of an angel's, and his heart fire; and he has, in the exercise of that mind, obeying the impulses of a disordered heart, written himself a place in the heart of the world, as long as the world shall endure. And yet this can be said by those who love the truth as well as its more zealous defenders; and, furthermore, by those who entirely disagree with this author in his estimate of poetry, (we judge his principles from his verse, not his prose; for we deem his defence of Pope versus Bowles a caprice, rather than any settled conviction of his judgment,) and who think his principles altogether unphilosophical; and by those who mourn too, as much as any one can, the awfully demoralizing tendency of a portion of his writings. Still, let us have the truth. How doth it advantage religion, that its friends are afraid of facts? The advocate of such sentiments as these, might indeed agree with the most zealous of truth's defenders in this, that it would be well, if we could, to get some other name than poetry, for such writings as Byron's,* Shelley's, Moore's, &c.; but, in this, we by no means deny to the friends of these gifted authors, all that is claimed by them, except the name. Nothing is asserted, to awaken a defensible prejudice; for a question could only turn on what we are mutually agreed about, viz. to differ in our definition. Let the advocates of religion, then, and true poetry, place themselves on this ground; and the warmest defenders of that * Some one or two of our friends in high places have been pleased to charge us with maintaining in this essay the position, that Lord Byron was no poet. The doctrine of the essay, - that is, if it has any, is this, that the loftiest order of poetry can only be suggested by the loftiest truths, -a position which about as much questions Lord Byron's poetic rank and title, as it does that his Lordship "had ridden a rhinoceros," school, on which Southey, most unwisely, and, as we think, unwarrantably, allowed himself to put his branding-iron, could not feel insulted. It may be true, on one definition, that Byron has produced the most exalted poetry; while it may be equally true on the other, that his writings merit not the name. This question we are willing to try with them, honestly, openly, and in all amity, -on the principles before referred to, those of our common nature. Now the office and the end of poetry are, to delight and elevate the mind; and, by so doing, to make it wiser and purer: for this we claim the assent of the world; and where these authors would come, therefore, is beyond a question. The loftiest enthusiasm can only be awakened, as can be demonstrated from the soul's nature, by the perception of the greatest truths, which truths these writers discarded. What should be the office, then, of the true poet, according to these notions, is apparent. His work is with the great relations of truth, and with the universal sympathies of the world. This we think the proper office of the true poet; and, though we be found to differ from some others in so saying, yet we hope such differences have been, so far as they go, urged in a catholic spirit. It is where the soul, first "baptized In the pure fountain which the Godhead beams," throws itself, recklessly as it were, - fully, certainly, – into its subject; and by its skill in the use of the terms of art, by straight-forward, energetic, and natural language, makes others feel the truths which itself feels. It is where there is, first, the vivid conception, to gather rapidly together the objects before the mind; then the taste and judgment, to select from these and throw the bad away; then the requisite susceptibility, that it may catch and give back impressions; then the "fusion power" of the imagination, to pour out, in one whole, with the mind's own stamp on them, those suggestions which the susceptibility thus quickened gives; and, over all, the dominant principle of right action, the moral enthusiasm, such is the state of the soul, according to our notions, when it utters itself in true poetry. Every order of verse may be tested by these principles, and it is believed they will in no case suffer. The epic of Milton, or the smallest canzonet of Wordsworth, is, alike, capable of experiment; and thus, besides the truth sought, is afforded that other truth, evinced in so many ways, the fewness, the simplicity, the common sense, and yet the comprehensiveness, of the principles of a great art. DIVINITY SCHOOL, Yale College, 1839. |