in the popular mind, just as other tendencies of his thought, not so clearly expressed, are distinctly modern. "I never could discern in him," writes Hogg, "more than two fixed principles. The first was a strong, irrepressible love of liberty; . . . the second, an equally ardent love of toleration of all opinions; as a deduction and corollary from which latter principle, he felt an intense abhorrence of persecution of every kind, public or private." His experience at Eton in the midst of schoolboy trials doubtless had much to do with his views, but one can hardly escape the impression that his love of liberty was innate and that the radiant splendor of his verse is due to the depth and earnestness of his convictions.

Certain critics, discrediting Shelley's political philosophy as vague and inadequate, are enthusiastic in praise of the lyrical passages scattered throughout his longer poems. Yet, even in these passages, as well as in nearly all of his purely lyrical verse, one may detect the author's" enthusiasm for humanity." "I consider poetry very subordinate to moral and political science," he writes to Peacock, "and if circumstances permitted I would aspire to the latter." It is doubtless true, however, that his most enduring work is his short poems, and for reasons already sufficiently indicated.

Lyrical poetry is, in the main, the expression of personal mood or feeling, and the essential qualities of mind of a writer of lyrical poetry are extreme sensitiveness, great emotional and imaginative power. Shelley possessed each of these qualities in an unusual degree. Impressions from the outside world, too delicate and evanescent for ordinary perceptions, influenced him profoundly. "I am formed," he declares, "if for anything not in common with the herd of mankind, to apprehend minute and remote distinctions of feeling, whether relative to external nature or the living beings which surround us." The accuracy of this bit of self-analysis is verified over and over again in his poetry. A brief study of the diction and phrasing in the Sensitive Plant, for instance, shows how fine is his sensibility. There are "quivering vapors of dim noontide," "music delicate, soft and" yet "intense," "The tremulous bells of the Naiad like lily" and other descriptions remarkable for their delicate shades and shadows. The ardor with which he responded to these "minute and remote distinctions

may seem at times to the casual reader out of all proportion to the circumstances.

It has, in fact, been pointed out1 that to this impulsiveness is largely due a characteristic of Shelley's poetry which we have come to regard as a fault. The 1 Aspects of Poetry, Shairp, pp. 194–218.

natural world, as it really is, has little place in his poetry. He catches a glimpse of the landscape, an outline of the mountain peak, or a momentary gleam of the sea, and straightway busies himself with his impressions. "Nature he uses mainly to call from it some of its most delicate tints, some faint hues of the dawn or the sunset clouds, to weave in and color the web of his abstract dream." Many poets portray nature with great faithfulness. The strength and charm of Wordsworth's poetry lie in this as much as in anything else. To many readers, however, Shelley's ideal creations are as dear as Wordsworth's realistic descriptions. The two things are different, and each, in its way, is admirable, and the more delightful for its opposite. We need to remember that the countless beautiful forms and images in Shelley's poetry, the radiant color investing them, the spontaneity and freedom of his lyric. utterance, and the matchless rhythm of his verse, all owe in a large measure their exquisite charm to this impulsiveness.

The true explanation of his imperfect grasp of the objects of nature is not far to seek. The cause does not lie in a weak sensibility, as might at first be inferred, but in the hot impatience and irritability of his temperament, as already suggested, joined to an imaginative power rarely equalled in literature. "Under the influence of a sentiment which would at most

warm the surface of other poets' minds into a genial glow, Shelley's bubbles up from its very depths into a sort of pale passion, and seethes with imprisoned thought." What has been explained by critics is corroborated by Shelley in conversation with Hogg. "When my brain gets heated with thought," he observed, "it soon boils, and throws off images and words faster than I can skim them off." Such a mind is poorly qualified for precise delineation of the actual facts of nature. By its very constitution it recoils from long-continued observation, and is incapable of holding up its subject for narrow inspection. The emotional and imaginative qualities of mind must wait, to be sure, upon the receptive powers. The ideal world is ultimately dependent upon the actual world, but in Shelley's case the dependence is often so remote that the reader is confused amid the rapid succession of forms and images having so little in common with what is visible and tangible about us. For complete understanding one must continually seek and find the poet's point of view.

The scope of his imagination is no less wonderful than its fineness. "What can the ordinary person say about a cloud?" some one has asked. In a blunt way the question forcibly suggests Shelley's power. The magnificent sweep of his conceptions, when he has chosen some immense element or force of nature for

his theme, is in striking contrast to the delicate precision and finish of some of his minor lyrics. Prometheus Unbound illustrates this most adequately, but one or two shorter poems afford excellent examples. He is often forced in such instances to use his material under the form of personification or allegory, and one would expect poetry of this kind to be cold and mechanical. But Shelley's lyrical force sustains him. What would be attenuated and all but lifeless in another poet, is made to glow under the touch of his passionate inspiration. He is equally at home in making his reader realize the awful grandeur of the boundless regions of space, and in portraying with nicest touch the tremulous tints of a summer dawn; and it is rarely the case that any one of his poems does not show in some degree these two extremes of his imaginative range.

Briefly, then, the qualities of mind and heart which are found in Shelley's poetry are first a dominant impulse or passion for reforming mankind. This wish or hope for a future Golden Age is the theme, almost unsupported, of the greatest of his poems. The ideas. of reform given in Prometheus Unbound, are those of the dreamer rather than the practical statesman. Their value lies in the fact that Shelley is an optimist and encourages us to believe in and trust the innate goodness of the human heart. Their falsity lies in