse and breath be o'er, And even my Abelard be loved no more." One of the smaller poems, given in the volume pub- lished at Chiswick, where Pope was living in 17 16, re- minds us of the author's own source of sorrow. The poem is addressed to his friend, Martha Blount, a lady belonging to a Roman Catholic family living near Read- ing. Their early friendship never died away, and did not lead to marriage. The cause of their separation is clearly enough indicated in several letters having reference to the writer's frail health ; or rather to that " long disease," his life. Writing verses was for Pope an anodyne medicine, and satire diverted his attention from his own physical miseries. To these he refers in the following reproof of flattery : — POrE. 95 " There are who to my person pay their court : I cough hke Horace, and though lean, am short. Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high ; ' Such Ovid's nose ! ' and, ' Sir, you have an eye ! ' — Go on, obliging creatures ! make me see All that disgraced my betters met in me. Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, 'Just so immortal Maro held his head ! ' " The discontent naturally attending ill-health was but one of the motives by which Pope was urged to write satire. When twenty-three years old, he had won re- putation, but had gained no substantial reward. All the money he had earned by writing poetry was hardly worth notice. He was excluded by his creed from some rewards given to men whose claims were inferior, and was left mostly dependent on his father, who died suddenly in 1 7 17. A note written by the poet at that time contains these words, addressed to his friend, Martha Blount : " My poor father died last night. Believe, since I don't forget you now, I never shall." Though Pope inherited but a small patrimony, his father's decease did not leave him in poverty. Some time before that event, he had issued a proposal for pub- lishing, by subscription, a new translation of Homer, and in this undertaking he was generously supported by patrons of literature. So far were his circumstances thus improved, that he took at Twickenham a long lease of a house with five acres of land, and afterAvards lived there with his mother, whom he cherished with filial 96 ENGLISH POETS. piety during the remainder of her Hfe. At his villa on the Thames, he bestowed on landscape-gardening, in miniature, as much care as he sometimes expended in polishing verses. Here he planted his willow, made a grotto, through which a rill of clear water flowed, and planned a sloping " arcade of trees," through which might be seen " sails on the river, passing suddenly and vanishing." Near the grotto were constructed two porches ; one " full of light and open," the other " shadowed with trees and rough with shells, flints, and iron-ores." The transition from Binfield and Chiswick to a villa on the Thames seems marvellous, and the wonder is not lessened when we are told that Pope gained i^5,ooo by translating Homer's " Iliad." The first volume appeared in 17 1 5, and the work was completed in 1720. The task of the translator would have been very arduous if he had endeavoured to unite with his own polished versification the antique tone and simple truthfulness of Homer ; but such a union was never meditated. Pope made Homer talk elegantly, in the style mostly admired by English readers of the time, and great success rewarded the enter- prise, which was soon followed by a translation of the " Odyssey." In this work Pope was assisted by two literary men — Broome and Fenton — who could so far imitate his own style that their work, when revised and polished by himself, was at least respectable. Pope did half the work ; a third part of it was executed by POPE. 97 Broome, and the remainder— one sixth — was done by Fenton. The profits of the translation amounted to ;^4,20O, and were thus distributed : Pope took five-sixths, Broome had one-eighth, and the remaining small sum was accepted as the payment due to Fenton. Poets may therefore boast that their number includes, at least, one man who was a good financial politician. At the same time it should be noticed that the success of the " Odyssey " was fairly ascribed to Pope's former success in translating the " Iliad." In the course of ten years (1715-25) he earned more than eight thousand pounds by work that, for him, was comparatively light, and afforded leisure for recreation. While engaged in trans- lating " the Iliad," he lived for some time in rural quietude, at an old mansion — Stanton-Harcourt in Oxfordshire — of which he wrote a description, in prose, so pleasant that it reminds us of Addison and of Irving. The description, addressed to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, is thus concluded : — " I have found this an excellent place for retirement and study, where no one who passes by can dream there is an inhabitant. . . . You will not wonder, I have translated a great deal of Homer in this retreat ; any one that sees it will own I could not have chosen a fitter or more likely place to converse with the dead." The accomplished lady to whom Pope sent the ac- count of his "retreat," came, in 171 8, to live at Twicken- ham, and for some time was numbered with the poet's friends. A story is told imputing to Pope all the blame O 98 ENGLISH POETS. for cessation of friendly relations. In connection with that story, one apparently contradictory fact should be noticed ; the poet's " long subdued and cherished " love of Martha Blount remained with him throughout his life. Of his letters addressed to this lady one, written in 171 6, tells us that he had recently paid a visit to Oxford. " There," he says, — " I lay in one of the most ancient, dusky parts of the University, and was as dead to the world as any hermit of the desert. If any- thing was alive or awake in me, it was a little vanity, such as even those good men used to entertain, when monks of their own order extolled their piety and abstraction." While partly engaged in translating the " Odyssey," Pope made some preparation for a new edition of Shake- speare, which appeared in 1725, and was remarkably un- successful. The editorial work was slightly done ; but the chief cause of failure was a prevalent want of taste for dramatic poetry of the highest class. Pope received for his earlier poetry only such pecuniary rewards as might be called insignificant ; but the profits arising from his " Homer," and from his own good management of money, made him independent. In his own frugal way, he could entertain select friends at his pleasant villa, and there he enjoyed the society of such men as Swift and Gay, the witty physician Arbuthnot, and the two bishops, Berkeley and Atterbury. The last- named, accused of treason and banished in 1723, sent from the Tower a farewell letter to the poet, whose reply POPE. 99 was written in a style of studied solemnity. Other letters were written by Pope, with such careful attention to style, that the sincerity of his sentiments has been doubted. But the same trait is found in correspondence having reference to his mother's declining health, and his sincerity cannot here be doubted. Not a word of fiction is found in the following lines : — " Me let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing age ; With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death ; Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep at least one parent from the sky." After 1726, Pope's talents were mostly employed in writing satires and moral epistles (or essays) in verse. Of the satires, the longest was " The Dunciad," in which he exposed to ridicule some authors who had offended him, and others from whom he had received no provoca- tion. For the temper betrayed in " The Dunciad," an apology is given in the following lines, in which the writer speaks of himself : — " Not for fame, but virtue's better end, He stood the furious foe, the timid friend. . . . The morals blackened, when the writings scape. The libelled person, and the pictured shape, Abuse on all he loved, or loved him, spread, A friend in exile, or a father dead." The " Epistles " and " Satires," including some " Imi- tations of Horace " — all written in the course of the loo EXGLISH POETS. years 1730-58 — contain the best specimens of Pope's writing, and combine, in his own style, good sense, pierc- ing VTiX, and lively fancy. His more striking rhetorical traits are seen in adroit uses of climax, antitliesis, and irony. Of the last two figures combined, one brief example may be given in two lines addressed to a querulous and conceited sceptic : — '■ Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule — Then drop into thyself, and be a fool 1 " Energ}'' and conciseness are united in numerous passages, of which the following lines may afford one example. They tell how a ruling passion — vanity — may assert itself at the close of life : — " ' Odious I — in woollen — 'twould a saint provoke ! ' (Were the last words that poor Xarcissa spoke — ' No I let a charming chintz and Brussels lace Wrap my cold Umbs, and shade my lifeless face : One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead — And — Bett)- : — give this cheek a httle red .' ' "' A finer example of concise energy is found in Pope's short sermon on that commonplace text, "Virtue is its own reward " : — '• What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy. The souls cahn sunshine and the heart-felt joy, Is \irtue's prize : a better would you fix? Then give Hiunility a coach and six, Justice a conquerors sword, or Truth a gown, Or Public Spirit its great cure, a crown. Weak, foolish man I wiU Heaven reward us there With the same trash mad mortals wish for here ? POPE. loi The boy and man an individual makes, Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes ? Go, like the Indian, in another life. Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife; As well as dream such trifles are assigned, As toys and empires, for a godlike mind" Four of the didactic epistles, written in the course of the years 1732-34, were collected under the general title, " An Essay on Man." The optimistic theor)' maintained in the essay was partly borrowed from conversations with Lord Bolingbroke, one of the poet's friends. Such a theory should be given either as founded on Divine Revelation, or as derived by some sure method from philosophical research. It seems out of place when given in verse, and here and there enunciated in dogmatic and declamatory tones. WTien Pope boldly declares that " whatever is, is right," a critic gives a sufficient refutation by appending the following note : — " Here Pope's ' whatever is, is right ' is wrong." But whatever may be the objections justly raised against the discursive treatment of a philosophical theory, it must be granted that the " Essay on Man " contains some of the finest passages written by Pope. With these may be classed the following eloquent lines : — " All are but parts of one stupendous whole. Whose body Nature is, and God the soul ; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same. Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame : I02 ENGLISH POETS. Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; Lives through all life, extends through all extent ; Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns. As the rapt seraph that adores and burns ; To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all." When he had written his satires and his moral essays, Pope's best work in Hterature was done. He had given to didactic and reflective poetry its highest polish, and had left nothing to be done by imitators. Of new strains of inspiration, such as afterwards were heard in the poems of Gray, Goldsmith, and Cowper, some anticipa- tion was found in Thomson's " Seasons," published while Pope was writing didactic verse. He did not recognize in Thomson the man who would breathe new life into poetical literature ; but described him, rather coldly, as " an elegant and philosophical poet." It is pleasant to notice that, in 1738, Pope made some endea- vours to help that good and brave man, Samuel Johnson, who was then fighting with cruel poverty. Shades of melancholy were spread over Pope's declin- ing years. At the age of fifty-three he was old and almost worn out, afflicted with frequent head-ache, and so feeble that he could not dress himself without assist- ance. In company he would often fall asleep in the midst of a conversation. He had lost his cheerful friend POPE. 103 Gay, and kind and witty Arbuthnot, " friend and phy- sician." Lord Bolingbroke, with all his philosophy, was a poor substitute for Swift, over whose mind shades of deep night were lowering. Neither death nor distance, but " a darkness that might be felt," separated Pope from Swift. The latter hardly spoke a word during the last three years of his life. With one faithful friend, Ralph Allen, Pope spent some time, in 1741, at Prior Park, near Bath, and here, in a pleasant rural retreat, his time was mostly occupied in writing a fourth book, to make " The Dunciad " com- plete. In burlesque-sublime style this fourth book describes the victory won by " dunces," and the all-per- vading influence of their goddess, " Dulness." Under her dominion, education is reduced to barren formality, and schools are castles of indolence. Collectors of petty curiosities take the places vacated by men of science ; but while poetry is suppressed, a free range is still left for mathematical paradox : — " Mad Mdthesis alone was unconfined, Too mad for mere material chains to bind, Now to pure space lifts her extatic stare, Now, running round the circle, finds it — square." Religion, like poetry, is suppressed ; law and morality share the same fate ; the intellectual world becomes blank space ; primeval night and chaos return, " And universal darkness buries all." There is a sublimity of absurdity in the closing pas- 104 ENGLISH POETS. sages of "The Dunciad." It seems sad, that some of Pope's latest studies were devoted to literary controversy. His " long disease " called hfe came to a close in 1744. In May his friend, Martha Blount, came to Twickenham to say farewell to Alexander Pope. His extreme weak- ness was followed by intervals of delirium. In calm moments he expressed a firm belief in his soul's immor- tality. When it was evident that death was near, a Roman Catholic priest was called in, and from his hands Pope received, with expressions of deep humiliation, the last sacraments of the Church to which his parents belonged. He died tranquilly in the evening of the 30th of May, 1744. By his will he left to Martha Blount, as a token of "long friendship," ;^ 1,000, with all his household effects, and the residue of his estate, after payment of debts and legacies. All that was mortal of Pope was interred, near his parents' remains, in Twicken- ham Church, where a marble monument, bearing a medallion portrait, was erected in 1761. Some years ago a report was spread that the Poet's skull had been taken from the vault and placed "in a phrenological collection." It is true that, in consequence of an acci- dent, the vault was partly opened, and the skull was taken out ; but it was soon restored to its place. There is something frightful in the thought of " dunces " dis- turbing the poet's remains. The chief traits of Pope's character are seen in his writings. Though he never left the pale of the Roman POPE. 105 Catholic Church, his religious views were partly rational- istic, or might, in some respects, be called " latitudi- narian." " I as little fear," he said, "that God will damn a man who has Charity, as I hope that any priest can save him without it." It is hard to show how Pope could harmonize his parents' creed with his own natural theology. One thing is clear, that he saved from nega- tion his belief in Divine Providence and in the immor- tality of the soul. The names of his friends are enough to assure us that he possessed amiable qualities. Above all, his filial piety was in the highest degree exemplary. On the other side it may be said, he was — like some other men afflicted with physical deformity — too sensitive and querulous. He did not readily forgive an insult. His frugality was called parsimony, with especial respect to the allowance of wine that some of his guests would call liberal. His sentimental letters have been called insincere, because he wrote them with some care for polish, and published, by means of a stratagem, his own correspondence, apparently intended to be kept private. But he wrote polished prose, when describing his own ornamental grounds and his grotto ; yet surely his love of landscape-gardening was no affectation. One of his worst foibles was thinking too much of his enemies and of himself, and this error led him to cherish the proud and defiant temper expressed in the following lines : — " Ask you what provocation I have had 'i The strong antipathy of good to bad. P io6 ENGLISH POETS. When truth or virtue an affront endures, The affront is 7ni}ie, my friend, and should be yours ; Mine, as a foe professed to false pretence, Who think a coxcomb's honour like his sense ; Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind, And mine, as man, who feel for all mankind. Friend. You're strangely proud Poet. So proud, I am no slave ; So impudent, I own myself no knave ; So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave. Yes, I am proud ; I must be proud to see Men, not afraid of God, afraid of me ! " Pope, during a considerable part of his lifetime, was involved in literary quarrels, and controversies have been provoked by his reputation. Of all disputes respecting his merits, the most noticeable was one in which Lord Byron w'as engaged on one side, with the Rev. Lisle Bowles on the other. There was a general want of clear expression on both sides of the controversy, for the words " poet " and " poetry," though often introduced, were never defined with precision. Byron spoke collectively of Pope's writings. Beside such expressions of enthu- siasm and fervid imagination as are found in the " Epistle of Eloisa " were placed fine passages of didactic verse, specimens of stinging satire, and eloquent laudations of virtue. When all these varied expressions of power had been reviewed, Byron noticed also Pope's elegantly com- pact diction, his wit and humour, and his adroit use of rhetorical figures. From a survey of all these items Byron induced his conclusion : — that ALEXANDER PoPE was a prince among English poets. GOLDSMITH. LIVER GOLDSMITH, the son of a poor clergyman, was bom at the hamlet Pallas' in the county of Longford (Ireland), on the 1 0th of November, 1728. His father, Charles Goldsmith, curate of a chapel at Pallas, had a mean salary that, aided by some small farming, made forty pounds his yearly income. To the father, Charles Goldsmith, and perhaps to his son, Henry, who subse- quently held the same curacy, there seems to be a refer- ence in the Poet's portraiture of a Rural Pastor : — " A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year." The father's circumstances were improved in 1730, when he gained the living of Kilkenny West, and went to dwell at Lissoy, a village near Ballymahon. There Oliver's childhood was passed ; not without affliction. In his eighth year an attack of small-pox left his face loS EXGLISN POETS. scarred and disfigured for life. He was called a dull boy when he went to school at Lissoy. and it can hardly be doubted that his best lessons were learned in the open air, and A\-itliout such aid as books and rods supply. He learned to look with kindness on the lives of poor people, and on the face of nature. When fifteen years old, he received some pecuniar)^ aid from an uncle, named Contarine, and was admitted as a sizar or " poor scholar " of Trinity College. Dublin, where he graduated as B.A. in 1749. Wliile he was at college his father died, leaxnng but slender resources for his widow, who went to live at Ballymahon. There, and in the neighbourhood, Oliver, after lea\nng Dublin, stayed two years, visited re- latives, and sometimes gave aid in a school kept by his elder brotlier Henn,-, curate of the chapel at Pallas. When twent>-three }-ears old. Oliver, following advice given by his uncle, presented himself as a candidate for holy orders to the Bishop of Elphin, by whom he was re- jected. His way of hfe had been free and careless, and at college his irregularities had offended a harsh tutor. Of such antecedents the bishop might probably hear some report But Olivers failure has been ascribed to the costume worn when he went to Elphin. He disliked, we are told, the solemnity of a black suit, and wore "scarlet breeches." This story seems founded on the fact that in later life Goldsmith hked gay colour in dress. For one year after the failure at Elphin, he had the experience of a private tutor, and subsequently lived GOLDSMITH. 109 for some time with his brother Henry. Then, again aided by his uncle, Oliver went to study medicine at Edinburgh and at Leyden, where he was staying in 1754- His subsequent failure of resources might be partly as- cribed to a love of gambling. Covetousness was no part of his nature, and he had neither the skill nor the cunning of an expert gambler ; but he loved the perilous excite- ment of a gaming-table. Some " good luck " that he once enjoyed at Leyden was in fact a misfortune. The money soon won was almost as soon wasted, and the ad- venturer was left in a foreign land and without friends. From Leyden he sent home to his uncle Contarine a present of some choice bulbs of tulips, and then started for a long tour on the continent. In the course of two years (1754-6) he travelled, mostly on foot, in France, Switzerland, and Italy, and came destitute of money to London. How had he maintained himself during the time } There is no sure answer ; but the belief enter- tained by his friends seems well founded. In his life- time it was generally believed that his own adventures during his travels were like those ascribed to " George " in "The Vicar of Wakefield." In Holland he gave private lessons, played the flute to amuse rustic people in Flanders, and, after other exercises of versatile ability, was engaged as the travelling tutor of a wealthy and covetous young man, with whom he did not long agree. Goldsmith returned from the continent, and came to London in 1756. At that time the circumstances of no EXGLISH POETS. unaided men of genius and learning were by no means enviable. The age of patronage had passed awa}', and booksellers would not give much for copyright that must expire at the time when it might otherwise rapidly in- crease in value. Authors, though too numerous for their own welfare, were but a feeble minority, and conse- quently the results of their best labours were taken from them by confiscation. The statute of Anne, by which copyright was limited, did not suppress writers of party pamphlets and other ephemeral productions ; but it op- pressed good and great men of the class to which John- son and Goldsmith belonged. After all his hard struggles for bread, and when his great work, the Dictionary, had appeared, Johnson, in the year when Goldsmith came to town, was so poor that he was arrested for a debt of less than six pounds. He was then helped by Samuel Richardson, who was the writer of very successful novels. His prosperity seems mar- vellous ; but he made his money mostly by printing. Other exceptions to the general rule of oppression and poverty among literary men were more apparent than real. There were some rewards for mean authors who would sell themselves to the ruling party in politics ; but Sir Robert Walpole had almost invariably refused to give aid to genius and learning, and his example was followed by other ministers. Young, author of the "Night Thoughts," received a pension, and in i860 Johnson's claims were noticed by Lord Bute. But on GOLDSMITH. iii the whole the period 1728-74, including Goldsmith's life- time, was for honourable literary men a deplorable time. Soon after his arrival in London, Goldsmith saw enough of the misery of poor authors, and he made some endeavours to escape from it. Among the lowest mer- cenary scribblers and schemers of that time there were some ways of winning money to which he could never stoop. Of these he gives (with some humorous ex- aggeration) one amusing specimen, as a part of the story told by " George " : — " As I was meditating one day, in a coffee-house " (says " George "), " a little man happening to enter the room placed himself in the box before me, and, after some preliminary discourse, finding me to be a scholar, drew out a bundle of proposals, begging me to subscribe to a new edition he was going to give the world of ' Pf-opertius., with Notes' This demand necessarily produced a reply that I had no money ; and that concession led him to inquire into the nature of my expectations. Finding that my expectations were just as great as my purse, ' I see,' cried he, ' you are unacquainted with the town. I'll teach you a part of it. Look at these proposals ; upon these proposals I have subsisted very comfortably for twelve years. The moment a nobleman returns from his travels, a Creolian arrives from Jamaica, or dowager from her country-seat, I strike for a sub- scription. I first besiege their hearts with flattery, and then pour in my proposals at the breach. If they subscribe readily the first time, I renew my request, to beg a dedication fee ; if they let me have that, I smite them once more for engraving their coat-of-arms at the top. Thus,' continued he, ' I live by vanity and laugh at it ; but, between ourselves, I am now too well known. I should be glad to borrow your face a bit ; a nobleman of distinction has just re- turned from Italy ; my face is familiar to his porter ; but if you bring this copy of verses, my life for it, you succeed, and we divide 112 ENGLISH POETS. the spoil.'" [" George " declined the offer. . . . Having a mind too proud to stoop to such indignities, and yet a fortune too humble to hazard a second attempt for fame, he was now obliged to take a middle course, and write for tread.] To escape from the misery of writing for bread, Gold- smith, before the time when his name was known, sought and found employment as assistant in a chemist's shop, at the corner of Monument Yard. At that time he was so far changed in aspect by misery, that he was not easily recognized by Dr. Sleigh, whom he had known well in Edinburgh. Aided by this good friend, he bought a suit of clothes, of which the faded colour had once been green, and took apartments in Bankside, a poor neighbourhood in Southwark, where his attempt to obtain practice as a medical man was a failure. He then found employment in correcting proofs for Richardson, the successful novelist and printer, who had extensive offices in Salisbury Court. This occupation did not last long; for in 1757 Goldsmith was living as an usher in a private school, kept by Dr. Milner at Peckham. At that time green fields and gardens made pleasant the neigh- bourhood where the house now called " Goldsmith's House " stands retired under a dark shadow of trees. At Peckham, the usher was introduced to a bookseller, Mr. Griffith, who — aided by his wife — edited and published a Monthly Review, for which Goldsmith was engaged to write certain articles. His essays had sometimes the advantage (or endured the disgrace) of corrections and GOLDSMITH. 113 improvements made by Mrs. Griffith ! For payment he had a small salary, a room in the publisher's house, and a share in the misery of penurious housekeeping. After a dispute with his slave-driving employers, he was glad to go back and, for a time, help Dr. Milner again in the Peckham school. The work of an usher has hardly been made delightful by all the ameliorations introduced in schools since Goldsmith's time. He did not like his task, and therefore tried to pass an examination in surgery, in order to gain the post of a hospital mate in the army or in the navy. His failure left him indebted to Mr. Griffith for the value of a suit of clothes, which had been pawned. To pay for these he returned to hack-writing, hired a garret in Green Arbour Court, and there wrote a " Memoir of Voltaire," which was accepted by Mr. Griffith as full payment for the pawned suit of clothes. This slight "Memoir" was soon followed by a better work, entitled "An Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe," which gained for the writer introductions to several editors and publishers, " The Enquiry," says a brilliant and severe critic, " had little value." It led, however, to a turning-point in the poor author's fortune ; he was recognized and com- mended by respectable men, and soon contributed to " The Public Ledger " the genial essays subsequently collected under the title " The Citizen of the World." These were followed by a series of " Letters on the History of England," which had great success, and were Q 114 ENGLISH POETS. afterwards reduced to the form of a very popular school book. Goldsmith having gained a position — such as was seldom won in his time by fair hard work — left his mean hiding-place, and found better lodgings ; first in Wine Office Court, and after\\ards in Islington. About this time he was introduced to the famous Literary Club, of which Johnson, Burke, and Reynolds were members. Their place of meeting was the Turk's Head, Gerrard Street, Soho, As a talker, Goldsmith, though his genius would now and then shine out, could not compete with such giants as Johnson and Burke. In word-duels with the former, the Poet was sometimes silenced by the voice of authority. "Why, no sir!" Johnson would say; or "Sir, your genius is great, but your knowledge is small." At other times the Poet had the advantage, as when he said to the great man : — " If you were to write a fable about little fishes, doctor, you would make the little fishes talk like whales." There was no harm done by such fighting. Goldsmith found a friend in the man whose greatest fault was liking Latin better than English. Pleasant society and eloquent talk often made the poet forget for a time his precarious circumstances. He could write well, and was earning more money than before, but he had no skill in keeping it. Moreover, he sometimes felt weary of task-work, and he knew well that if he could exist in the mean time, he could write something better than the " History of England." His memories of rural life at GOLDSMITH. T15 Lissoy, of wanderings on the continent, and of hardship endured in London ; thoughts of his father and of Henry, the curate at Pallas : — these were all waiting for poetic treatment. Now and then he wrote lines after- wards included in his poem "The Traveller;" at other times he wrote parts of " The Vicar of Wakefield," and no doubt he had pleasure in thus blending his own ex- perience with imagination. But while thus employed he was earning no money, and when the story of the good Vicar was completed, the author was arrested for arrears of rent. Then he sent a note rightly addressed — not to a man hardened by wealth, but to the man who " had nothing of the bear save his skin." Johnson immediately sent a guinea, and soon came to devise means of release. To him the poet showed his "Vicar of Wakefield." When some portion of the manuscript had been read, Johnson saw its merit, and soon sold it for £60 ; but its publication was deferred for two years. Released from extreme anxiety. Goldsmith completed his poem " The Traveller," which appeared at the close of the year 1764, and was praised by every reader who could appreciate its union of thought with imagination and feeling. One eulogy, ascribed to a lady, was re- markably significant, and well expressed. The Poet was by no means "a handsome man ;" he was scarred with small-pox, had a complexion of " frost-bitten bloom," and was sometimes called " ugly." But Miss Reynolds could see beyond the surface, and, when she had heard ii6 ENGLISH POETS. the poem read, she declared that never again would she call the writer '' ugly." His fame was suddenly and widely spread ; booksellers collected and re-published his essays, and Newber>' brought out, in IVIay, 1766, " The Vicar of Wakefield." IMeanwhile the author took chambers in the Temple, bought a respectable suit of clothes, and made another unsuccessful endeavour to begin practice as a medical man. His failure is ascribed to a want of skill and address ; but it might be as natu- rally ascribed to a cause well understood by striving men — he had not time to make a beginning, or to wait for practice. His thoughts were next turned toward dramatic writing, and in 1768 his comedy, "The Good- natured Man," appeared. Its first performance was not a sure success, and the disappointment made him shed tears. The ultimate result was however so far good, that he received for the play more than seven times the sum paid for " The Vicar of Wakefield." That money was soon and unwisely expended, mostly in taking and fur- nishing chambers in Brick Court, Middle Temple, where he gave to his friends some good dinners, followed by jovial mirth. While there was money in his purse he was always ready to give, and his free expenditure was too soon followed by another appearance of his old, grim companion, poverty. Then he went to work again for the booksellers, and projected some extensive Avorks, for which he received advances of money. To find quietude for study, and to avoid the tcmpta- GOLDSMITH. 117 tions of life in town, he left Brick Court at times, and lived in seclusion at a place situate on the Edgware Road, and seven miles distant from London. There he wrote a " History of Rome," and a considerable part of the " History of Animated Nature." He found, mean- while, relief in pleasant rural walks, and was cheered by the friendship of a genial family, the Hornecks, with whom he enjoyed, in 1770, an excursion to Paris. In that year appeared his poem " The Deserted Village," of which five editions were sold in three months. In 1773 the comedy "She Stoops to Conquer," was first performed at Covent Garden, and won for the manager more than ^^"400. But the success was not enough to pay all the writer's debts. While lovers of cheerful comedy were laughing at Tony Lumpkin, the author was wearily proceeding with his work on "Animated Nature," for which he had already received payment. Then he wrote his " Grecian History," and projected a " Dictionary of Arts and Sciences," an enterprise for which no encouragement could be found. To save him from oppressive work and care, his friends made endea- vours to obtain for him a pension ; but he had already refused to sell himself, and accordingly his claims were left unnoticed. In 1774 Goldsmith owed ;6"2000. He was only forty- five years old, and might trust that he had still energy enough to liberate himself from debt. Too late he thought of leaving Brick Court, and going away to work ii8 ENGLISH POETS. quietlyonce more,in his seclusion near the Edgware Road. Overwork and anxiety were kilHng him. His father and his brother Henry had been called away by death. He had no wife, no relative to console him. His cheerful- ness sometimes shone out again at the club ; but he was often restless and moody, even when he was surrounded by his friends. About this time he was grieved by a stroke of satire aimed at some of his conversational failures, such as were made when he was talking at the club. At a coffee-house, where several literary friends were present, it was agreed between Garrick and Gold- smith that each should make an epitaph for the other, and the actor at once produced these lines : — " Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, Who wrote like an angel, and talked like poor Poll." Of course the company laughed ; but the poet felt " rather sore," and declined making a reply there and then. At home [or say rather in Brick Court] he wrote the verses called " Retaliation," full of his native good- humour, but including this retort upon the player : — " On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting, 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting." " Retaliation " was the writer's last production. In March, 1774, when suffering from disease induced by overwork, he persisted too long in treating his own case. A physician was at last called in, and held out some hope of recovery ; but anxiety made futile all medical GOLDSMITH. 119 aid. When the physician kindly asked, " Is your mind at ease?" the patient briefly answered, "No, it is not." These were the last words spoken by Oliver Goldsmith. He died in the morning of Monday, the 4th of April, 1774. His friend, Mary Horneck, came from the retreat on the Edgware Road to ask for a lock of his hair. On the staircase of his chambers in Brick Court stood mourners ; no relatives, but poor persons and some " outcasts " of society, whose misery had been relieved by his charity. His remains Avere laid in the Temple burial-ground. No complete and well-written story of Goldsmith's life was ever published before the year 1854.^ Goldsmith's writings are popular in the right sense of the word. The passing noise often called " popularity " is one thing ; the quiet voice of the people is another. "There are few writers," says Irving, "for whom the reader feels such personal kindness as for Oliver Gold- smith, for few have so eminently possessed the magic gift of identifying themselves with their writings. We read his character in every page, and grow into familiar intimacy with him as we read. The artless benevolence that beams through his works ; the whimsical yet amiable views of human life and human nature; the unforced humour, blending so happily with good feeling and good sense, and singularly dashed at times with a pleasing ' " Life and Times of Goldsmith," by John Forster. 1854. I20 EXGLISH POETS. melancholy ; even the very nature of his mellow, flowing, and softly-tinted style : — all seem to bespeak his moral as well as his intellectual qualities, and make us love the man, at the same time that we admire the author." Thus speaks a genial American writer. On the other side, all that can be said against Goldsmith has been keenly said by a brilliant critic, in sharp tones that seem to have called forth no popular echoes. The tones of "the mellow horn" travel further than the shrill notes of the fife. Some years before Goldsmith's death, his writings were read with delight in Germany. If a word might be changed. Pope's summary of Gay's character might serve for Goldsmith's. He was in mind a man, and in simplicity a child. In many instances the transition from youth to manhood casts into shade all traits of childhood. His knowledge of the evil that is in the world, and in his own heart, makes the man reserved, prudent, and cautious. He wears the armour of "the man who feareth always," and is less joyous than in his youthful time, but more secure. He is a dry, hard politician, and has for ever " put away " all the foibles and the amiable qualities of childhood. Such is the experience of many a normal " man of the world." But Goldsmith's soul never suffered such a change as that. His practical life was, in some respects, erroneous and unhappy ; but his heart was never hardened by adver- sity, as others have too often been by prosperity. The pervading motive of his best writings was to plead for GOLDSMITH. 121 kind relations between distinct classes of society. He pleaded for the poor, for the wretched, even for the criminal "who had no helper." He made beautiful that religion of which St. James was a teacher. Chaucer has described beautifully the character of " The Poor Parson," and Wordsworth has written fine poetry on the same subject ; but nothing said by these poets can be compared with Goldsmith's portraiture of a rural pastor : — " Near yonder copse where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden-iiower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year. Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place. Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train. He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; The long- remembered beggar was his guest. Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. Claimed kindred there and had his claims allowed ; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. Sat by his fire and talked the night away, Wept o'er his wounds or — tales of sorrow done — ■ Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; R ENGLISH POETS. Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. " Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty, prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies ; He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. " Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control. Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise. " At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man With steady zeal each honest rustic ran ; E'en children followed, with endearing wile. And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile ; His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed ; Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given. But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head." m: irr BURNS. OBERT BURNS was born in a cottage near Alloway Church, Ayrshire, on the 25th of January, 1759. His father, William Burns, was for some time overseer of an estate at Doonholm, and, seven years after the birth of his eldest son; he went to a small farm, where for twelve years he worked hard to win bread from poor soil. In the latter part of that time he w^as assisted by his two sons, Robert and Gilbert, who were compelled to support themselves before they were twenty years old. Their father was a devout man, who had an independent spirit and a strong will. To him they were indebted for their moral training and their earliest religious impressions. Shortly before their father's death, Robert and Gilbert took a small farm at Mossgicl, and there laboured to maintain themselves and the rest of the Burns family. After four years of work on the farm, Robert, despairing 126 ENGLISH POETS. duties. He therefore gave up farming, and in 1791 went to live at Dumfries, where his income was raised to £^0 a year. He performed so well the duties of his office, that he escaped censure, at a time when supervision was strict and watchful. A contrary assertion has been erro- neously founded on the fact, that Burns once received some admonition respecting his freedom in talking of political affairs. Like some thousands at that time (1792) he hoped that some good would come out of the French Revolution. He had seized lately a small smuggling craft, and when her stores were sold he bought four carronades, and shipped them as a present to the French Convention. For this act he received an admonition, which had no reference to any neglect in doing an exciseman's work. In an annotated register of officers' names for the " Dumfries Collection," two notes placed opposite the name Robert Burns are these : — " Turns out well." " The Poet does pretty well." It seems clear, then, that he fulfilled his duties ; but it can hardly be supposed that his five years at Dumfries were happy. His work and his associations too often led him away from his wife and family, and exposed him to temptations. During the years spent at his father's farm and at Mossgiel, his temperance and frugality were remarkable, and his expenses never exceeded his narrow income. At Dumfries he was too often found in taverns, where his associates were men for whom his wit and humour were but accompaniments of convivial excess. BURNS. 127 He yielded to temptation, and he suffered bitterly. The intemperance that, for some hardy, boon companions, seemed almost innocuous, was a swift poison for Burns, whose nervous system was always delicate, even when he had the muscular strength required by an Ayrshire ploughman. While he was still poor, and his health was declining, he was contributing to Thomson's " Select Scottish Melo- dies " a series of songs, including some of his most beautiful specimens of lyrical poetry, and some adapta- tions of old songs. For these contributions, and for all the expenditure of time demanded by a long correspon- dence with Thomson, the Poet refused to accept any remuneration. There can be no doubt, however, that the correspondence referred to served often to cheer his mind during the latest and most unhappy period of his life. At that time he still remembered too well the youthful dreams and aspirations, so finely described in " The Vision." From the noise of common-place life in Dumfries, he loved to retire to a lonely resting-place, near the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, which suggested a theme for one of his later poems. The following lines, expressing a love of harmony and repose, are remark- ably contrasted with many other poems written by Burns : — " Hark ! what more than mortal sound Of music breathes the pile around.'' 'Tis the soft chanted choral song Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong, 128 ENGLISH POETS. Till, thence returned, they softly stray O'er Cluden's wave, with fond delay ; Now on the rising gale swell high, And now in fainting murmurs die. " The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream Suspend their dashing oars to hear The holy anthem loud and clear ; Each worldly thought awhile forbear, And mutter forth a half-formed prayer." It has been noticed that for his beautiful songs, written while he was living at Dumfries, Burns would not accept any payment ; but when he was lying on his death-bed, he wrote to Thomson, asked earnestly for a loan of ;^5, and thus made an apology for the request : " A haber- dasher, to whom I owe an account, taking it into his head that I am dying, has commenced a process, and will infallibly put me into gaol. Do, for God's sake, send me that sum, and that by return of post. Forgive me this earnestness ; but the horrors of a gaol have made me half distracted. . . . Forgive, forgive me ! " A few days after writing that painful note Robert Burns died, on the 21st of July, 1796. His debts, which were small, were paid by friends, and a fund was raised for the support of his widow and her family. His remains were interred in a corner of the churchyard at Dumfries, and, seven years after his death, a sum of money was collected to erect a monument. At that time Wordsworth visited the grave of Burns, and, soon afterwards, wrote the following stanza : — BURNS. 129 " Through busiest street and loneliest glen Are felt the flashes of his pen ; He rules 'mid winter snows, and when Bees fill their hives ; Deep in the general heart of men His power survives." The poetry of Burns, though mostly lyrical in its ele- ments, as in forms of expression, includes lyrical-dra- matic poems and others that may be called reflective. Of his narrative style " Tarn o' Shanter " is the most splendid example. The reflective poems, mostly written in the form of " Epistles," are full of genial humour. The Poet's worst productions are his epigrams and epitaphs. Shortly before his death, "he lamented that he had written many (satirical) epigrams on persons against whom he entertained no enmity." Accepting the word lyrical in its stricter sense, as applied to songs set to music, we may aflirm, that Burns was the greatest of all the lyrical poets of Great Britain. But he was more than that ; he was a lyrical- dramatic poet, whose humour was as rich as his pathos was deep. Though his poems are mostly lyrical in their form, as in their spirit, he had a truly dramatic genius ; of all endowments the most extraordinary. It is with reference to this dramatic power, to its essential char- acter but not to its development, that the " Ayrshire ploughman " may be named in the same breath with Shakespeare. The hawthorn-blossom and the rose belong to one family, and, with regard to the essential S 130 ENGLISH POETS. character of his genius, Burns claims relationship with the greatest of poets. With respect to mental grasp, development, and universality, it is agreed that no poet can be placed anywhere near Shakespeare. All the poems written by Burns may be well printed in one small volume. No book of poetry written by one man contains in so small a compass so much variety. The author made a full confession in his poetry, and gave to the world the story of his life. His own char- acter is found by no means on every page, but in the complete series of his poems, taken as a whole. To hear the variety of his tones we take, not alone the wondrous tale of " Tam o' Shanter," nor the farewell to " Highland Mary," nor that addressed to " The bonnie banks of Ayr." From these we turn to " The Daisy," " The wee bit, Mousie," and to that beautiful idyl, " The Cotter's Saturday Night." What a contrast when we turn to the playful humour of " Hallowe'en," the grim humour of "Death and Doctor Hornbook," the satire of " The Holy Fair," the melodious revelry of " The Beggars' Cantata," and the quaint blending of all imaginable contrasts in the inimitable " Address to the Deil!" The variety already indicated is great, though only two of the author's songs have been noticed. In union with wide-spread sympathy and imaginative power, the poet had a perfect command of melodious expression. The beauties of his finest songs are not fairly estimated by solitary, silent reading. They have BURNS. 131 in themselves such music that, when well read aloud, they want no accompaniments to make them charming. Of censure only one word may here be noticed. The Poet, when dwelling on his own favourite theme, love, fails here and there to maintain self-control and reserve; essential elements in art and in life. But in his lyrical, as in his reflective poetry, fine expressions of pure senti- ments are abundant. A dissertation on friendship has not the power of the song " Auld Lang Syne," and a lecture on independence is not wanted after such a song as " For a' That." The " Epistle to a Young Friend " combines some qualities of a good song with those of a good sermon. In several lectures and essays, moral lessons of great value have been derived from the Poet's own experience. This, however, was better done by himself, in the stanzas entitled "A Bard's Epitaph." Two, that may be given here, have reference to the later years of his short lifetime : — " Is there a man whose judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career, Wild as the wave ; Here pause — and, through the starting tear, Survey this grave. " The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know. And keenly felt the friendly glow And sober flame ; But thoughtless foUies laid him low. And stained his name." 132 ENGLISH POETS. The influence of Burns on the culture of poetry was most beneficial. He must be classed with Thomson, Cowper, and Wordsworth, as one of the men who, after a rather dreary age of literature, restored to poetry its union with Nature, and with the ordinary cares, joys, and sorrows of human life. To use a German phrase, " he did not snatch his themes out of the air," nor go looking for them in cloud-land or dream-land ; but he found them in his own district of Ayrshire. Beside all the movement and variety of his human figures, we find everywhere in his poetry Nature sympathizing with every mood of his mind, and surrounding all with her own life. Late autumn sighed with him when he said " Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr ! " " The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last," when the immortal " Tam o' Shanter " rode forth : — " The rattlin' showers rose on the blast ; The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed ; Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed. That night a child might understand, The Deil had business on his hand." No poet has ever had in England a popularity like that of Burns in his native land. There — " Deep in the general heart of men His power survives." The story of his life has been so often told, that it is known by every reader in Scotland.^ Several monu- ' Of all biographies of Burns the most complete is one written by Robert Chambers. £[/J?NS. 133 merits have been erected to his memory, and the editions of his poems that have been pubHshed since 1800 cannot be readily counted. In January, 1859, the centenary of the Poet's birthday was celebrated by a festival held at the Crystal Palace, Sydenham. Odes and other poems on " Burns " were then produced, in competition for a prize, which was awarded to an Ode written by a Scottish lady. Another and a shorter poem written on that occasion may serve to conclude this brief memoir of Burns : — " He was a bard whose harp, like Nature's own, Had many chords and every change of tone. In Summer, airs that played o'er ' banks and braes ' Made music sweet, in concord with his lays; And when he said ' Farewell, ye banks of Ayr,' Stern Winter sighed in concert with despair. "Now with a sudden change, as in a dream, He tells of moonlit dell and haunted stream ; Of sprites ; of fairies dancing on the green ; Of all the rural pranks of Hallowe'en. " Or, while he thinks, with many a guess and fear. Of present grief and of a prospect drear. It grieves the ploughman, when the glittering share Uproots ' the mountain daisy ' he would spare. " His love spreads widely, like the light that falls On lowly dwellings and on palace walls. But most he loves to share the joys obscure And tell ' the simple annals of the poor ; ' Or — lays of lighter tone forgotten now — Beside the Cotter's ' ingle-cheek ' to bow. t34 ENGLISH POETS. " The pensive man who, on the banks of Ayr, Oft mused, at close of day, ' oppressed by care,' Shall mourn no more. The solitary hour. The gathering twilight, and the fading flower, His own drear life, the sorrows of mankind, No more shall grieve his sympathetic mind. " Then mourn not though the voice, that had such ski To charm the listener, is for ever still. Immortal life all dying forms pervades ; Still lives the grass, though perish all the blades. The splendour, fading in the western sky, Fades but to shine, and only seems to die — For ever dying, ever newly born. Setting, while rising in another morn. " So lives the Poet's song ; in hearts that thrill To hear its music, he is with you still. 'Twas but a life of grief that passed away ; His own true life is here with you, to-day." ^ WORDSWORTH. ILLIAM WORDSWORTH, the son of John Wordsworth, an attorney, was born at Cockermouth (in Cumberland) on the 7th of April, 1770. A strong will and a love of freedom were the leading traits of his boyhood. His early training, by no means severe, was highly favourable to the development of both mental and physical health. When nine years old, he was sent to a school at Hawks- head, a market village, where — as he tells us — " The grassy church-yard hangs Upon a slope above the village school." There he was near Coniston Water and Winandermere. In his later boyhood and youth he paid visits to relations living at Penrith, spent many holiday hours in Lowther Park, and roamed among hills and lakes, filling his mind with all the imagery reflected so faithfully in his poetry. At that time he says — 138 ENGLISH POETS. a spot near Crewkerne, and latterly near Stowey, a pleasant place two miles distant from the sea, and lying among woodlands, downs, and many narrow valleys. Here Wordsworth, in concert with his brother poet Coleridge, produced a volume of poems, entitled " Ly- rical Ballads," which gave rise to a controversy re- specting such "poetic diction" as had been admired in the eighteenth century. Wordsworth maintained that our pure English of every-day life should be employed as the natural language of poetry, when its themes be- long to ordinary life. The attacks of critics soon led him to write in his own defence a series of prefaces and ap- pendices, which contain rich materials for a treatise on poetry, but are defective with respect to method. The publication of the ballads was followed by a visit to Germany. There Wordsworth talked with the veteran poet Klopstock, and for some time stayed at Goslar, a mining town in the Harz district. After his return to England, he lived with his sister at Grasmere, and in 1802 married his cousin Mary Hutchinson, the lady whom he thus describes :— " A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light." After his marriage, the Poet's sister Dorothy still re- mained with him, and to her influence may be ascribed the refined beauty of many passages in his poetry. She IV O K D S IVOR TH. 1 39 was his companion in 1803 when, with Coleridge, they made a tour in Scotland. One of their first visits was to the grave of Burns, over which no memorial stone had then been laid. From the churchyard they went to his house, which " had a mean appearance," but " was cleanly and neat in the inside." The tour supplied themes for several poems, including the "Address to a Highland Girl" — a fine expression of ideal love. Wherever he wandered, Wordsworth found materials for poetry, and he still maintained his creed, that plain English is true " poetic diction." That creed did not excite contempt when he wrote a poem on " Rob Roy's Grave," in which these stanzas are found : — " Heaven gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart And wondrous length and strength of arm ; Nor craved he more to quell his foes, Or keep his friends from harm. * * * And thus among these rocks he lived, Through summer heat and winter snow ; The eagle, he was lord above, And Rob was lord below." In 1805 the Poet lost his brother John, who perished in the wreck of an East India Company's vessel, of which he was commander. He was one of the elect few who before 1805 believed that his brother William was a great poet. In the next year Wordsworth completed " The Waggoner," a poem partly humorous, of which the story is very simple and perfectly true. " Benjamin " 140 ENGLISH POETS. was the kind and clever driver of a heavy wain. Over the hills rising between Grasmere and Keswick he had long driven safely his team ; but he was sometimes tempted to stay too long at the " Swan " or the " Cherry Tree," and at last he yielded so far that he lost his em- ployment. His kindness was partly the cause of his fall. Finding a poor sailor overtaken by a storm, he gave him shelter in the waggon. The friendship thus begun was cemented at the " Cherry Tree," and ended in con- vivial excess. They stayed too long there — "And then what kindness in their hearts ! What tears of rapture, what vow-making, Profound entreaties, and hand-shaking ! What solemn, vacant interlacing, As if they'd fall asleep embracing ! " At the close of the year 1807, Wordsworth wrote " The White Doc of Rylstone," a romantic story suggested by a visit to Bolton Priory. After all that he had seen in his own native district, the poet found great delight in some tours in Yorkshire, especially in Craven and Wens- leydale, and in the valley of the Wharfe. Meanwhile he did not lose his care for political affairs ; but wrote a tract on the " Convention of Cintra," and a series of patriotic sonnets, breathing defiance and contempt of Bonaparte, who was denounced as "the meanest of men." In 1813 no German author expressed exultation louder than Wordsworth's, when grand disaster attended the inva- sion of Russia. The Poet would have spring, summer, WORDSWORTH. 141 and autumn all united with himself in singing the praises of winter — old decrepit winter ; for, says the Poet, " he hath slain that host which rendered all your bounties vain." This year, 18 13, was for Wordsworth a time of good fortune. His claims on the Lowther estate were fairly recognized and discharged by his friend and patron the Earl of Lonsdale, from whom he received also an ap- pointment as Stamp distributor for Westmoreland. He then left Grasmere Town End and went to Rydal Mount, his home during the last thirty-seven years of his life. Another tour in Scotland was made in 18 14, and in the same year " The Excursion " appeared. The writer challenged hostile criticism by making "a Scot- tish Pedlar" the leading speaker in a poem treating of religion and philosophy. In form " The Excursion " is partly conversational, partly narrative, and some pas- sages may be called sermons in blank verse. Of these last the opening of the fourth book is the most eloquent example. Several passages serve to describe the transi- tion made in the author's own political views. In 1798 " Peter Bell " was written ; but the manuscript attained majority before it was sent to the printer in the year 1 8 19. The story of the poem, when given as a bare outline and in prose, may provoke a smile ; but some of the author's finest stanzas and most original ideas are found in " Peter Bell." A tour on the continent was greatly enjoyed by Wordsworth in 1820, and in the 142 EXGLISH POETS. same year appeared a series of Sonnets on " The River Duddon." These were followed (in 1822) by "Ecclesi- astical Sonnets," an extensive series giving, with some meditative passages, the outlines of English Church Historj'. The thirty-seven years of quiet life at Rydal Mount seem monotonous, when reviewed in this summary. But their course was varied and often made cheerful by con- genial society, and by correspondence with such friends as Southey, Coleridge, and Lamb — to say nothing of many names less known in literature. In his apparent seclusion from the world, the Poet was not left alone, for his own powers of mind peopled the solitude. In the gossip of common-place persons he found no recreation, as the following lines may tell us : — " Better than such discourse doth silence long, Long, barren silence, square with my desire ; To sit without emotion, hope, or aim, In the loved presence of my cottage-fire, And listen to the flapping of the flame, Or kettle whispering its low undersong." In the course of five years following 1830, death called away several literary friends : — Scott, Crabbe, Coleridge, Lamb, Mrs. Hemans, and " the Ettrick Shepherd." After 1840 the shades of life's evening were gathering at Rydal Mount. Failure of sight, long ago foreboded, gradually diminished one of the Poet's chief sources of enjoyment. When he wandered forth among the dales, WORDSWORTH. 143 he was compelled to wear a shade of green gauze over his eyes. He found it irksome to write many letters, and sometimes referred to failing sight as the source of defects in his handwriting, described by himself as " vile .at the best," though it was not careless. That apology was made in 1841, when the Poet addressed to a young man who wrote verses a note containing these words : " I cannot, with a sincere care for your welfare, advise you to bestow on your poetry such care and labour as have been expended on my own." One of the sorrows of Wordsworth's last ten years was the mental affliction that fell upon his friend, Robert Southey, in 1840. He was then incapable of making any use of that library in which he had for many years found a world of delight ; but he would still take down one book after another, "patting them with both hands, like a child." In 1843, when Southey was released from " death called life," Wordsworth was made Poet-Laureate. A pension placed him in easy circumstances, and increasing fame made some compensation for about forty years of neglect and contempt. But these rewards came late, and about the time when shades of sorrow darkened the Poet's home. Of these one was the painful death of his daughter Dora, which took place in 1847. Not long afterwards, the Poet's friend, Hartley Coleridge, "the gray-headed young man " who had lived at Knab Scar, near Rydal Mount, died. The sorrows of his life had been clearly predicted by Wordsworth, in some verses written when 144 ENGLISH POETS. Hartley was a playful child, only six years old. A re- markable instance of prevision ! William Wordsworth died on the 23rd day of April, 1850. His remains were interred in Grasmere churchyard. His widow, who some years before her death was afflicted with loss of sight, died in 1859. Wordsworth's personal appearance, on ordinary occa- sions, was more expressive of thought, self-control, and repose than of poetic genius. He was temperate, was a lover of pedestrian exercise, and generally enjoyed good health. When failing sight compelled him to wear a shade over his eyes, the best trait in his face was eclipsed. In earlier years his eyes, at times when he talked earnestly, recited poetry or came home from one of his long walks, shone with a remarkably clear light, and his ordinary aspect was then almost forgotten. In this respect he was like Sir Walter Scott, whose face would be suddenly lit up when he recited some old ballad. The main traits in Wordsworth's character are faithfully given in his poetry. In politics he was a Con- servative, and he was a zealous advocate of national education. He liked neither railways nor factories, and he thought that some so-called " laws " of political economy were ill-founded and harshly enforced. To appease discontent among working men and end the strife between capital and labour, he recommended, as long ago as in 1835, some plans like those now called " co-operative." WORDSWORTH. i45 His care for the interests of social and political life reminds us that Wordsworth was one of several remark- able men born in 1770, or about that time. Among them are found the names— Chateaubriand, Coleridge, Fichte, Hegel, Schelling, Schlegel, Southey, and Stef- fens. All were old enough in 1792 to be moved by the events of the time, and their thoughts were more or less directed to social, political, and religious questions. They were not abstract or special men, as artists, or as poets, or as philosophers ; but had an earnest care for the whole of human life, and, in their several modes, they endeavoured to connect their own ideas with practical interests. Southey, for example, who wrote the wild tale of " Thalaba," wrote also a book on " The Progress of Society ;" and Wordsworth, who wrote sonnets " on the River Duddon," wrote also a tract on the " Poor Law Amendment Act." It is obvious that these men of wide sympathies thus made their own peculiar culture more difficult than it might otherwise have been if each had rested content within his own limits, as a poet, or as a philosopher. Such men should not be judged by refe- rence to any narrow rule. Some defects of culture, especially in their several styles of writing, may be ascribed to the expansion of their sympathies. It is, of course, more difficult to give high finish to a large than to a small picture. The nineteenth century has produced poets, and other imaginative and ideal writers, who, with regard to their U 146 ENGLISH POETS. expansion of thought and sympathy, arc not approached by any writers of an earlier time. In some minor re- spects, it might seem strange to place together such names as Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Thomas Car- lyle, and Charles Kingsley ; but, as men endowed with poetic genius, wide sympathy and an earnest desire for the welfare of mankind, all belong to one class. One defect, hardly avoidable, their want of artistic limitation, is more or less noticeable in many of their writings, and may be mainly ascribed to their breadth of sympathy. It is quite true that Wordsworth produced some beauti- fully finished poems, especially sonnets ; but it is also true that he sometimes wrote pieces that may be fairly described as sermons in verse. Wordsworth's aim was to give in verse all the best results of his own meditations " on man, on nature, and on human life," and, as he says in other words, to lead onward to a great transition, or revolution, in the thoughts of mankind. He therefore treats, in his own style, several important questions, respectively belonging to social science, politics, and religion. His political views have already been noticed. His religious sentiments are mostly well expressed in his poetry. He disliked both rationalism and controversy, and did not believe that religion could be founded, like practical mensuration, on " the calculating understanding " — " the proudest faculty of our nature," as he called it. He did not find, as others might, any disparity between his natural theology WORDSWORTH. 147 and his Christian Creed, and hardly knew what men were talking about when they ascribed " a pantheistic tendency " to some passages in his poetry. True ; he represented in " The Excursion " his " Wanderer " as re- ceiving, by intuition and from the contemplation of nature, some religious sentiments, especially gratitude ; but that " Wanderer's " character, we are told, was based on a strictly Christian education : — " The Scottish Church, both on himself and those With whom from childhood he grew up, had held The strong hand of her purity, and still Had watched him with an unrelenting eye." That Wordsworth regarded with approbation some modes of worship called " ritualistic " cannot be doubted. To these he refers in many passages, of which the follow- ing is one example : — " Alas, the sanctities combined By art, to unsensualize the mind, Decay and languish ; or, as creeds And humours change, are spurned like weeds : The priests are from their altars thrust ; Temples are levelled with the dust ; And solemn rites and awful forms Founder amid fanatic storms." With respect to philosophy, Wordsworth's general notions were Platonic ; but he had no method, and did not attempt to reduce his ideas to any systematic form. Of all these ideas he made most prominent that of which he gives the poetry in an Ode written in 1803-6. Of this 148 ENGLISH POETS. Ode — " Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood " — the first idea belongs to Plato ; but the imagery belongs to the Poet. He includes under the name "heaven" all that Plato said of the soul's primeval life. To this " heaven " the Poet ascribes the spiritual light of which even a faint shining is on earth called genius or inspiration. Of that light men retain only some faint rays, such as have escaped eclipse. The original light is an eastern radiance, to which souls are near in childhood, and from which they recede, as in later life they travel on toward the West : — " Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy ; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended ; At length, the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day." There is more originality in another image introduced to represent the same idea. The primeval life is now the Eternal Ocean out of which souls are cast forth on the shore of Time. While they dwell, as children, on the shore, they hear the music of the deep ; but it dies away for them as they grow older, or, to use the poet's figure, as they travel farther "inland." Still, in ''calm WORDSWORTH. 149 weather," when the winds [of earthly passions] are sleep- ing, the souls of men have a vision of the sea and hear its music : — " Hence, in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore." Is Wordsworth "a great Poet"? Since the time of his death, the voices that answer "Yes " have steadily increased in number. Critics have truly said, that all poetry must be divided into three classes : — lyrical, epic, and dramatic. Wordsworth wrote excellent ballads and some longer stories in verse ; but he can hardly be called a great epic poet, and his genius was not dra- matic. His best poetry is lyrical and reflective. The question may be raised — " Is lyrical-reflective poetry to be included in the first of the three classes already named "t " In other words, may the acceptation of the term " lyrical " be extended, so as to include all imagi- native productions of thought and feeling when they possess the traits originality, individuality, sympathy, and are, moreover, associated with harmonious forms of diction } If this more extended definition of " lyrical " is rejected, a great deal of what the world has accepted for good poetry must be rejected. But if the class " lyrical " includes lyrical-reflective productions, then in ISO ENGLISH POETS. this class WORDSWORTH is one of our greatest poets. With regard to his originahty, his purity of diction, in famihar as in elevated forms of expression, the truth of imagery found in his poems, their meditative pathos, sub- limity of imagination, and playfulness of fancy, — in all these respects his merits have hardly yet received due acknowledgment. His verse, though on the whole har- monious, has not always the perfect music found in the best lyrical poems of Collins, Burns, Coleridge, Moore, and Tennyson. But with some of Wordsworth's true sonnets, only two or three written by Milton can be compared. To show that such praise is not too high, it is enough to refer to one sonnet beginning with the words, " The world is too much with us," or to the fol- lowing sonnet, "composed on Westminster Bridge," in the early morn of September 3rd, 1802 : — " Earth has not anything to show more fair : Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty : This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky ; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air, Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill ; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! The river glideth at his own sweet will : Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; And all that mighty heart is lying still I " WORDSWORTH. 151 The most frequent of all defects found in the Poet's versification, is the use of an unaccented syllable instead of a true rhyme. This error is found in the writings of other poets ; but it is especially noticeable as a blemish in some of Wordsworth's sonnets, on which he bestowed great care. The moral and intellectual elements of his poetry may now be more distinctly noticed. " Poetry," says a critic, " consists in the fine perception, the vivid expression of that subtle and mysterious analogy which exists between the physical and the moral world." This general notion, though incomplete, truly defines some of the finest passages in Words- worth's writings. Here the joys and the sorrows of human life are marvellously blended and interfused with the surrounding life of nature. The Poet is like a painter who sets before us a human family, painted in tones that harmonize with those of a surrounding land- scape. One feeling pervades the whole picture. This first and chief trait — the union of conscious with uncon- scious life— belongs to the Poet's intense love of the earth, his dwelling-place. He is not alone when left without human society; but is conscious that in his solitude he is " one among many," as he says in " The Excursion :" — . . . " How divine The liberty for frail, for mortal man, To roam at large among unpeopled glens And mountainous retirements, only trod By devious footsteps ; regions consecrate 152 ENGLISH POETS. To oldest time ! and reckless of the storm That keeps the raven quiet in her nest, Be as a presence and a motion — one Among the many there." The Poet's love of all surrounding life finds objects in lowly wild flowers. To him these can give — " Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." He sees, with delight, " a crowd, a host of golden daffo- dils," and afterwards — " They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude." The daisy and the small celandine were two of the Poet's favourite flowers, and the foxglove was another. He implored botanists not to pluck rare wild flowers, and at his request many a tree that had been doomed to fall was spared. In his rambles among hills he would clamber up the rocks to drop into crevices seeds of trees and shrubs, to grow, as he said, " for the good of pos- terity." Kindness to animals was another of his traits, and of course it is reflected in his writings. The same trait is noticeable in Cowper, Burns, Byron and Shelley. The sympathy of Wordsworth with creatures less power- ful than man, but not made to be tortured, is nobly expressed in " Hart Leap Well," especially in these lines : — " The Being that is in the clouds and air, That is in the green leaves among the groves, Maintains a deep and reverential care For the unoffending creatures whom he loves." IVORDS WORTH. 1,-3 It has been rather too boldly said, there is "nothing" dramatic in Wordsworth's poetry ; but it is true that his writings contain only slight indications of dramatic genius. His stories introduce a few life-like characters, but these belong to a comparatively simple class. Each represents mostly one sentiment, or is made more dis- tinct by a union or a contrast of two qualities. Thus " Margaret " (in " The Excursion ") is, at one time, a woman in whose life " love and peace " are united, and, at a later time, she is a model of patience. There is some individuality in the sketch of " Matthew," the vil- lage schoolmaster, who was a lover of boyish "fun," and, at the .same time, was capable of profound thought : — " The sighs which Matthew heaved were sighs Of one tired out with fun and madness; The tears which came to Matthew's eyes Were tears of hght, the dew of gladness. " Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round. It seemed as if he drank it up — He felt with spirit so profound." Other examples of individuality in sketches of cha- racter may be found in the sixth and seventh books of " The Excursion ;" but for an example of more graphic portraiture we must turn to " Peter Bell " : — " How one wife could e'er come near him In simple truth I cannot tell ; for be it said of Peter Bell, To see liim was to fear him. X 154 ENGLISH POETS. "A savage wildness round him hung, As of a dweller out of doors ; In his whole figure and his mien A savage character was seen Of mountains and of dreary moors. "To all the unshaped, half-human thoughts Which solitary Nature feeds, 'Mid summer storms or winter's ice, Had Peter joined whatever vice The cruel city breeds. " There was a hardness in his cheek, There was a hardness in his eye, As if the man had fixed his face, In many a solitary place, Against the wind and open sky. " He roved among the vales and streams. In the green wood and hollow dell; They were his dwellings night and day — But Nature ne'er could find the way Into the heart of Peter Bell. " In vain, through every changeful year. Did Nature lead him as before; A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him And it was nothing more. " At noon when, by the forest's edge He lay beneath the branches high, The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart ; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky." Wordsworth's sketches of women are often beautiful ; but are mostly like portraits of angels. Three examples WORDSIVOKTI/. 155 of this class may be found in " The Triad." Of love the Poet writes mostly in a calm and meditative tone, but a remarkable exception is seen in the story of " Vaudra- cour and Julia." Stories of love betrayed are often as commonplace as they are sad ; but no commonplace can be found in " Ruth," a poem in which fine imagery is blended with emotion. In " Laodamia " love is treated in a tone that may be called severe; but the poem in- cludes some noble passages. Wordsworth did not — like too many poets who " harp upon one string" — treat with neglect such beautiful themes as parental, filial, and fraternal love. A few words might be added on the author's more distinctly religious poems ; but in truth the whole strain of his poetry is religious. No poet has ever written with more reverential feeling ; none has ever expressed more earnestly a love of peace, reconciliation, and har- mony. His poetry belongs to two worlds which, in his view, are not separated from each other. He finds, even in this transitory life, some expressions of — . . . " central peace, subsisting at the heart Of endless agitation." He sheds over this present life the light of immor- tality, and speaks of " the sublime attractions of the grave." The Poet's duty, as understood by Words- worth, is not to excite, but to quell the storms of passion. The love on which he mostly loves to dwell is — . . . " such love as Spirits feel In woilds whose course is equable and pure.'" 156 ENGLISH POETS. Such poetry as Wordsworth produced does not build cloud-palaces and people the sky with dreams, but dwells among men ; soothes, relieves, and, if possible, banishes their cares, and elevates their pleasures ; clothes every- day life in hues of imagination, and makes religion at once venerable and domestic. Of no man can we say more truly than of Wordsworth, that his writings and his life are inseparable. His poetry is a confession, and describes his own experience. The biography of " The Wanderer " is partly the story of the Poet's own educa- tion. One passage in that story may serve to conclude this essay : — " O then what soul was his when, on the tops Of the high mountains, he beheld the sun Rise up, and bathe the world in light ! He look'd — Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touch'd, And in their silent faces did he read Unutterable love. Sound needed none, Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank The spectacle; sensation, soul, and form All melted into him; they swallow'd up His animal being; in them did he live, And by them did he live : they were his life. In such access of mind, in such high hour Of visitation from the living God, Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired. No thanks he breathed, he proffer'd no request ; Rapt into still communion that transcends The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power That made him ; it was blessedness and love ! " SCOTT. ALTER SCOTT, son of Walter Scott, a writer to the Signet, was born in Edin- ^^T^Mv^ burgh, on the 15th of August, 177 1. During '^'i!^.^! his boyhood, lameness attended with frail health made him sometimes a hermit, and led to a love of reading. While other boys were studying Latin grammar, he enjoyed, at Kelso, a long holiday made delightful by reading Percy's " Reliques of Ancient Eng- lish Poetry." He afterwards passed through the High School and University of his native place, studied law, and in his twenty-first year was admitted a member of the Society of Advocates. Meanwhile his health became robust ; but the lameness of the right leg remained for life. The freedom enjoyed by Scott during youth made possible the herculean exploits of his later life. After his call to the bar, law-studies partly engaged his attention ; 158 ENGLISH POETS. but he was active as one of the cavalry officers in a band of volunteers. In "Marmion" he refers to his jovial hours in the mess-room, and to all the pleasures of a time when he studied German poetry and translated Burger's " Leonora." In 1797 Scott married Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, a lady of French parentage, and soon afterwards he obtained the appointment of Sheriff of Selkirkshire, worth ;^300 per annum. The leisure afforded by this office was partly employed in making tours, for the purpose of collecting the old popular ballads which appeared, in 1802-3, under the title " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." About the same time the Poet found a charm in the old style of versification of which Cole- ridge had given a specimen in " Christabel." This old style (by error called "new") was adopted by Scott in his " Lay of the Last Minstrel," a Border Romance, published in 1805. Its popularity was marvellous, and the author was hailed as one who had suddenly dis- covered a new world of epic poetry. Of its traditions and its scenery he had been an enthusiastic student. Meanwhile, he had also studied well, and with sym- pathy, the histories of Jacobite families implicated in the movement of 1745. Of this he intended to give some description in a prose romance called "Waver- ley." About seven chapters were written in 1805 ; then the work failed to please the writer, and he laid aside the manuscript in a desk where he kept fishing-tackle. SCOTT. 159 The success of the " Lay " encouraged the Poet, and in 1808 he produced " Marmion," a tale of Flodden Field. This is a metrical romance more ambitious than the first, and contains some fine specimens of graphic narration. The hero — a creature of fiction, having no connection with the old Marmion family of West Tan- field — was described by Byron as — " Not quite a felon, yet but half a knight." "Marmion" was followed by a more popular romance, " The Lady of the Lake," which was published in 18 10, and was generally accepted as the best of the author's poems. Its adventures have variety and its scenery is picturesque. Scott never wrote in verse anything more energetic than the fifth canto, in which he describes the duel of the Gael and the Saxon. In the course of the years 1811-14 appeared " Rokeby," of which the scenery is English, and " The Lord of the Isles," a story of Bruce and of the battle of Bannockburn. Among several later writings in verse none can be compared with " Marmion," or with " The Lady of the Lake." After the great success of 18 10, Scott's popularity was quietly waning ; but no formidable rival appeared before the year 1812, when Byron published the first two cantos of his "Childe Harold," which were soon followed by his oriental stories. Then Scott wisely turned away from verse writing to prose fiction. He brought out, from their hiding-place among fishing-tackle, the seven i6o ENGLISH POETS. chapters of " Waverley," and completed the story, which was pubhshed in 1814, the year in which Wordsworth's "Excursion" and Byron's "Corsair" appeared. The splendid success of " Waverley," to which the author did not prefix his name, made him resolute in wearing a mask, though to Scottish literary men, endowed with keen insight, it soon became transparent. In the course of the two years 181 5-16 he published — without giving his name — " Guy Mannering," " The Antiquary," and " Old Mortality." Of these three stories the second and the third are classed with the author's best works. The second reveals some fine traits in his own character. The third is full of energy and contains many bold con- trasts of character and situation. Meanwhile, a series of successes, hardly interrupted by any serious failure, during the ten years 1805-16, served more and more to excite ambition. Scott would win something more than a poet's fame. He would be one of the proprietors of the land he loved so well, and would found a family holding a good position among the aristo- cracy of Scotland. To attain this end he entered into partnership with an enterprising friend who was a printer, and a series of bold speculations in a publishing business soon followed. By combining authorship with commercial enterprise, the Poet hoped to make himself owner of a considerable landed estate. If any poet might have success in such an undertaking, Scott was surely the man. But the commercial world demands SCOTT. i6i the service of an undivided heart ; the devotion of a whole Hfe. If men who think of nothing else often fail in striving to gain wealth, what can a poet do ? For some years Fortune smiled on Scott's great enterprise, and in 1811 he began making preparations for building Abbotsford — " his romance in stone and mortar." First of all, he bought a hundred acres of moorland near Melrose, on the banks of the Tweed. Then followed more extensive purchases of land, expenditure for drain- ing, building, planting, and gardening, and in the midst of a considerable estate arose, at last, the baronial resi- dence of Abbotsford — a marvellous realization of the Poet's day-dream ! Here, in his mansion near the Tweed, it was his delight to entertain visitors of all classes : — princes, peers, lawyers, soldiers, poets, and literary men. How was it possible that he could still be adding volume to volume in his long series of novels and romances "> His habit of early rising solves the problem. For study and writing he still reserved some quiet hours in the morning. For the rest of the day his sole care was to entertain his guests and to make his own family happy. In 181 5 Scott visited France, and in London was in- troduced to his young rival. Lord Byron, who at that time was idolized. He had satirized the author of " Marmion ;" but that was all forgotten. They met each other with feelings of cordial friendship. Subse- quently, when the days of idolatry had passed away, Scott said all that he could in defence of his rival, and V i62 ENGLISH POETS. Byron always spoke with fraternal kindness when he named Scott, whom he sometimes playfully called " Watty." Of all the praise bestowed on the Waverley novels and romances, Byron's was the highest. He said that, when he read them, they made him long to be a good man. In 1818 "Old Mortality" was followed by "Rob Roy," a defective story enlivened with novel contrasts of cha- racter, and in the same year appeared " The Heart of Mid-Lothian," of which the heroine, Jeanie Deans, is immortal. Then followed " The Bride of Lammermoor," remarkable for its prevalent tragic tones. " Coming events " cast over the opening scenes shadows that grow darker as the story approaches its conclusion, A splen- did work of fiction, founded on English history and called " Ivanhoe," appeared in 1820, the year in which the author was made a baronet. In " Ivanhoe " the portraiture of a Jewish Maiden was evidently " a labour of love." " I think I shall make something of my Jewess," said Scott, when talking with the friend to whom a part of the romance was dictated. " You will, indeed," replied his friend ; " and I cannot help saying, that you are doing an immense good. Sir Walter, by such sweet and noble tales ; for the young people now will never bear to look at the vile trash of novels that used to be in the circulating libraries," Sir Walter's eyes filled with tears. Though he had gained by " Ivanhoe " great popularity in England, he found in his SCOTT. 163 native land the subjects of his next two stories, "The Monastery" and "The Abbot." The former was re- garded as a failure ; the latter was made attractive by a portraiture of Maria Stuart. The character of her rival, Queen Elizabeth, was delineated in " Kenilworth," a story animated with dramatic interest and enriched with picturesque descriptions. Fresh scenery was introduced in " The Pirate," in which the fair sisters Minna and Brenda appeared. From the Shetland Isles, the author, in his next story, led his readers away to London and to the Court of James the First, whose character is de- scribed in "The Fortunes of Nigel." This novel was soon followed by " Peveril of the Peak," and " Quentin Durward." The latter, founded on French history, in- troduces the characters of Louis the Eleventh and Charles the Bold. The love-story included in the work is told wdth admirable reserve and good taste. In the course of the years 1823-6, Scott produced, besides the two last-named, five works of fiction : — " St. Ronan's Well," " Redgauntlet," "The Betrothed," "The Talis- man," and " Woodstock." For all his enormous amount of work, the author re- ceived paynient mostly in the shape of bills, having value dependent on the success of the firm in which he was a partner. While speculations failed one after another, and losses became more and more serious, he still hoped that hard work might overcome all financial difficulties. Then came the disastrous years 1825-6. i64 ENGLISH POETS. The bold schemes of preceding years then ended in a general wreck, involving the firm to which Scott be- longed. He was responsible, in 1826, for a debt amount- ing to ;^ 1 17,000. Refusing to make any composition with creditors, he prayed only for time, that he might work out his own liberation. Retiring to quiet lodgings in Edinburgh, he there devoted himself to a series of literary tasks of which only a few can be noticed here. These include annotations and introductions for a new edition of his novels and romances ; a " History of Scot- land ;" " The Fair Maid of Perth," " Anne of Geier- stein," and the two inferior stories, " Count Robert of Paris," and " Castle Dangerous " — both written when health of body and mind was broken down. Of all the drudgery, the most severe was writing a work of little value — the " Life of Napoleon," which filled nine volumes. During the last five years of his life, Scott worked like Hercules and like a galley-slave. He won the victory ; but it cost the victor's life, and it might be said that he was crowned at the moment when he fell exhausted. In 1830 he resolutely went on working, though a stroke of paralysis had warned him that the end must be near. In the following year he was per- suaded to go and rest awhile at Naples ; but it was too late. A few days before his departure for Italy, he was visited by Wordsworth, with whom he took a walk along the banks of the Yarrow. At that time he could still call to mind, with pleasure, some lines in old ballads ; SCOTT. 165 but his mind was incapable of sustained effort. In con- versation he would begin a story well ; but before he reached the point, he would stop and look around him " with the blank anxiety of look that a blind man has, when he has dropped his staff." When he returned from Italy, in the summer of 1832, there was no hope of his life. He was brought home to die at Abbotsford. There, soon after noon on the 21st of September, he breathed his last. " It was a beautiful day, so warm that every window was wide open, and so perfectly still, that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear — the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles — was distinctly audible" in the chamber where his children were kneeling beside his bed.^ So mighty had been the efforts made by Scott in the sublime task of paying his debts that, when he died and his life assurances were realized, he left undischarged only a debt of ;^30,ooo. For this the copyright of his novels and romances supplied abundant means of pay- ment. Mr. Cadell, the publisher who, by accepting as his own the remaining debt, gained possession of the whole copyright, died in 1849, leaving for his family a fortune of i^ 100,000. Since that time several extensive and some remarkably cheap editions of the novels and romances have appeared. Their popularity has already lasted for more than half a century. ' " Life of Sir Walter Scott," by J. G. Lockhart. i66 ENGLISH POETS. In youth Scott's personal appearance was, in spite of his lameness, eminently manly, and indicated such health and strength as, in the olden time, might have made him a comrade of moss-troopers. The circumference of his head was comparatively small ; but the brow had a noble elevation. In his later years he had, when un- excited, a placid expression that might otherwise be called grave or pensive ; but when he was talking of legendary lore, or reciting some old ballad, his face would be suddenly lighted up in a remarkable manner. His smile expressed the kindness of his heart, and his love of playful and humorous conversation. To estimate the wealth of Scott's genius, the formal distinction of prose and verse must be set aside. His novels, romances, and metrical writings must all be viewed as a series of narrative or epic poems. He ex- tended widely the range of prose fiction, and gave to it the enthusiasm and dignity of true poetry. Some of the finest passages in his romances — for example, the sea- side storm in " The Antiquary" — have been called " de- scriptive ;" but they contain something better than cold description. They are at once graphic and narrative, and blend human interest and emotion with surrounding aspects of nature. There is life and vivid expression in Scott's landscapes, as in his so-called "historical pic- tures." He gives animation to the old and faded portraits of history. He draws aside the veil of antiquity, and sets before us in daylight the institutions of feudalism. w SCOTT. 167 His world of the olden time is peopled by men repre- senting all ranks in society. With regard to the number of his creations and to the versatility of his imagina- tive power, he claims near relationship with Shakespeare, to whom he is inferior in depth and in appeals to the heart. Setting aside comparison with Milton — whose great ork is unique, and mostly belongs to a supernatural world— Scott may be called an epic poet without a rival in English literature ; but there are many defects in his works. His plots are often incomplete, and otherwise liable to censure. They cannot for a moment be compared with the construction of Fielding's great novel. Of the stories written by Scott several move on too slowly in the beginning, and are too hastily brought to a conclusion. The rapid succession of accidents leading to the close of " Rob Roy" may be fairly called ludicrous. The author's prose style is by no means polished, and, while his verse is expressive of freedom and vigour, its melody cannot rival the music of Moore and Tennyson. Such terse and happy expressions ; such lines never to be forgotten as we find often in Wordsworth, are rarely found in Scott's poetry. But these and other formal defects are almost forgotten when we turn to notice the essential elements of his writings. Accepted as a whole, they give us, in- directly, a true confession of his own character. His choice of subjects; the themes on which he loves to dwell ; his indirect yet clear indications of love and i68 ENGLISH POETS. aversion ; these and other traits make it a wonder that Scott could ever be called "the Great Unknown." The first half-dozen of his novels told the world that the author must be a lawyer, an antiquary, a poet, a hu- mourist, and (in sympathy) a Jacobite. Of all his traits the most prominent is strong nation- ality. There never lived a poet who loved more dearly than Scott his native land. The one great sorrow of his life — the wreck of his fortune — was closely associated with that love of Scotland, to which he gave expression in his " Lay :" — " By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, Though none should guide my feeble way ; Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, Although it chill my withered cheek ; Still lay my head by Teviot stone, Though there, forgotten and alone, The bard may draw his parting groan." Like Wordsworth, Byron, and Shelley, the author of "Waverley" extended his sympathies toward creatures placed lower than man in Nature's scale. But his general love of old modes of life included an imaginative delight in the chase, over which he could cast the spell of his poetry, as may be seen in the most popular of his metrical romances. His love of old feasts and festivals, with all their mirth and their good cheer, is made evi- dent in many passages of prose and verse ; for one ex- ample a few lines from " Marmion " may be given : — SCOTT. 169 " There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; Nor failed old Scotland to produce, At such high tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry masquers in, And carols roared with blithesome din ; If unmelodious was the song. It was a hearty note, and strong. England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year." Scott's admiration of chivalry and valour led him to disguise, with hues of imaginative splendour, the horrors of warfare ; the sad spectacle of " men arrayed for mu- tual slaughter." The greater part of military history has been described as " nothing better than a story of deer hunted down by tigers." Scott could hardly accept such a stern definition. One of his finest narrative pas- sages is the Battle of Flodden, and another is the duel of Fitz-James and Roderic Dhu. But it was the Poet's imagination, not his heart, that found pleasure in de- scribing the pomp, the splendour, and the excitement of battles. His own serious thoughts on warfare are here and there expressed ; for example, in the third canto of " Rokeby :" — " Ev'n tiger fell and sullen bear Their likeness and their linenge spare. Man only mars kind Nature's plan. And turns the fierce pursuit on man." Z I70 ENGLISH POETS. Scott's aim was to afford intellectual recreation to the widest possible circle of readers ; but he would not use unworthy means of exciting "sensational" interest. He introduces characters of all kinds, except the best and the worst ; in other words, he describes neither saints nor demons. He casts the light of poetry and the glow of kindness over stories of virtue in lowly life. The reserve, respect, and good taste of his love stories show that " he w^ore, without abuse," " The grand old name of gentleman." He liked to ascribe some good traits to the worst of the characters whom he described. One of the hardest of villains is represented as faithful in some of his deal- ings. The " lock of hair" and "the verses " preserved as relics by Bothwell show that he cherished one memorial of pure love. " Rob Roy" is too good, in some respects, to be utterly denounced. Scott had a profound respect for rights of property ; but he could discover some good traits in moss-troopers and other marauders. The kindness generally expressed in his writings was " the master-current " of his own heart. A volume might be filled with true stories of his good actions. He knew nothing of envy, but found delight in praising men who might be called his rivals. He admired Crabbe's poems, and always spoke kindly of Byron. When Wilson, as a candidate for the chair of moral philosophy, was censured on account of some jovial passages in his youth, Scott SCOTT. 171 came forward to defend him. Irving, author of " The Sketch-Book," was at one time greatly indebted to Scott. He gained for two of Allan Cunningham's sons cadetships in the Indian Service. For examples of Scott's kindness and good judgment in criticism, we may refer to his commendation of the novels written by Maria Edgeworth, Jane Austen, and Mary Ferrier. One of the oldest of mediaeval romances divides itself into two parts. The first is all worldly and military, and seems to have no moral aim. The other part is unearthly and ascetic. In quest of sanctity, the hero resigns a kingdom and all the splendours of chivalry. He goes forth to endure privation and solitude, in order to find his way to Heaven. Earth and Heaven, religion and life, are thus represented as separate. With such a stern and ascetic mood of piety Scott had no sympathy. His views of life and society were mostly cheerful, hopeful, and charitable. If that day-dream of building Abbotsford had not disturbed his peace, he would have been one of the happiest of all men dwelling in the land he loved so well. '• He is not dead, but lives for Scotland still — One of her Guardian Powers ; an unseen band, Who spread their influence o'er their native land. There, over pastoral dale and purple hill. On healthy moor and rocky height, On many a glen, and winding stream. 172 SCOTT. (So wild in -yvinter's fitful gleam, In summer noon so calm and bright !) On ruined shrines and castle walls, The splendour of his genius falls ; And on ' the huts where poor men lie ' A light is shed that cannot die." BYRON. EORGE GORDON, Lord Byrox, was born in London on the 22nd of January, 1788. Soon after his birth, his mother, forsaken by her husband, returned to her native land and Hved in Aberdeen ; afterwards at Ballater, on the Dee, where the boy was introduced to the wild scenes on which the mountain Loch-na-Garr looks down. In his eleventh year he returned to England, and for some time lived with his mother at Nottingham and at Southwell. His early education was often interrupted by his lame- ness, or rather by a series of useless and painful attempts to cure it. He was handsome in other respects, his dis- position was adventurous, and he was a lover of youthful sports ; but he could seldom forget the painful defect in one of his feet that made him lame. It was one chief source of that discontent by which, at last, a profound alteration was made in his character. Though his studies 174 ENGLISH POETS. were irregular, he read many books of history and poetry. When he was fourteen years old he was sent to Harrow. At that school, and afterwards at Trinity College, Cam- bridge, his reading was extensive, while his routine-studies were pursued in a desultory manner. Meanwhile he wrote, now and then, verses, including the poems which, under the title of " Hours of Idleness," were published at Newark in 1807. " The poesy of this young lord," said a harsh critic, " belongs to the class which neither gods nor men are said to permit." The rest of the review was very severe. In reply, Byron wrote "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers " — a satire containing many sayings that he was afterwards sorry for. It by no means ex- pressed the results of his calm and deliberate judgment. In 1809, when the satire appeared, Byron, having at- tained majority, took his seat in the House of Lords. He seems to have been left at that time in a lonely posi- tion. Then followed two years of travel, of which recol- lections were given in the splendid verse of " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." Of this two cantos appeared in 18 12. It was at once made clear that Byron was an original poet, and one who — with respect to intense pas- sion and fervid eloquence — had no living rival. In the course of five years he produced, beside "The Pilgrimage," a series of oriental stories, all full of energy, passion, and bold imagination ; but, like " Childe Harold," expressing too often the writer's own feeling of discontent and lone- liness. His popularity was unbounded. As Mr. Dis- BYRON. 175 RAELI has said, " There is no instance in literary records of a success so sudden and so lasting as Byron's." The general impression made by his genius might be com- pared with that of a strong light, here and there over- clouded, but often breaking forth with great brilliance in the midst of surrounding gloom. The attraction was new and powerful. The admiration, the idolatry that followed are truly described by Lord Macaulay : — " Everything that could stimulate, and everything that could gratify the strongest propensities of our nature — the gaze of a hundred drawing-rooms, the acclamations of the whole nation, the applause of applauded men, the love of the loveliest women — all this world and all the glory of it were at once offered to a young man to whom nature had given violent passions, and whom education had never taught to control them. He lived as many men live who have no similar excuse to plead for their faults. But his countrymen and his countrywomen would love him and admire him. They were resolved to see in his excesses only the flash and outbreak of that same fiery mind which glowed in his poetry." The strongest mind might have been thrown down in ruins by that excessive hero-worship— so soon followed by general reprobation. But Byron's unrest and discon- tent were deeply rooted in his own nature. They were confirmed, but were not first induced by the errors and the contradictions of his life. In Nature herself — some- times within the circle of one family, too often in the 176 ENGLISH POETS. soul of an individual — some sad defect is found attending an admirable faculty. It may be wholesome to explore profoundly and minutely the sources of defect, error, and transgression, if that study ends, as it ought to end, in self- humiliation. The result is dreadful if it ends in pride. In January, i8 15, Byron married Anna Isabella, daugh- ter of Sir Ralph Milbanke, a baronet in the county of Durham. The Poet's daughter, Ada, was born in De- cember, 181 5, and, in the following month, the marriage ended in a final separation. Denounced by public opinion, Byron left England, travelled on the Rhine and in Switzerland, and then went to reside in Venice. There some of his associations were such as were called de- plorable by his best friends. He wrote in Venice the greater part of the fourth canto in " The Pilgrimage," his most ideal work ; but there also he began to write verses of the burlesque kind for which the Italian author, Berni, afforded a model. From the debasement of his Venetian life Byron was led away to Ravenna and to Pisa, and during his residence at these places (in the time 1820-3) his mode of life might be called comparatively quiet. For the greater part of that time he lived with the young Countess Guiccioli, who had been married to an old and wealthy nobleman. In the summer of 1823 Byron went to Greece, there to close his life by some brave and worthy exploit in the war of independence. In January, 1824, he arrived at Missolonghi, an unhealthy place, having a position of great importance in strategy. Here he soon found him- BYRON. 177 self surrounded by men wanting union and subordination to make their patriotic fervour useful. He entertained a hope that a first success, won by a resolute attack on Lepanto, might serve to unite their forces, scattered here and there, and waiting for a leader. He was ready to take the post of danger, and to lead on the meditated attack ; but hindrances followed. His presence inspired confidence, and his conduct — like that of a practical man — was worthy of the position he had assumed. The Poet was indeed less dreamy than some of his associates. He acted with firmness, moderation, and foresight. But his hair was grey ; he was in fact an old man ; his friends observed that his health — partly ruined by extreme abstinence in his diet— was rapidly failing. He rallied but faintly, after some attacks of rheumatism and fever, following exposure to rain. On the i8th of April he became insensible, but said, in the evening, " I must sleep now." On the following day he died, aged thirty-seven years. To the circumstances attending that early de- cease Goethe refers in some pathetic lines, that may be thus freely rendered : — *' Ah ! — so soon was broken-hearted One for earthly glory born ! Bloom of youth, so soon departed. Left him lonely and forlorn. Then at last, when higher thought Gave to him a purer will. He would something great have wrought— Never could that hope fulfil." A A 178. ENGLISH POETS. The embalmed remains of Byron were brought to England, and were interred in the village church of Hucknall-Torkard, where his sister placed a small mural tablet sacred to his memory. A statue in marble, com- pleted in 1835 by Thorwaldsen, was in 1846 placed in the library hall of Trinity College, Cambridge. That was a graceful act, for Byron had not always spoken kindly of "Alma Mater." In July, 1875, Mr. Disraeli, as president of a meeting held in London, spoke elo- quently in favour of a plan for erecting, on some public site, a statue of Byron. The committee appointed to carry out the design, included the names of the poets : Tennyson, Bryant, Longfellow, Lord Houghton, and Matthew Arnold ; also the names of Earl Stanhope, the Earl of Lovelace, and Archdeacon Trollope. Byron's writings are closely associated with his life ; especially with his travels and his several places of resi- dence. The earlier poems are founded partly on recol- lections of his boyhood in Scotland ; partly on memories of friendships cherished at Harrow, Southwell, and Cam- bridge. To the time when the Poet was first idolized belong the " Hebrew Melodies," and the oriental stories, the "Giaour," the "Bride of Abydos," the "Corsair," " Lara," and the " Siege of Corinth." One of his most beautiful poems is the " Dream," founded on his love of Mary Chaworth, whose destiny was, if possible, more deplorable than his own. The third canto of " Childe Harold," the drama " Manfred," and the " Lament of BYRON. ijq Tasso" recall to mind the time when — expelled from English society— the author was travelling on the Rhine and in Switzerland. During the years 1820-3, when Byron was living at Ravenna and Pisa^ he wrote the greater part of " Don Juan," the " Prophecy of Dante," and the dramas " Sardanapalus," the "Two Foscari," " Cain," " Werner," and " The Deformed Transformed." In the last year of his life Byron wrote the poem con- taining this stanza : — " Seek out — less often sought than found— A soldier's grave, for thee the best ; Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest." Of all qualities ascribed to Byron, his eloquence, or mastery of the English language, is the most obvious. Eloquence gave power to his poetry, and made formida- ble the satires and the burlesque and cynical writings of which the main purport is nothing better than negation. But the whole extent of Byron's influence cannot be fairly ascribed to his eloquence, however powerful that might be. There was in his genius a deeper source of power. The general, pervading tone of his writings is— discontent. This word is here used descriptively, and implies neither blame nor praise. Stronger words— such as "negation," "rebellion," and " despair "—have been employed by able critics who have called Byron " the poet of the world's sorrow " and " the poet of despair." Ris own misery made his song accordant with feelings i8o ENGLISH POETS. of disappointment and discontent, arising from many sources ; especially from the experience attending failures in private or in public life. He lived in a time when defeat and retrogression followed all the political enter- prise and the hopes of men who had dreamed, rather wildly, of a glorious future. The general defeat or fiasco of liberalism was felt more severely on the continent than in England ; consequently, Byron's power was in some respects better appreciated in France and Germany than in his native land. Men who might not publish in any distinct form their own thoughts of freedom, were glad to hear clear and strong revolutionary tones in Byron's poetry. Many and loud were the echoes awakened by those tones. The Poet's voice was like that of a bold orator who, for the first time, utters thoughts that many other men entertain but dare not express. The mental desolation that followed the bold theories called " philo- sophy " in the eighteenth century ; the failure of ex- travagant hopes that had been excited by the Revolution ; the dreary retrogressive policy of the Restoration — these were the chief antecedent events by which many minds were made ready to hail a poet whose declamation gave powerful expression to their own sentiments. His rank and personal advantages ; the mystery and controversy attending his own character; his defiance of tradition and authority ; lastly, his devotion to the cause of national freedom in Greece — these attendant circum- stances served to increase his influence, but its deeper BYRON. iSi source was a sympathetic discontent. In France, Spain, and Germany, many men who never heard the name of Wordsworth, and who knew little more than the name of Milton, read with enthusiastic admiration the works of Byron, whom they hailed as the greatest poet of the nineteenth century. That estimate is still generally maintained on the continent. In England his poetry was admired, but his scepticism excited fear and opposition. Other writers had been more resolutely and definitely negative in their treatment of religion. Byron was never confirmed in unbelief, but was sceptical in the strict sense of the word. For him the creed of his native land was a problem, afifording some exercise to his inquiring intellect, but giving him neither strength nor consolation. For the creed that he would not or could not accept he found no substitute. He could not see that all things were made clear by natural theology, and he had no confidence in any teachings of philosophy, excepting one saying : — " All that we know is, nothing can be known." He sometimes assumed the mood of epicurean indiffer- ence, but found in it no rest The playful mockery of some poems and some traits in the Poet's character have led an able critic to suppose that there could be no earnest- ness in Byron's expressions of disappointment, grief, and despair. But humour and melancholy may dwell to- gether, and pain may be expressed in a smile. Contrasts 1 82 ENGLISH POETS. and contradictions abound in Byron's life as in his writings. " Childe Harold " is the ideal and noble ex- pression of despair. In " Don Juan " despair, associated with wild, lawless humour, leads to a burlesque and cynical treatment of life and almost all that belongs to it. For such negation of everything save sensuous plea- sure there is no defence. GOETHE said that students who wished to make themselves masters of the English language should translate some cantos of "Don Juan," but should take care never to allow any of their transla- tions to be published. Goethe was, as all the world knows, neither a puritan nor a severe critic, but he con- demned the license of Byron's humour. Byron's want of respect for tradition and authority may be found in the formal characteristics of his poems ; but here one remarkable exception should be noticed. He accepted as laws of dramatic writing the so-called " unities of space and time." In other respects, his love of freedom asserted itself in the forms as well as in the tendencies of his works. The "Pilgrimage" is a splendid imaginative work, but it is hard to say to what class it belongs. In one respect it is like the versatile and mock- ing poem " Don Juan." Either one or the other of these poems might almost anywhere be brought to a close. The construction of the dramas is regular, but they want dramatic life. Nevertheless they contain some most eloquent and powerful passages. Of these the closing speech in " Marino Faliero " may be called a terrible ex- BVRON. 183 ample. Among the other dramas, " Werner " was mostly borrowed, as the Poet fully acknowledged. " Sardana- palus " displays something like growth and evolution in the hero's character. In the " Two Foscari," as in some other plays, dramatic forms are imposed on poetry that should be called lyrical or reflective, and dialogue is em- ployed where soliloquy might serve as well. Many speeches are introduced that have no connection with the evolution of any character, or the progress of any action. Byron's best poetical works are lyrical. When he said of himself, "description is my forte" there was some truth in it ; but he was not a good critic. He was hardly conscious of the source whence he derived his strength. His best passages may be called lyrical, graphic, and re- flective. In these are found " thoughts that breathe and words that burn." He makes surrounding landscapes reflect his own thoughts ; or finds in external calm and storm, in gentle and in violent transitions, expressions of his own sentiments. Few passages in his poetry are more pleasing than those in which he now and then almost forgets himself, and finds repose in solitude where he is not alone. He was sometimes unconsciously in- debted to " Nature's Priest " — Wordsworth ; but imita- tion does not produce such stanzas as these : — " To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ; iS4 EXGLISH POETS. To climb the trackless mountain all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unroU'd. " But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess. And roam along, the world's tired denizen. With none v.ho bless us, none whom we can bless ; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress ! None that, with kindred consciousness endued. If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued ; This is to be alone ; this, this is sohtude ! " Critics have with good reason used the word "mono- tony " when speaking of the too-frequent presentation of the Poet's real or — as some writers say — his assumed character. " He Avas himself," as Lord Macaulay says, with some exaggeration, " the beginning, the middle, and the end of all his own poetry — the hero of ever}' tale — the chief object in every landscape. Harold, Lara, Manfred, and a crowd of other characters, were universally con- sidered merely as loose incognitos of Byron ; and there is every reason to believe that he meant them to be so considered. The wonders of the outer world — the Tagus, with the mighty fleets of England riding on its bosom — the towers of Cintra overhanging the shaggy forests of cork-trees and willows — the glaring marble of Pentelicus — the banks of the Rhine — the glaciers of Clarens — the sweet lake of Leman — the dell of Egeria, with its sum- BVROX. 185 mer birds and rustling lizards — the shapeless ruins of Rome overgrown with ivy and wall-flowers — the stars, the sea, the mountains — all were mere accessories — the background to one dark and melancholy figure." The fault here reproved — monotony or self-repetition — can hardly be treated too severely. But it does not spoil the landscapes of " Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." Here there is no want of contrast and variety, of which the two following passages are fine examples : — " It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep ; and drawing near. There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more ; " He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil. Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. " All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : All heaven and earth are still :— From the high host B B 1 86 EXGLJSH POETS. Of stars, to the luU'd lake and mountain-coast, All is concentred in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost. But hath a part of being, and a sense Of that which is of all Creator and defence. * * * " The sky is changed — and such a change ! Oh night. And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud. But every mountain now hath found a tongue. And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! " And this is in the night :— Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, A portion of the tempest and of thee ! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth. As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth." Of the Poet's most energetic style of writing — in pas- sages where noble sentiments are united with graphic power and fervid eloquence — his stanzas on " Waterloo " afford one fine example, and another may be given in the following lines : — " I see before me the Gladiator lie : He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony. And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — BYRON. 187 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him— he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won. " He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday I — All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire And unaveng'd ? — Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire ! " These quotations may serve as some examples of the poetic power that gave Hfe to marbles, and breathed, over classic places in Greece and Italy, a spell like that cast by the enchanter Scott over some districts in his native land. Of Byron's eloquence the more fervid and ener- getic expressions are found mostly in the monologues of " Childe Harold," which, from an aesthetic point of view, may be justly censured as intensely subjective. One, given near the close of the " Pilgrimage," may be com- pared with the final and terrible invective, or curse, pro- nounced by Faliero in the drama bearing his name. The passage in "Childe Harold" ends with the following stanza : — " But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire. And my frame perish even in conquering pain ; But there is that within me which shall tire i88 ENGLISH POETS. Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre, Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love." The Poet's versification displays a marvellous energy, but it is often careless and sometimes harsh — especially in his dramas. He could, however, when he would take pains, write fine lyrical strains ; now falling in gentle cadences, now rising to a climax of energetic expression, as in these stanzas taken from one of the " Hebrew Melodies : " — " The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. " Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen : Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown. That host on the morrow lay wither' d and strown. " For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still ! " And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide. But through it there rolFd not the breath of his pride : And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. " And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail ; BYRON. 189 And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. "And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! " In his poetry, as in his Hfe, Byron was mostly driven along by impulses. He did not possess his own genius, but was possessed by it. His facility in producing verse was like that enjoyed by an Improvisatore. Hardly any of his works cost him hard study, save his first satire and the third act of Manfred. Many of his poems were pro- duced by excitements derived from visits to certain localities. The notion that some places are favourably haunted, and breathe poetic inspiration, is here and there expressed by the Poet. His lines have something of Petrarch's own sweetness when they describe the village where the great Italian lived : — " the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt Is one of that complexion which seems made For those who their mortality have felt. And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade. Which shows a distant prospect far away Of busy cities, now in vain display'd, For they can lure no further ; and the ray Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday." If all the cynicism, the scepticism and the despair were left out, and nothing save the poetry of Byron remained, I90 ENGLISH POETS. his writings would still be original and attractive. Me- moirs of the Poet's life and reviews of his works are in- numerable. Among the former are found several that contradict one another, in instances too many to be noticed particularly. One writer describes Byron's lame- ness in terms making it clear that he could not for a moment stand firmly. But it is again and again asserted by other witnesses, that he was fairly proficient in box- ing. That exercise requires firm foothold as the sine qua noil. This is a comparatively harmless little speci- men of contradiction. Of all the " curiosities of literature " that may be dis- covered in reviews of Byron, the climax is the asser- tion that, after all, his first reviewer was right — Byron was not an original poet. This is merely laughable ; but we may take the trouble of setting against it the judg- ment of a man who certainly had some knowledge of poetry. GOETHE described Byron's genius as original in the superlative degree. SHELLEY. ERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, son of Sir Timothy Shelley, was born at Field Place (in Sussex) on the 4th of August, 1792 — the year when revolution was victorious in France. " There is not one of Shelley's works," says a French critic, " that does not bear the stamp of 1792." This as- sertion, though obviously wanting limitation, is mainly true, especially with reference to the Poet's more ex- tended works. He began to write verses not long after the time when hope, excited by the revolution, "had failed," as he said, " Like a brief dream of unremaining glory." Before he attained majority Shelley read extensively, and studied hard social and political problems, of which he found a general solution in his belief that all miseries of society must be ascribed to two causes — superstition 193 ENGLISH POETS. and despotism. These evils, he believed, must be first destroyed ; then dreams of Paradise would be realized, and universal benevolence would make the world happy. Holding this belief, Shelley, when he was about eighteen years old, denounced as a superstition the creed of his native land. For this declaration of his opinions, he was expelled from the University of Oxford. The notion that he was led onward in negation by a fellow-collegian of inferior ability, is refuted by references to Shelley's early attempts in authorship. His " Wandering Jew " (a poem) was sent to the publishers Ballantyne in iSio, and was declined, with an intimation that some parts of it might be called sceptical. Suspicion of the same kind was excited by " St. Irvyne," a romance, containing some inferior pieces of verse and unconscious imitations of lines found in Byron's " Hours of Idleness." A rhapsody in verse — " Queen Mab" — was printed for the author in 1 813, and was reprinted and published, without his con- sent, in 1 82 1. This work by no means deserves the honour of being placed first — as we find it in several edi- tions of the Poet's writings — but its conclusion gives, in a few lines, the central idea of his later and better poetry. Let superstition and tyranny be abolished, and let bene- volence be made a universal law ; then disease, ignor- ance, crime, warfare, and sorrow, will for ever disappear. The originality of Shelley's genius was more clearly shown in 18 15, when his poem, " Alastor," was written. The "Wanderer" introduced in this poem is an imagina- SHRLLE Y. 193 tiv'c youth, seduced by visions of ideal beauty, led far away from society, and left to die in desolation. Love of solitude, attended with a longing for sympathy and a thirst for discovery, are traits ascribed to the Wanderer in " Alastor," and are found in the writer's own cha- racter. A more remarkable trait is the often-recurring thought of strife, duality, or contradiction, which is repre- sented in one poem by the battle of the "Serpent " and the "Eagle;" in another by the contest of "Prome- theus " and " Jove." That thought of antipathy seems to have been closely associated with memories of some painful passages in Shelley's early life — his experience at Eton, his expulsion from college, and some later sor- rows. When nineteen years old he was attracted by the beauty of Harriet Westbrook, whose age was sixteen. Soon after their marriage the young pair visited the English lake district, and they lived for some time in Wales. A virtual dissolution of their marriage had taken place in 18 14 (when they had two children), and separa- tion was followed by a deplorable event, of which we have no full and clear account. The young wife drowned herself. Afterwards, it was decreed in Chancery that Shelley should not have the guardianship of his own children. His sentiments, expressed in " Queen Mab," were made the basis of that decree, by which his mind was deeply affected. At the close of the year 18 16 he married Mary Godwin (daughter of the well-known writer), and went to live at Marlow, where his days were c C 194 ENGLISH POETS. quietly devoted to study and to benevolent care for the welfare of his poor neighbours. He wrote, while he was living at Marlow, a narrative poem, " The Revolt of Islam," in which he spoke everywhere of love or benevo- lence " as the sole law which should govern the moral w^orld." In the spring of i8i8 Shelley, accompanied by his wife, went to Italy, and stayed some time in Venice, where he met once more Lord Byron, with whom he had previously travelled in Switzerland. At Rome, where the climate seemed to make his imagination more vigor- ous, he wrote his lyrical-dramatic poem, " Prometheus Unbound." This enthusiastic production was soon fol- lowed by " The Cenci," a tragedy founded on a dreadful series of crimes. In writing this drama " the author," says a critic, " coerced and restrained the characteristic qualities of his own genius." Shelley's intercourse with Byron was renewed at Pisa, where they lived near each other in 1821. There was no literary man — except, per- haps. Sir Walter Scott — whose character Byron respected more than Shelley's ; but the two Poets differed widely on some questions of taste and criticism. Byron called Shelley's notions of poetry and of philosophy "too spiri- tual and romantic," and was slow in recognizing the merits of Keats, a young poet whose writings gave de- light to Shelley. His anger was like that provoked by a personal insult when " Endymion," a poem written by Keats, was contemptuously treated by a reviewer. Be- SHELLEY. 195 fore the review appeared, the health of Keats was rapidly declining, and soon afterwards his death awakened in Shelley's mind the sympathy and indignation so finely expressed in the splendid elegy, " Adonais." Shelley's general mode of life at Pisa was quiet and studious. Those who had no respect for some of his opinions were compelled to admire his temperate habits, gentle manners, and generous disposition. In the sum- mer of 1822 he went to live at a villa near the sea-coast, where he might enjoy his favourite amusement, boating and sailing ; for he was a lover of the sea. He returned to Pisa, and passed a few days there and in the neigh- bourhood in July, and then set sail at Livorno, intending to take a direct course homeward. His companions in the boat were his friend Williams and one sailor. The sea was quiet when their sail vanished on the horizon- line, but a violent storm soon followed, the boat went down, and the three voyagers were drowned. A few days later Shelley's body was cast by the sea on the shore, and was readily identified ; for he had carried in one of his pockets a volume of poetry containing "Lamia" and "Isabella." His remains — reduced to ashes by fire — were taken to Rome, and were there interred in the cemetery which he had described as " romantic and lonely." The character of Shelley is expressed in his poetr}% taken as a whole confession and generously interpreted. Some traits may be seen more clearly if we cast on them 196 ENGLISH POETS. the light of contrast. For a moment the Poet, whose sympathies were so wide, may be placed in contrast be- side one of the small versifiers, sometimes called "poets," in Addison's time. The versifier takes some pains to make his lines rhyme, but cares little for politics or for any other practical affairs. Opposite to him lives a politician who talks of " balancing the powers of Europe." He has heard that Mr. Addison's play, " Cato," is called " patriotic," and there ends the politician's knowledge of poetical literature. His neighbour — a practical man — never thinks of poetry and cares little for politics. But he admires Sir Richard Steele's new scheme, called " The Fishpool : " a plan for supplying London with cheap and fresh salmon. These three men represent some classes of specialists, and all three stand apart from that class of men to which Shelley belonged. His views, like his sympathies, were comprehensive. He was at once a poet, a politician, and a social reformer. " I have," he said, " a passion for reforming the world." This was the motive that led him to study some abstruse subjects, and to accept social and other theories that, in the eighteenth century, were called luminous. Shelley, at one time, intended to give to the world his own theory of society in the shape of a systematic trea- tise, but it was never written. We find, however, its leading ideas in his poetical works. Of these ideas or general notions, several are remarkably like those set forth in old books called mystical. Shelley's poetry SHELLEY. 197 speaks of a primeval and happy state of union, of a pro- cess of deterioration, and of a final restoration of union. An old mystic writer, treating of the same themes, some- times uses forms of expression like those which the Poet employs. Shelley speaks of mental, moral, and physical life as three expressions of one power, and the old mystic here again agrees well with the Poet. Once more they arc in concord when they describe our thoughts, our feel- ings, and our whole life as closely united with the uni- versal life of nature. When man was good, the world was a glorious home (says the mystic) ; the dwelling- place in every part reflected the thoughts and feelings of the inhabitant, and his own soul was the inspiring genius of every beautiful surrounding landscape. When he be- came degenerate, nature everywhere suffered a disastrous change. The desolation of his own soul was represented " in stony and sandy deserts ;" his bad passions — " pride, greed, envy, hate" — were akin to the fierce extremes of heat and cold, the fury of tempests, and the destructive forces of earthquake and lightning, by which the primeval and peaceful life of nature was disturbed. But when man shall once more become good, there will be de- veloped a new world, of which all the elements shall be harmoniously blended. Cleanse man's heart (says the old mystic), and from that fountain shall flow forth in- fluence that shall pervade and transmute, not human society alone, but the whole life of nature — '' The human Soul of universal earth." 198 ENGLISH POETS. In " Prometheus Unbound " we shall see how Shelley- can clothe these ideas and make poetry of them. But the difference of the two theories, that so far have looked like one theory, must not be left unnoticed. Both the mystic and the Poet have spoken boldly of a future reno- vation of "man and his dwelling-place." The question naturally follows — by what agency can such a change be made .'' In their answers to that question they differ widely, and all their concord here comes to a conclusion. The old writer finds help in a faith which was in early life rejected by the Poet. The books that then served mostly as his guides and teachers led him to identify with that faith all the errors and the vices that had ever been associated with its name or its profession. Bigotry and persecution (he said) have ever been connected with that creed ; therefore it must be " hostile, instead of friendly, to the cultivation of those virtues which would make men brothers." Such reasoning is obviously illogi- cal, and it does not accord with the writer's own treat- ment of a similar case. For he does not abandon his belief in such principles as " equality " and " fraternity " on account of any crimes or excesses associated with the words. On the contrary, he speaks of these matters with clear discrimination when he tells us that, in his advocacy of social reformation, he refuses to flatter " those violent and malignant passions of our nature which are ever on the watch to mingle with and to alloy the most beneficial innovations." Of the wisdom implied SHELLEY. 199 in these words there can be no dispute. They may serve to conclude our remarks on Shelley's theories, which arc too closely united with his poetry to be left without notice, even in this brief review of his writings. In passing to give some account of his poetical works, it may be well to advert to numerous errors in several editions of his poems. In some instances, the misprints and other errors are almost as bad as those found in some editions of Coleridge's poetry. Shelley's burlesque, satirical, and political writings in verse may here be left unnoticed. His more ideal poems reveal his own true character. The vague, dreamy en- thusiasm, and the visionary hopes of his youth are ex- pressed in the conclusion of his first considerable poem, but are represented with greater power and self-control in " Prometheus Unbound." He wrote one long narra- tive poem, " The Revolt of Islam," of which the form — but little more than the form — is epic. He wrote also one tragedy, Avhich, with regard to construction and pathos, is as remarkable as the author's choice of a sub- ject. The play is written in clear, undecorated English, and contains hardly more than one isolated description. As a specimen of power and artistic self-control, " The Cenci " is certainly the author's best work ; yet we have pleasure in turning away from it, to study his lyrical poetry. Beauties of sentiment and imagination abound in the elegy " Adonais," of which excessive splendour is the chief defect. Here and there are heard, as in the 200 ENGLISH POETS. following stanzas, imaginative expressions of a mystic belief ratlier vaguely called " pantheism :" — " He lives, he wakes — 'tis Death is dead, not he; Mourn not for Adonais. — Thou, young Dawn, Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee The spirit thou lamentest is not gone ; Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan ! Cease ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air, "Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown O'er the abandoned Earth, now leave it bare Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair. " He is made one with Nature : there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in hght, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; Which wields the world with never-wearied love. Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above." The thought of duality and antipathy — of the long strife of good and evil in the world — is found almost everywhere, says a critic, when describing the general character of Shelley's writings. But the Poet could sometimes forget all social problems, and (as his wife said) "could for awhile shelter himself from the influence of human sympathies," while his imagination enjoyed free play in intercourse with nature. There can hardly be found more than one expression of a melancholy kind SHELLEY. 20I in the ode " To a Skylark," in which fine melody is sus- tained throughout twenty-one stanzas like the follow- ing : — " Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! " Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now." Continuous and perfect melody, like that of Coleridge's finest poems, is hardly found in Shelley's ; but here and there are strains recalling such music as is heard in " Christabel." For one example we may notice " Lines to an Indian Air," and for another, these lines in the " Hymn of Pan :" — " Liquid Peneus was flowing, And all dark Temp^ lay In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing The light of the dying day, Speeded by my sweet pipings. The Sileni, and Sylvans, and Fauns, And the Nymphs of the woods and waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns. And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow Were silent with love, as you now, Apollo, With envy of my sweet pipings." The most characteristic of all the Poet's writings is the D D 202 ENGLISH POETS. lyric-dramatic poem, " Prometheus Unbound," a splendid mythological form of expression, for the theory of which outlines have already been given. As an able critic has observed, Shelley in this poem gives to abstract thoughts vivid, imaginative forms, and " makes individuals out of generalities." Primeval life is here called the Reign of " Saturn," under whose sway the lives of all " earth's primal spirits " are calm and happy. Their deterioration takes place under the despotism of " Jupiter," of whom the Poet speaks exactly as the old mystic speaks of " Lucifer :"— " And Jove now reign'd ; for on the race of man First famine, and then toil, and then disease, Strife, wounds, and ghastly death, unseen before, Fell ; and the unseasonable seasons drove, "With alternating shafts of frost and fire. Their shelterless pale tribes to mountain caves ; And in their desert hearts fierce wants he sent And mad disquietudes, and shadows idle Of unreal good." The restoration of mankind and all other creatures to their primeval life is ascribed to the Titan named Pro- metheus, a representative of "wisdom, courage, and long-suffering love." Under the cruel reign of Jupiter the benevolent and powerful Titan alleviates the suffer- ings of mankind. For this offence he is chained on Caucasus, and there, with undaunted fortitude, he sus- tains a long series of tortures, of which one part is the knowledge he has of all miseries endured by men. Of a SHELLEY. 203 terrible curse extorted from him by his sufferings, and hurled against his oppressor, Prometheus at length re- pents, as he tells us in these lines : — " It doth repent me : words are quick and vain ; Grief for awhile is blind, and so was mine. I wish no living thing to suffer pain." Nevertheless, the malediction is fulfilled at the pre- destined time, when Jupiter is cast down from his throne by the power here named " Demogorgon " : — Demogorgon moves towards the throne <7/"Ju PITER. " Jupiter. Mercy ! mercy ! No pity, no release, no respite ! Oh, That thou wouldst make mine enemy my judge, Even where he hangs, seared by my long revenge, On Caucasus ! he would not doom me thus. Gentle and just, and dreadless, is he not The monarch of the world ? What art thou ? No refuge ! no appeal ! Sink with me then, We two will sink on the wide waves of ruin, Even as a vulture and a snake outspent Drop, twisted in inextricable fight. Into a shoreless sea. Let hell unlock Its mounded oceans of tempestuous fire. And whelm on them into the bottomless void This desolated world, and thee, and me, The conqueror and the conquered and the wreck Of that for which they combated. Ai! Ai! The elements obey me not. I sink Dizzily down, ever, for ever down. And, like a cloud, mine enemy above Darkens my fall with victory. Ai ! Ai ! " 204 EXGLISH POETS. So falls Jupiter. Prometheus is immediately released from his chains by Hercules, who thus addresses the benevolent Titan : — " Most glorious among spirits ! thus doth strength To ^Wsdom, courage, and long-suffering love, And thee, who art the form they animate, Minister like a slave." Universal gladness follows the dethronement of Ju- piter and the liberation of Prometheus. To use an oriental form of expression. Ocean, the Earth, and the Moon "break forth into singing." Thus "the Earth" expresses her own joy when first she hears the tidings that her mighty son is once more free : — " 7/ie Earth. 1 hear, I feel ; Thy lips are on me, and thy touch runs down Even to the adamantine central gloom Along these marble nen-es ; 'tis life, 'tis joy, And through my wither'd, old, and icy frame The warmth of an immortal youth shoots down Circling. Henceforth the many children fair Folded in my sustaining arms ; all plants, And creeping forms, and insects rainbow-winged, And birds, and beasts, and fish, and human shapes, Which drew disease and pain from my wan bosom, Draining the poison of despair, shall take And interchange sweet nutriment ; to me Shall they become like sister-antelopes By one fair dam, snow-white and swift as wind. Nursed among lilies near a brimming stream."' The closing passages of the drama are introduced by the Poet's boldest lyrical strains. For him, in such a SHELLEY. 205 mood of inspiration, no part of the universe is inanimate. That love shall henceforth be life's universal law is the burden of an antiphonal song, in which " the Earth " and " the Moon," singing alternately, thus express their rap- turous delight : — " The Earth. "The joy, the triumph, the delight, the madness ! The boundless, overflowing, bursting gladness, The vaporous exultation not to be confined I Ha! ha! the animation of delight Which wraps me, like an atmosphere of light, And bears me as a cloud is borne by its own wind. " The Moox. " Brother mine, calm wanderer, Happy globe of land and air, Some Spirit is darted like a beam from thee, Which penetrates my frozen frame, And passes with the warmth of flame, With love, and odour, and deep melody Through me, through me ! " The Earth. " Ha! ha! the caverns of my hollow mountains. My cloven fire-crags, sound-exulting fountains Laugh with a vast and inextinguishable laughter. The oceans, and the deserts, and the abysses, And the deep air's unmeasured wildernesses, Answer from all their clouds and billows, echoing after. "The Moon. " The snow upon my lifeless mountains Is loosened into living fountains, 2o6 ENGLISH POETS. My solid oceans flow, and sing, and shine : A spirit from my heart bursts forth, It clothes with unexpected birth My cold bare bosom : Oh ! it must be thine On mine, on mine I " Gazing on thee, I feel, I know Green sulks burst forth, and bright flowers grow. And li\'ing shapes upon my bosom move : Music is in the sea and air, Winged clouds soar here and there. Dark with the rain new buds are dreaming of : 'Tis love, aU love 1 " To conclude the poem, and to give in a direct form the meaning of all its mythology^ the following words are spoken by the power named " Demogorgon :" — •' To suft'er woes which Hope thinks infinite ; To forgive wTongs darker than death or night ; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent ; To love, and bear ; to hope till Hope creates From its own WTeck the thing it contemplates ; Neither to change, nor flatter, nor repent; This, like thy glor)-, Titan, is to be Good, great and joyous, beautifid and free ; This is alone Life, Joy, Empire, and ^'ictor>•." LONGFELLOW E want a national epic that shall correspond to the size of the country ; that shall be to all other epics what Banvard's Panorama of the Mississippi is to all other paintings — the largest in the world." These words Mr. LONGFELLOW (in one of his stories) ascribes to a critic whose notions of poetry are original and shallow. Poetry, as we have seen, implies a union of elements of which scenerj' is only one, while others are derived from social and national life, general culture, and religion. Such a union of many elements as was required for the development of Shakespeare and Milton can by no means occur in every time or in every place. Some literarj- historians have erroneously written in an apologetic strain of poor imitative verses called "American poetry" in the eighteenth century. The true apology is found in the social, political and religious history of America in the 2oS EXGL/S// POETS. colonial time. Near the close of the year 1620, the " pilgrim fathers " arrived at Plymouth. More than a centur}- and a half passed away, and then the political bond between Old England and her colonies in North America was severed. But the people of the United States were still English. They still spoke "the tongue that Shakespeare spoke," and still held the faith and the morals that Milton held. It was decreed by the Spirit who controls the whole current of historical events, that the men of tlie United States might change, as they pleased, that comparatively unimportant thing, the form of their government ; but meanwhile they must retain their grand inheritance — our unrivalled language, our English literature, our poetry. Why should a people to whom Shakespeare belongs be proud of any artificial originality ; or wish to begin, in poetry, ad oz'o and tfc 7ioi'o? Do we speak too boldly.'' Then Mr. Long- fellow shall speak for us. in support of our theor}', that, in its higher developments — especially in poetry — American literature must be English. The following quotation is part of a conversation introduced by Mr. Longfellow in his story entitled " Kavanagh " : — " You admit nationality to be a good thing ? " Yes, if not carried too far ; still, I confess, it rather limits one's views of truth. I prefer what is natural. Mere nationality is often ridiculous. Ever}' one smiles when he hears the Icelandic proverb: ' Iceland is the best land the sun shines upon.' Let us be natural, and we shall be national enough. Besides, our literature can be strictly national only so far as our character and modes of thought LONGFELLOW. 209 differ from those of other nations. Now, as we are very like the English — arc, in fact, English under a different sky — I do not see how our literature can be very different from theirs. Westward, from hand to hand, we pass the lighted torch, but it was lighted at the old domestic fireside of England." Though Mr. Longfellow's views of nationality and originality are thus moderated by his general cul- ture, he is the most popular of the writers who may be called " English-American." He is an English poet when we consider his purity and melody in writing our language, while he remains a true American with respect to choice of themes and scenery in several of his best productions : — " Evangeline ;" the " Courtship of Miles Standish ;" and the " Song of Hiawatha." Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born at the city of Portland (in Maine) on the 27th of Februar>^, in 1807. -^t the age of eighteen he graduated with high honours at Bowdoin College, and about the same time published several occasional poems. After a short in- terval devoted to the study of law, he accepted the newly founded professorship of modern languages in Bowdoin College, and to prepare himself for its duties, left America, and passed three years and a half in travelling and residing in France, Italy, Spain, Germany, Holland, and England. His residence in Germany, and the study of the poetical literature of that country, had a lasting in- fluence on his taste and imagination ; and it has been E E 2IO ENGLISH POETS. asserted by some, that his love of the romantic and mystical old legends of central Europe led him away too far from the range of topics proper for an American poet. He has, however, defended his own choice of subjects, and has protested against ever>^ narrow notion of a national literature. "All that is best," he says, " in the great poets of all countries, is not what is national in them, but what is universal. Their roots are in their native soil, but their branches wave in the unpatriotic air, that speaks the same language unto all men, and their leaves shine with the illimitable light that per\'ades all lands." In 1835, when !Mr. George Ticknor (the literary his- torian of Spain) resigned the chair of modern languages in Harvard College, Mr. Longfellow was elected to take the vacant place. To qualify himself more fully for the duties of that position, he again visited Europe, and there continued his studies of Teutonic languages and their literatures. Of these studies some results appeared (in 1845) in a work entitled "the Poets and Poetry of Europe," of which an extended and revised edition was published in 1871. After the resignation of his professorship (in 1854) Mr. Longfellow lived in re- tirement at Cambridge, there devoting his leisure to studies of which the fruits are found in numerous original poems, and in translations of poetry. To the former belong the " Song of Hiawatha," published in 1855 ; the "Courtship of Miles Standish" (1858), and LONGFELLOW. 211 "Talcs of a Wayside Inn" (1863). The translation of Dante (published in 1867-70) was one of Mr. Long- fellow's most laborious tasks. In 1868-9 he once more visited England, and was here received with the honour due to a poet, a scholar, and a man who eminently re- presents the literary union of America and England. With respect to their form, Mr. Longfellow's metrical writings belong to the three classes, lyrical, narrative, and dramatic ; but the true character of his genius is lyrical and reflective. He seldom excites, or endeavours to excite, the more violent passions. He would rather quell than call into action the feelings that, in the heart of man, are akin to stormy transitions in nature — '• The wind, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a tropic sky." Gracefulness and facility are the author's most pro- minent artistic qualities, and purity of sentiment is a characteristic of all that he has written. The earnest tones of his didactic verse have made his "Psalm of Life " and his " Ladder of St. Augustine," household words in England as in America ; but we like better his " Village Blacksmith," for there the lesson is given in a life-like example. It is one of the Poet's merits that he can find in pure, classic English abundant means of expression for all his thoughts, emotions, and im- aginations. The tone that pervades several of his most pleasing productions may be called elegiac, yet it is by 213 ENGLISH POETS. no means gloomy. This pensive tone pervades the whole of the idyll entitled " Evangeline." A controversy too extensive to be fairly noticed here is suggested by the form called "English hexameter verse," which the Poet has employed in " Evangeline," a story founded on an event in the history of Nova Scotia, formerly called "Acadia." In 1755 the people of Acadia, accused of giving aid to the French, were expatriated, and, in the haste attending their dispersion, families and friends were separated. At that time Evan- geline, the heroine of the poem, was living wath her father, an Acadian farmer, at the village of Grand-Pre, and was betrothed to Gabriel, the son of a neighbour. Their marriage was prevented by the burning of the village and the expatriation of the people. Overcome by the calamity, the father of Evangeline died on the sea-shore, while Gabriel and his father were carried away into exile. Thus the lovers were separated, and the remainder of the poem describes the long wanderings of the maiden in search of her betrothed. The places visited by Evangeline, and the incidents of her journeys, are described in the second part of the poem. Led onward by various rumours, the maiden follows every direction, however vague and shadowy, that seems to point towards Gabriel. " Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, LONGFELLOW. 213 She would commence again her endless search and endeavour ; Sometimes in church-yards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tombstones, Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. Sometimes a rumour, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper. Came with its airy hand, to point and beckon her forward. Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known him ; But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten." Year after year passes away in the search. At last, in the city of Philadelphia, the long pilgrimage finds a close. Here Evangeline, now advanced in years, be- comes a member of the order " Sisters of Mercy," and while a pestilence is spreading, devotes herself to attendance on afflicted poor people. It is a Sabbath morning, when she is called upon to visit a dying man, who has been brought into the alms-house. She enters the chamber, and comes near the bed where the patient lies. " Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder. Still she stood, with her colourless lips apart, while a shudder Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers. And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish. That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. Long, and thin, and gray, were the locks that shaded his temples ; But,.as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment Seemed to assume once more the form of its earlier manhood (So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying). 214 EXGLISH POETS. Motionless, senseless, dying he lay, and his spirit, exhausted, Seemed to be sinking down through intinite depths in the dark- ness — Darkness of slumber and death — for ever sinking and sinking. Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like : ' Gabriel ! O my beloved ! ' — and died away into silence. Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood ; Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and walking under their shadow. As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his ^^sion. Tears came into his eyes ; and, as slowly he lifted his eyelids. Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline kneeled by his bedside. \'ainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents, unuttered. Died on his Ups, and their motion revealed what the tongue would have spoken. Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, Kissed his d}-ing lips, and laid his head on her bosom. Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into darkness, As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of %vind at a casement."' In the " Courtship of Miles Standish," the Poet tells a story of the times when the Pilgrims fought for their lives with Red Men — sometimes with bears — and were too busy in their " wilderness work " (so they called it) to care for any poetn,- except their Psalm Book. In the " Song of Hiawatha " (which has been called an " Indian Edda "") the Poet reproduces, with some imaginative decorations, myths and legends, including the best unwritten poetry of the North American Indians. " Hiawatha "' is one of the names ascribed by LONGFELLOW. 215 tradition to a miraculous person, the guardian and teacher, who came from heaven to teach the Red Men of old times the arts of peace. With this principal legend the Poet has interwoven other stories, all founded more or less on a mythology of which the outlines are faithfully preserved. The story of " Shingebiss the Diver " is a fair example of several tales given with re- markable fidelity, and serving as expressions of feelings and intuitions that supplied for the Red Man the want of a creed. He had no abstract notions. For him joy was " a bright sun," or " a clear blue sky," and adversity was " a thorny plant." He was not a materialist ; for he ascribed every visible effect to an invisible cause or source of power, which he called the " manito " or spirit. As he conceived, a " manito " gave the spark from the flint, made the blade of grass grow, flowed in the stream, and gave energy to the wind ; but in every instance the notion was concrete and particular. If a wild animal had power to resist the cold of winter, it was because the " manito " in the animal was more powerful than his antagonist. The Red Man believed in spells and dreams and in admonitions coming from an unseen world. He believed also in a life beyond the grave ; but it was not an ideal life, abstracted from all the sights and sounds of mother earth. The spirit of the Red INIan goes to the hunting-ground in the far-off south-west, where he finds abundance of game, with beans and maize, and there he feasts joyfully with his friends. The conclusion 3i6 EyOL/SH POETS. of the poem, in which so many pleasing legends are preserved, tells of the coming of the white men, and the departure of Hiawatha is described in these me- lodious lines : — " On the shore stood Hiawatha, Turned and waved his hand at parting : On the clear and knninous water Launched his birch-canoe for sailing, From the pebbles of the margin Shoved it forth into the water : \\'hispered to it, ' Westward ! Westward '. ' And with speed it darted forward. And the evening sun descending Set the clouds on fire with redness, Burned the broad sky, like a prairie. Left upon the level water One long track and trail of splendour, Down whose stream, as down a river, Westward, westward Hiawatha Sailed into the fiery sunset, Sailed into the purple vapours, Sailed into the dusk of evening. And the people from the margin Watched him floating, rising, sinking. Till the birch-canoe seemed lifted High into that sea of splendour, Till it sank into the vapours Like the new moon slowly, slowly Sinking in the purple distance. And they said, ' Farewell for ever '. ' Said ' Farewell, O Hiawatha I ' And the forests, dark and lonely. Moved through all their depths of darkness, Sighed, ' Farewell, O Hiawatha : " LONGFELLOW. 217 And the waves upon the margin Rising, rippling on the pebbles, Sobbed, ' Farewell, O Hiawatha ! ' And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, From her haunts among the fen-lands, Screamed, ' Farewell, O Hiawatha I ' " Mr. Longfellow has written several poems having a dramatic form: — the "Spanish Student" (1845), the "Golden Legend" (1851), and a passion-play called the "Divine Tragedy" (1871). These poems cannot be strictly called dramas. In a true drama every action, every speech must serve as part of one general move- ment and aid in leading to one conclusion. No isolated lyrical declamation — however poetical — must interrupt the movement. Sentimental passages that may be either inserted or omitted are out of place, A drama is not a string of pearls, but has a construction to which nothing can be added, and from which nothing can be taken away. It is by no means denied here that the " Spanish Student " and the " Golden Legend " contain true poetry. A man may be a great poet, and yet may fail when he attempts writing a drama. Byron's dra- matic works are, as we have said, mostly failures, and the same may be said of Wordsworth's poems written in a dramatic form. In Mr. Longfellow's occasional lyrical poems are found beautiful and sometimes distinctly American traits of scenery ; gentle and pure sentiments ; true moral lessons (too often directly given), and a religious F F 2i8 ENGLISH POETS. tone, purer than that of " sacred poems" cliaracterized by an irreverent repetition of certain names and phrases. Of many pleasant l}'rical poems the following, addressed to " Children," is a fair example : — " Come to me, O ye children ! For I hear you are at your play, And the questions that perplex me Have vanished quite away. " Ye open the eastern windows, That look towards the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run. " In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklets flow, But in mine is the wind of Autumn, And the first fall of the snow. " Ah ! what would the world be to us If the children were no more ? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. " What the leaves are to the forest. With light and air for food. Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood, — " That to the world are children ; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. " Come to me, O ye children, And whisper in my ear W^hat the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. LONGFELLOW. 219 " For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks ? " Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said ; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead." After all that has been said of Mr. Longfellow's gracefulness and facility in lyrical poetry, it must not be forgotten that he has written energetic epic poetry, of which a fine specimen is seen in " Paul Revere's Ride," or the Landlord's Tale, in "Tales of a Wayside Lin." The story, though told with artistic power and con- ciseness, is still too long for our limits. Instead of it may be given an old favourite — the "Village Black- smith." May wc hope to be forgiven for omitting the final stanza — the moral lesson } The poem is, we be- heve, complete as here given : — " Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands ; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands ; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. " His hair is crisp and black and long. His face is like the tan ; His brow is wet with honest sweat. He earns whate'cr he can. And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. E XG I. ISH P O E TS. " Week in, week out. from morn till nii^ht, Vou can hear his bellows blow ; \ou can hear him swing his heavy sledi^c. With measured beat, and slow. Like a sexton ringing the village-bell. When the evening sun is low. " And children coming home from school Look in at the open door ; They love to see the llaniing forgo. And hear the bellows roar. And catch the burning sparks thai tlv Like chatf from a thrashing-tluor. " He goes on Sunday to the church. And sits among his boys ; He hears the parson pray and preach. He hears his daughter's voice .Singing in the village choir. And it makes his heart rejoice. " It sounds to him like her mothers voice. Singing in Paradise ! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies ; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. " l^oiling— rejoicing — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done. Has earned a night's repose." n Wr fkA- ■ ^■■p «^ J P| 'j^^^^^^^l ^.hJ ^^H ^^ /^uH TENNYSON. all characteristics ascribed to our English Poetry of the present century, that of which there, can be the least dispute is variety — the result of independence and individual courage in choice of themes and modes of treatment, A revolution has taken place since the time of Words- worth's warfare with critics. Crabbe, Coleridge, Scott, Byron, Shelley, Keats, Tennyson — these names are enough to indicate a variety of thoughts and forms of expression, greater than can be found in all the poetry of the time when Boileau was reigning. The expansion of ideas and forms in modern poetry has of course made criticism more difficult. Errors, too well known to be named again, warn us of danger, when we would attempt to give any comparative estimate of poetical works pro- duced in our own time. Here we have no aid derived 222 ENGLISH POETS. from earlier criticism, confirmed by time's verdict ; no aid like that afiforded by distance when we would study distinct traits in a landscape. A substitute for distance might be found in a clear theory, as far remote from prejudice as heaven from earth ; but who can boast of having more than a glimpse of such a theory of poetry ? In too many respects, the age in which we live is un- favourable to any culture that may be called ideal ; in- deed this word " ideal " is sometimes treated as useless, and in some recent works on " culture " hardly a word is said of poetry ! " The world is too much with us ; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers." But Poetry has not been utterly frightened and driven away by Mammon, genius of blackened rivers and skies beclouded with perpetual smoke. Sometimes, it is true, our modern poets have retreated from the present age and, in their antique or medieeval world, have found their legendary or ideal themes ; but here and there are still heard strains accordant with the sorrow and the hope of the present age. These strains are not mono- tonous, but may be called respectively conservative and liberal, though such words may for a moment seem here out of place. Our cotemporary poets cannot, without a sacrifice of art, write in a dry or harsh and contro- TENNYSON. 225 vcrsial manner of political or any other doctrines. But there may be powerful though indirect teaching con- veyed in tones too vague to be readily defined. To give one example, may we not call the general tendency of Keble's quiet and half-mystic poems " conservative " in an ecclesiastical sense ? On the other side, do we not hear in many songs — by no means to be called imita- tive — Shelley's own voice, predicting once more the dawn of a new era ? The two tendencies, here called respectively conserva- tive and liberal, are not all that belong to our latest poetical literature. Veneration for the past and hopes of an expansive and harmonious future are conciliated in the meditative poetry written by the author of "In Memoriam." That series of lyrical and reflective poems cannot be fairly described either as one long elegy, or as a series of elegies. German reviewers have made an error in calling the whole work a " Todienklage," or lamentation for one departed. The lamentation is but one of several passages, though it certainly serves as the source of all that follow. From that source flow other expressions that, in their quiet course, gradually trans- mute an individual grief into sympathy with the general sorrow and the sustaining hope of mankind. The Poet does not evade but confronts doubt and negation attend- ing modern science. In the strains numbered 55 and 56, and again in 124, he refers to the doubts that may 2 24 ENGLISH POETS. follow a scientific exploration of nature ; but he docs not condemn modern science. There may be found some- thing more like condemnation in words used by Dr. Newman, when speaking of the intrusion of science into the realms belonging to faith and imagination. " Poetry," he says, " is always the antagonist to science. As science makes progress in any subject-matter, poetry recedes from it." It will be sad indeed when poetry is compelled, by dint of analysis, to recede from nature ; for at that time poetry must cease to exist. The author of " In Memoriam " has not predicted the coming of a time when science shall take the place of faith and imagination. In the closing passages of the poem he speaks of an immortal life ; of a communion of the seen with the unseen world ; of an expansive and harmonious future. These themes have for their accom- paniment fine music in the strains numbered ii8 and 130. But these passages, belonging to a series, must not be given here as unconnected excerpts. Their lead- ing ideas may be given ; for these are found in the writings of men who have been called theorists and dreamers. Without such dreams as theirs our modern poetry might be melodious, sensuous, and brilliant, but it would have no deep and permanent influence. The intuitions expressed in meditative poetry of the highest order accord well with a theory of which the following quotation gives a summary : — TENNYSON. 225 " Our will, as here expressed in our thoughts and actions, deter- mines the character of our future life. . . . Our actions every day take place in a vast theatre, of which the highest tiers — to us in- visible — arc crowded with spectators, who regard with keen interest every movement in our hves Death will let us know more clearly what we already partly know— the character of the society to which we spiritually belong. Here departed friends, and thou- sands whom we have never called friends, converse with us without the aid of words ; there we shall be introduced to no strangers, but shall more intimately know those with whom we now hold com- munion. The better we grow the stronger ; for more and more numerous will be the souls living in communion with our own. Those whom we call ' the departed ' are not absorbed, so as to be lost in One Universal Soul, but while all have a common centre, each has its own; so that all their lives are like so many stars — each receiving and shedding light ; all surrounded by one common radiance." Nearly all the leading traits displayed in Mr. Tenny- son's later works were indicated in his earlier poems, published as long ago as 1830. At that time they had to encounter some hostile criticism. One of the more truly appreciative reviews was written by a poet — Wilson — who, though he mingled with his praise some blame, could see the beauty and originality of such poems as " Mariana," " Oriana," " Recollections of the Arabian Nights," and, above all, " The Miller's Daughter." The scenery of these and other early poems was falsely gene- ralized by one reviewer, who spoke of the young Poet as of " a dweller amidst the fens of Lincolnshire." That shire has its own grandeur, as well as beauty, in spacious 226 ENGLISH POETS. views of wolds and pastures, with here and there lofty spires of churches. The scenery of " Oriana " and " The Miller's Daughter" comprises, among other traits, a sea- shore and long high wolds, looking down over many village spires. After 1842, when two volumes appeared, containing, with some reprints, many excellent new poems, the author's reputation was more widely extended, and few were found to call in question his originality, "The Princess, a Medley," published in 1847, was followed by " In Memoriam," already noticed as the author's most thoughtful production, which appeared in 1850, when the author was appointed Poet Laureate. In 1855 stern thoughts excited by social and military affairs were boldly expressed in " Maud," a poem telling a love- story by means of a series of passionate lyrical strains, of which several combine well beauty and melody with a dramatic interest. " Enoch Arden," a pathetic idyll — especially admired by many German as by many English readers — was published with other poems in 1864. Of its companions one — " The Northern Farmer" — is intensely humorous. To the interval 1858 — 72, belong the series of poems in blank verse, entitled " Idylls of the King," called by the writer " new-old " poems, of which the central idea is represented by King Arthur. That idea, divested of imaginative forms, and lights and shadows of an old, mythical, and picturesque world, is TENNYSON. 227 equivalent to an assertion of the supremacy of conscience — conscience reverenced and obeyed, "As God's most intimate presence in the soul, And his most perfect image in the world." For a poetic representation of that idea, the old myth of " The Gral " seems more appropriate than some legends of " The Round Table." The Poet's wealth of imagination and his graphic power of expression are finely displayed in his " Idylls of the King." With respect to their forms, the Poet's works — except- ing the drama, " Queen Mary," — may be mostly divided into the two classes, lyrical and narrative. The former class includes a rich variety of tones, though love is the principal theme of the lyrical poems. " Locksley Hall " and "The Lotus Eaters" are splendid and well-contrasted examples of strains as melodious as they are well sustained. Many shorter lyrical poems, especially suit- able to be set to music, are given here and there in "The Princess" and in the " Idylls of the King." Of lyrical-narrative poems, " The Day-Dream," " CEnone," " The Talking Oak," " Lady Clara Vere de Vere," and " The Lord of Burleigh " are beautiful specimens. The narrative class includes (besides myths of "The Round Table") "Enoch Arden," "Dora," and "The Gardener's Daughter " — the last a very beautiful love-story. The Poet's political tones, which may be called con- CONTENTS. NTRODUCTION Shakespeare Milton Addison Pope . Goldsmith . Burns . Wordsworth Scott . Byron Shelley Longfellow Tennyson . PAGE I •7 51 75 89 107 123 135 157 173 191 207 b