| | | That , is an observation somewhere made by Plato; | deeper than appears at first sight, and the importance and | extensive application of which is not immediately obvious. Yet | how large a portion of our knowledge is there, which is | ascribable simply to the fact that we attain a positive notion of | the object contemplated, beyond what it can itself supply us with, | by viewing it in connexion with some second object, or | counterpart, at once differing from and resembling it! , | it is written, | | ; and this applies to the moral and intellectual world no less | than to the natural. The great law of contrast, as it may be called, | is, in fact, the prism which divides the rays of all knowledge, | thus rendering them cognizable by our capacities, and revealing | their nature by the aid of their developments. If in the visible | world there prevailed one uniform colour, to the exclusion of the | rest, our actual idea of colour would be doubtless so far inferior | to what we now possess, that it is a question whether we should | not be without any distinct apprehension of it whatever. So in | morals, the philosopher examines the nature of the | un just and | in voluntary, in order to enlarge our positive | conceptions of justice and free-will. Or, again, to take an | instance in religious matters, such a disturbance of the general | laws by which the world is governed, as was exhibited in the | judgment of the deluge, was evidently calculated to throw a more | extended light on the Divine character and attributes, than had | been hitherto afforded to mankind. And, in like manner, when it | is made a matter of surprise, as it sometimes has been, that | Scripture-miracles and Scripture-prophecy, the two great | evidences which so emphatically established the kingdom of God, | should be paralleled and apparently therefore obscured in some | degree, by similar antagonist systems in the kingdom of darkness, | (heathen sorcery and false prophecy having been permitted to | make head against the religion of the Law, and signs and lying | wonders being the certain tokens of the Antichrist of the Gospel) | it should be remembered that these false systems may, on the | other hand, be made instrumental, when employed rightly, even | to the fuller understanding and appreciation of those very divine | appointments which they counterfeit. We measure the pyramid | by its shadow, and thus acquire a knowledge of its wonderful | proportions, which would be otherwise unattainable. | | Now of all subjects on which knowledge has been thus attained, | one of the most interesting and striking examples is poetry. It is | important to notice this, because there is a temptation to believe | that, considering the confessed antiquity of poetry, it is | impossible but that its nature must have been thoroughly | scrutinized and sifted; and that, consequently, any pretensions to | novelty in the treatment of it, will be either a departure from the | known truth, for the sake of originality, or, at best, the | reproduction of old sentiments under a new exterior. Such a | suspicion may, accordingly, not unnaturally attach to any new | work upon the subject, even to volumes by so eminent a writer as | Mr. Keble, bearing as they do in their very title | (" On the Medical Efficacy of Poetry ") such | promising indications of originality in thought and treatment. | But if there be any truth in the principle, with the mention of | which we began, then we should naturally expect that it is only in | a late age of the world that we may hope to attain any full and | adequate | | notion of the essence of poetry; evidently because its successive | phases and manifestations are calculated to throw fresh light on | the amount of information which we possess respecting it; and to | bring out, in consequence, into more prominent relief some | feature hitherto unperceived or disregarded. Thus, as the field of | observation becomes daily more extended, the received theories | of poetry are found to be either erroneous or inadequate, and the | way is gradually paved for that full and perfect definition, which | is the comprehensive summary and embodiment of all the | information on the subject that man can arrive at. | | , says Coleridge, ; and Mr. Tennyson writes | under the same feeling of the insufficiency of poetical criticism, | when he exclaims ~~ | | So much the more valuable then, because so rare, are the | observations of a writer uniting in himself the qualifications, so | seldom found in the same person, of being at once both a poet | and a philosophic critic. That the present volumes have done a | great deal towards the solution of the mystery still hanging about | the whole question of poetry and poets, can scarcely be doubted | by anyone ~~ by | anyone , at least, who ventures to trust the | pleasure which he has received while reading them, as | consequent on finding the principle therein advocated capable of | solving so successfully the phenomena with which it has to deal | ~~ on feeling that a clue has been put into his hands which | reduces to intelligible order the otherwise "irremeabilis error" of | the poetical labyrinth. | | To judge, however, how much Mr. Keble has actually | contributed of what is new and valuable, would require an | examination of the various theories of poetry which have been | hitherto put forward, and most generally received. This, of | course, we can only partially accomplish, by devoting our | attention to one or two of the most important of them, those of | Plato and Aristotle in particular, as far as they are discoverable in | a general investigation. These two great masters have, however, | furnished, we believe, the outline and elements of all succeeding | systems; nor are these latter, after all, so numerous as might be | supposed; the reason being, that the majority of critics have, for | the most part, found the poetical character a problem too difficult | for discussion, while the real lovers of poetry, | | | are too much engrossed with their study to care for the reasons, | when they are satisfied with the fact. | | The Aristotelian doctrine, of poetry as consisting in imitation, is | one which has first claims on our regard, as being one of the | most famous and generally-received theories, though | occasionally disputed. It is sufficient to add, that it occupies a | prominent place in the well-known poetical Lectures of Dr. | Copleston. The whole doctrine is best given in Aristotle's own | language: ~~ | | | | He then goes on to say, that imitation being thus natural to us, ~~ | . | | Now the discussion which has been carried on for and against the | doctrine contained in this passage might apparently have been | simplified by the consideration, that the principle itself is of far | more universal application than to the single question of poetry; | for not only is the same principle common to the fine arts in | general, (as Aristotle himself implies,) but it is, in fact, the | . , says Mr. Wordsworth, , [and this is | exactly equivalent to Aristotle's ; and he | proceeds to say, that it might be easily applied to explain even | the pleasure afforded by metrical arrangement. The system of | rhyme in modern verse, and of parallelisms in Hebrew poetry, | occur to us as obvious exemplifications of the same principle. | The same has been also still | | more fully explained by Coleridge, in a passage at once so wise | and so eloquent, that the quotation of it at length will be excused. | | | | We have dwelt at some length on the very extensive application | of the principle of imitation, because it immediately affects the | whole question of the truth of Aristotle's theory. For, the | universality of the principle being admitted, the conclusion to | which we are led is necessarily this ~~ that so | far as there is imitation in poetry, there must necessarily be | pleasure of similitude and dissimilitude; but it is altogether a | further question how far this is a full and sufficient account of | the pleasure which poetry produces. This may be made more | clear by an illustration taken from the kindred art of painting. If | we see a good specimen of the Dutch school, a fruit or a flower | accurately painted, the pleasure which we receive is wholly | accounted for by the mere fact of the perception of the similitude. | But if we ascend higher in the art, and contemplate a fine | Madonna from the pencil of Raphael, a person of cultivated taste | will receive a higher pleasure than from the productions of the | other school; and yet the mere excellence of imitation is by no | means so prominent a feature as before. We exclaim, "How | natural!" at the sight of a well-painted bunch of grapes, making | the assertion that "this is that," by which Aristotle expresses the | same feeling of recognition. But the exclamation would be out | of place in the presence of a Raphael. It would rather be, "This is | not !" "How | super-natural!" "How much transcending in its ideal beauty | the ordinary forms that | | we see around us!" It is owing to this delineation of a nature | surpassing that of common humanity, that we derive such | peculiar pleasure from the picture; and accordingly, the term | imitation being inadequate to convey this, | must be rather exchanged for that of | expression , the latter word being more appropriate to | indicate the imitation of an idea , as | distinct from the copy of an external object. And as Aristotle | himself virtually acknowledges that poetry is the representation | of the ideal rather than the actual, the term imitation, as | explained in his treatise, is felt to be insufficient. We must | consider, however, that he seems to regard poetry as being | necessarily engaged with human action, in some form or other, | for its subject-matter, and consequently would naturally consider | tragedy as the most perfect exhibition of poetry, which also | seems to be the case. This being admitted, his employment of | the term imitation is sufficiently intelligible. | | The theory of Plato on the same subject, as far as it is | discoverable, is interesting, both from its difference as compared | with that of Aristotle, and because there appears, at first sight, | some discrepancy between his earlier and later writings. In the | famous passage in his "Republic," in which he insists on the | necessity of excluding poets altogether from his perfect state, he | grounds his objection to them on the same fact on which | Aristotle also dwells, viz. that they are | imitators . He is careful, however, to distinguish between | imitation and | expression (in the sense in which we have employed these | words.) The poets, he says, are three degrees removed from true | being. The first and highest form of being is the idea itself which | the artist attempts to realize. It is, to use his own kind of familiar | illustration, the ideal table present to the mind of the carpenter. | Being in the second degree, is the realization or expression of | this idea, i.e. the table itself which is | manufactured. And, thirdly, there is the lowest degree of all, | represented by the painted picture of the table; and it is to this | last form of being that he applies exclusively the title of an | imitation. To this it is that he compares the whole race of poets, | treating them as mere imitators of the actual characters in the | world, alike in their good and evil features indiscriminately; and | it is on the ground of the mischief thus done by them to the | morals of men that he insists on their exclusion. When a person | sees, he says, Homer's heroes beating their breasts and tearing | their hair about trifles, he will think himself at liberty to do the | same. Now, judging from this passage only, we should conclude | that Plato held poetry in very low estimation, not even admitting | with Aristotle that it undertook in any way to express the ideal, | but as merely imitative in the most restricted use of the word. | Other | | passages, however, in his earlier works, express an opinion on | the subject so different, as almost, at first sight, to amount to a | contradiction. Thus, in his "Phædrus," he informs us that | ; and that . The two passages are, however, we | think, not irreconcileable; though even M. Cousin inclines to the | opinion that Plato altered his mind more lately, and that his | second and matured thoughts on the subject are exhibited in the | "Republic." | | We think, then, that, while in the "Phædrus" he acknowledges | most fully the moral efficacy of poetry, | in the sense in which Mr. Keble so highly extols it in the | "Christian Year," | | yet he fears that, in consequence of the natural carelessness of | men, and its direct power to carry the mind along with it, the | judgment of the hearer may not unfrequently be warped, and be | led to approve any imperfect actions or characters that might | chance to be introduced by the poet into the body of his work; | and thus that poetry, though a mighty engine for good, might | have its powers occasionally diverted to the service of evil. This | view is further confirmed by a discussion carried on in his "Ion," | with a rhapsodist, one accustomed to descant on the beauties of | Homer before an audience. The rhapsodist , in the | course of the argument, is compelled to admit that he is no | competent judge or critic of many of the various subjects which | Homer treats of; that the farrier can judge better of Homer's | horses, and the smith of the armour of his heroes; ~~ the simple | fact of the case being this, that he is carried away by the | contagion of Homer's inspiration, as by an invisible influence, | and in turn communicates the same contagion to his audience ~~ | the effect produced, according to Plato's beautiful illustration, | being like that of a number of rings, which, when touched by a | magnet, remain suspended one by another in the air. It is clear, | then, that Plato draws a marked distinction between the spirit of | poetic frenzy (whatever meaning he may attach to it), and the | particular external form or channel in which it reveals itself, ~~ | considering, evidently, that a thorough participation in the | inspiring influence may co-exist with a complete ignorance of | | the defects or imperfections, if there be any, of the medium by | which it is conveyed, and may even make us blind to them | altogether. In Plato's system we have, therefore, a new element | over and above the simple principle of imitation put forth by | Aristotle, ~~ an element at once extending indefinitely the region | of poetry, inasmuch as no-one | can say under what form or | condition the so-called poetic frenzy may reveal itself. We do | not mean that Aristotle has entirely overlooked the existence of | this inspiration, which he and Plato designate by the name of | "madness," but he seems to consider its sole utility and | importance in poetry to consist in its being a sort of superior | dramatic faculty , one enabling its possessor | to represent all strong passions in the most vivid manner, and | thus to effect the one great object of giving a complete | representation of the various characters of life. | | Of the two systems, then, we should say that Plato's, in relation | to Aristotle's, was what the soul is to the body ~~ Aristotle | looking mainly to the outward form, Plato to the inward principle. | And this brings us immediately to the consideration of the line | which Mr. Keble has adopted. Aristotle seems to have given a | direction to all inquiries in the region of poetry, which has never, | widely at least, been departed from; all writers, generally | speaking, having fixed their attention exclusively on the external | product, the work actually exhibited too | the world; and having framed their judgments and opinions, their | canons of criticism, and the laws of poetical taste, accordingly. | Mr. Keble, however, has abandoned this beaten track, and | worked at the mine which Plato has indicated, rather than opened. | The two volumes before us are the riches which he had dug from | it. | | After observing that there are very many and intricately | connected sources of pleasure comprehended in the term | "poetical," he tells us that his object is to distinguish some one | particular pleasure among all these, to which the title of | "poetical" may be more strictly and especially applied. | | | | | | | Such is the general account of Mr. Keble's theory, which we | have preferred giving, as far as possible, in the way in which he | has himself exhibited it, in spite even of the disadvantage | attending on an inadequate translation of his elegant Latin. Its | connexion with the statements of Plato we have already noticed. | It is, in truth, the development and explanation of them; for what | other account can, in fact, be given of the Platonic "frenzy," than | that it is the exclusive absorption of the whole mind by one | ruling idea or passion? leading in some cases, as Mr. Keble had | observed, even to actual madness; of which he elsewhere refers | to Lucretius in ancient, and Shelley in modern times, as | remarkable examples. He has, further distinguished two kinds of | inspiration, ~~ that produced by exalted contemplations, and by | intense feeling. On this division we have not space at present to | observe more, than that it seems strongly confirmed by common | opinion; all persons, on the one hand, agreeing in giving the | name of poetry too the wonderful , in | whatever shape, and sympathizing, on the other hand, with the | outbursts of simple and vehement passion so common in the | ballads and metrical legends of every country. The poetry, | however, of deeper and softer feeling, being more obscurely | manifested, is not so readily detected, or so cordially | acknowledged. | | We must notice, however, more particularly, that part of Mr. | Keble's theory which is especially novel and original; we mean | his view of the indirectness and | reserve attending the | | expression of poetic feeling. We will, therefore, give a few | extracts illustrative of his views on this subject, though we can | notice only very few of the examples with which he has so | liberally enriched this portion of his lectures. Considering that a | poetical spirit frequently exists where there has been no attempt | at composition of any kind, he proceeds to examine cases of | conduct and behaviour which would be generally admitted to | indicate a poetical mind; and finds them all exhibiting the same | feature ~~ of an attempt to supply the absent object of the | affections by links of remote association. Thus he refers to the | boy, mentioned by Herodotus, who, going to the tyrant for his | reward, and being told in mockery to help himself to the | sunbeams, immediately, with his sword, drew a circle on the | floor upon which the sun was shining, and, affecting to draw | from its three handfuls of light, poured them into his bosom and | departed. | | | | It is similarly remarked by him, that the reason why rustics are | generally more poetical than town's people, is, that the latter, | from living constantly in the broad daylight of society, have lost | that modest reserve which distinguished the country poor, and | accordingly give immediate and direct utterance to every | emotion which possesses them. There is also a very interesting | passage in which he speaks of the frequent employment of irony | in poetry; irony, in its different forms, being so eminently | characteristic of strong, and, at the same time, reserved feeling. | | In his third prælection , Mr. Keble examines the various | arts of painting, sculpture, music, architecture, and oratory, and | shows, in detail, that, in each of these, the most poetical is that | which evinces the working of a full mind. It is for this reason, he | says, that sculpture (as is generally admitted,) is more poetical | than painting. So, too, music is so eminently poetical, because it | so indirectly, and yet so truly, expresses the windings of human | feelings. So Gothic architecture is the most poetical of all styles, | because the minds of its authors were so filled with the | contemplation of the true God. Bishop Taylor is more poetical | than Burke, Raphael than Rubens, because in each of | | these so much more is meant than meets the eye or the ear. From | among these we will select Mr. Keble's observations on the | subject of painting, as furnishing an admirable illustration of his | theory. | | | | The illustration, which we have just quoted at length, is also | useful in conveying a very good idea of an important feature in | Mr. Keble's system, ~~ his division of the class of poets into | primary and secondary. The former are those who write from the | inspiration of true feeling, and of course are, in Mr. Keble's view, | the only persons really entitled to the name of poet. The latter | kind are the whole crowd of imitators, who seeing | | the effect produced by true poetry, and possessing a natural | facility for throwing themselves, as it were, for the time into any | particular state of mind, are thus enabled to counterfeit the | appearance of real passion so successfully, as to attain, especially | if gifted with a command of language, a greater reputation than | many who are true inheritors of the "divine faculty." Thus | Dryden is, in Mr. Keble's estimation, the Rubens of his art, | possessing wonderful expertness in the imitation of feeling and | the judicious employment of language; but, like the rest of the | class which he belongs to, characterized by a want of depth and | reserve, and, more especially, of that | consistency which always attaches to a writer engrossed by | any sovereign and paramount affection of mind. | | Mr. Keble, however, does not consider that the composition of a | poet should necessarily exhibit throughout a perpetual flow of | the enthusiasm which inspires him. Even in the most glowing | poet, he says, there must be many passages introduced which do | not produce any sensible poetical effect . And this, we | consider, furnishes a full solution to the difficulty before referred | to, that, namely, of reconciling the earlier statements of Plato | with his later, his assertion of the powerful moral agency of | poetry, with his conviction of the imperfections of much of the | machinery which it employs. For it appears clearly from Mr. | Keble's observations, that even in a truly inspired work of poetry, | such as the Iliad, for instance, there may quite consistently be | introduced a variety of characters, not exhibiting any ideal | features, but simply imitations of those exhibited in ordinary life, | these being necessary to constitute the frame-work of the | composition ~~ that body , of which the | expression of feeling is the inner spirit . | Mr. Keble has well shewn how the excellences of the Achilles of | the Iliad, ~~ that ideal character which is the full expression of | the poet's mind, and invested accordingly with all attributes of | superhuman glory and dignity, ~~ are set off and contrasted by | the delineation of a great variety of subordinate and more | imperfect characters in the other heroes of the poem. It was | consistent, therefore, in Plato to object to any imperfect models | of conduct being introduced into his republic, without necessarily | changing his opinion of the high office and mission really | attaching to the poet. Who can deny that there is in | Byron a certain fine and noble feeling, | which is the secret inspiration of all that is poetical in his | writings? And who can doubt, at the same time, but that his | Laras and Childe Harolds would have been most rigorously | excluded from the Platonic polity? | | We regret that want of space must prevent our doing more | | than a mere allusion to what would be a very interesting subject | of examination, ~~ the theories of poetry entertained by | Coleridge and Mr. Wordsworth, in comparison with that of Mr. | Keble. That there are points of difference between them cannot | be denied, and, in some respects, the conclusions arrived at are | strikingly at variance. Thus, for instance, Coleridge never was | an admirer of Virgil; a poet on whom Mr. Keble comments with | all the evident delight of a kindred mind. But still, even in | Coleridge's system, as given us in his famous lectures on | Shakespeare, and still more in Mr. Wordsworth's, as detailed by | him in the preface to his poetical writings, there is enough | agreement to justify Mr. Keble's observation, that | | The fundamental difference between this and all other theories of | poetry that we have met with, is contained in its assignment of | the final cause of the poetic art; the old | systems making it consist in "giving pleasure to others," the | present system determining it to be "the affording of relief to the | writer." And the interest of studying the old classic poets by the | light of this principle, of following Mr. Keble in the application | of it (the substance of the greater portion of his volumes) to the | works of Homer, Æschylus, Pindar, Virgil, Lucretius, and others, | produces a feeling of pleasure like that with which one follows | the windings of an Alpine stream through a varied and | magnificent country, each turn of it disclosing new and | unexpected beauties, which are all the more admired because | they have been hitherto unknown and unexplored. To some of | the landscapes of this hitherto unvisited scenery we must now | attempt to introduce our readers, concluding our comments on | the theory itself with the remark, that the striking feature, and, in | our eyes, distinguishing excellence of these volumes is, that they | have done so much to remove that common misconception of the | whole nature and character of poetry, which leads to the | exclusive contemplation of the external body, rather than the | spirit which it ought to enshrine, ~~ the harmony of lines and | colours, rather than the thoughts and emotions which they are | intended to excite; the taste, in short, which forgets that the rule, | , is as important in matters of art as in those of | government; and which, confining its attention to points of | slighter consequence, ends at last in that mere commenting upon | words, and sentences, and "dramatic unities," which reminds us | of the criticism of the shoemaker of old on the sandals of the | statue of Phidias. | | And, first, with regard to the general classification of his | | poets: Mr. Keble, setting aside the usual division into epic, | dramatic, and the like, as one based on accidental variations, | adopts the simpler and more philosophical distinction of | persons and things , | that is, as fully as the nature of the subject will admit of so | definite a line of demarcation. The perfection of tragic and of | epic poetry, as far as the powers and inspiration of the writer are | concerned, he considers to be identical; Homer might have been | Shakespeare, and Shakespeare Homer. The province of either | lies in delineating the actions and characters of men, and the | difference in the external form of their compositions, is simply to | be attributed to the taste of their respective periods. To this | division belong, of course, Pindar and the Greek tragedians, | Sophocles, however, being excluded from the ranks of the | primary poets, as giving no perceptible indications of any native | and original vein of feeling, but owing his reputation chiefly to | the elaborate construction of his plot, and ingenuity in the | general arrangement of the parts of his drama. The second head | comprises the great school of the lovers of nature, the authors of | pastorals and bucolics , the votaries of woods, | mountains, rivers, and all the "changeful pageantry" of the | external world, not sympathizing in the love of arms and the stir | of society, which distinguishes the former class, but rather | courting solitude and retirement, ~~ a school later in its origin, | and exhibiting more interesting features in its development. The | great Latin writers, Lucretius and Virgil, stand at the head of it | among the classics. Each of these classes, however, admits of a | corresponding subdivision, agreeably to the original principles of | the theory adopted. The world of society and active life was | sufficient alike to furnish relief to the | affections of a poet, like Homer, looking backward to the | imagined excellencies of the heroic ages, and on the other hand | equally so to the contemplations of an | Æschylus, perplexed by the mysterious workings of Providence | in the affairs of men. And what Homer is to Æschylus such is | Virgil in relation to Lucretius. | | | | | | | The passage quoted is interesting, not only in that it assigns so | satisfactorily to each of these great writers his own peculiar vein | of inspiration, the very thread itself on which the pearls of his | poetry are strung; but still more from its having elucidated the | important fact till now, as far as we are aware, altogether | unnoticed, that there is a subtle connexion binding together into a | system the manifestations of a spirit hitherto, apparently, the | most utterly independent of the control of time and circumstance. | The chains have finally been attached to the floating island. | Poetry is proved to have been as fully directed by a | superintending Providence, to have had its regular sequences, | and run out its appointed harmonies, as much as history or | philosophy, or the world itself, ~~ a world, so clearly indicative | of a Divine superintendence in all its parts, that men of clear | intellects and irreligious minds, the Napoleons of the earth, have | been driven into fatalism almost unavoidably, as the necessary | creed of atheism. Mr. Keble, indeed, seems to consider that the | chief and proper | mission of poetry was finished at that fulness of time, | when the Divine light came into the world, and revealed objects | and interests which should fix for ever the wandering affections | of mankind; remarking hereupon how opportunely the Virgilian | poetry appeared at that very interval when the Homeric and | Æschylean regimen had failed to satisfy, and yet before | revelation had rendered the consolations of poetry altogether | unnecessary. Still, however, it was not either lost or nullified in | the Church which finally enshrined it, but as it was originally | | compatible with the purity of Hebrew worship at the beginning of | things, so now, in this latter time, it has continued to flourish in | and about the courts of the Christian sanctuary ~~ | in them, when the Church has possessed | most completely the affections of its members ~~ and is | consequently, in its full action, the most poetical of all societies; | about them more especially, when the | Church has lost its hold; the high and fine feelings, which have | been deprived of their proper channel, then bursting out all the | more impetuously in consequence, and in the end producing a | reaction ~~ for the poetry thus elicited again fulfils its original | office of exercising a sanatory influence on the mind, and thus | paves the way a second time for better things. , says | Mr. Keble, . Thus, while the truth of Mr. Wordsworth's | statement is admitted, that , Mr. Keble has the merit of | having first traced out that continuity | which is so essential to the very notion of life, independently of | its adding so greatly to its interest. He has discovered, we might | almost say, the "volcanic band" which unites the great vents and | spiracles of the moral world, analogous to that which modern | observation has detected in the physical. | | The drift of the author's comments on the works of the individual | writers is the same in kind, and the execution is equally | successful. The object in each instance has been to trace an unity | and a connexion of the highest kind, the correspondence, namely, | of the sentiments and other materials of the composition with the | circumstances and sentiments of the writer, more especially with | the one dominant feeling which is ascertained in various ways to | be the key-note of his poetry. It is particularly worthy of | observation how beautifully the nice shades of the poet's | character, and even the minutiæ of his rank and | situation in life, have been detected, by the combination of | scattered notices which his works are found to exhibit, when | submitted to a delicate and penetrating eye. To many, perhaps, | who expect that the beauties of poetry should reveal themselves | to the first hasty glance bestowed on them, these niceties will | appear to be overstrained and superfluous refinements. Yet are | they not after all in the true spirit of the often misapplied maxim, | ? A good poem, like a good painting, is capable of | being viewed in different lights and at different distances, and | will supply new beauties at every successive examination. This | is, in fact, the great practical difference between a good poem | and a worthless one, that the novelty and freshness of the one is | inexhaustible. How, indeed, can it be otherwise, when it is the | mirror of that wonderful and mysterious world, the mind of a | great poet? | | | Many examples of what we have been speaking are furnished in | the course of Mr. Keble's commentaries on the Iliad and Odyssey, | which are carried on through several successive lectures, and are | the first test and application of the proposed theory. The general | result is, that much the same has been done for Homer by Mr. | Keble which was done for Shakespeare by Coleridge (and, | indeed, the system of criticism adopted by the two writers is very | similar throughout). As we have been taught to consider | Shakespeare no longer as a poetical barbarian, but as a writer | possessing taste and judgment equal to his other powers, so the | judgment of Homer has been similarly brought prominently into | notice in the present lectures. Nowhere, according to Mr. Keble, | is this more evident than in the skill with which the poet has | managed to enlist our sympathies in behalf of his Achilles, a | matter the more difficult, inasmuch as, by his superior powers, | and endowments, by the favour with which the Olympian | deities uniformly attend him, by his being on the conquering | side, and, consequently, incurring something of the envy which, | ever more or less, attaches to success; by these and other | circumstances he seems almost necessarily excluded from the | pale of our affections. Yet it was essential that this ideal of | superhuman heroism should be both loved and admired by the | poet's hearers as much as by the poet himself. The end desired | was effected, observes Mr. Keble, in a variety of ways: one of | the most striking is the constant sense of premature death which | perpetually occupies him, and which is skillfully alluded to by | the poet at the very moment of his most exalted triumphs. | | | | Thus, (to take one instance out of many,) when Achilles is | described by Homer with all possible pomp and magnificence of | language, as setting forth to battle arrayed in his celestial armour, | and drawn by his immortal horses, the deficiency of interest | likely to ensue upon the introduction of a being endowed with | such supernatural power and splendour is wonderfully provided | against in the fine lines which immediately follow: ~~ | | | | | | Never, surely, were the tragic elements of terror and pity more | happily united in a single character! Observe, too, especially, the | softening effect of his filial affection, his attachment to | Patroclus, his love of his native country, and the characteristic | circumstance, that he finally consents to resign the body of | Hector, when moved, not by the prayers of Priam, but by the | appeal made by the latter to the memory of his father Peleus. | Such are some few out of the many instances collected by Mr. | Keble from the single character of the Achilles, in illustration of | the exquisite judgment of Homer, the | . Many others are supplied from different portions of | the poem, with none of which we were more struck than with the | observation, that the plot of the work is so admirably woven, that | we can scarcely lay our hand on a single circumstance which | does not grow naturally out of the preceding condition of things, | but is employed simply as a sort of to bring about the | requisite catastrophe. | | To return, however, more immediately to the consideration of the | consistency of the Homeric poetry. If | anyone can still entertain | a doubt as to the real nature of the | writer's inspiration, our author considers that all such scruples | must be removed by an examination of that other , the | Odyssey, embodying as it does so completely a second | remarkable manifestation of the heroic character, the passion for | nautical adventure and discovery. | | | | The author remarks, however, that there is yet a further element | in the governing feeling of the Odyssey united with the former, | though dissimilar to it, and this is the love of home and country, | a combination of these two impulses being in reality a pieculiar | feature in the character of mariners. The character of Ulysses is | toned as harmoniously to the spirit of the Odyssey, as that of | Achilles to the Iliad, and accordingly the love of home is a | predominant feature in his mind, which is fostered and excited to | the very last by the scenes of tranquil home-life to which the poet | with great art successively introduces him. To this it is that we | own the exquisite shifting panorama of the Phœnicians, the | Lotophagi, Sicily, Æolia, the abode of Circe, and the beautiful | cave and island of Calypso; and much as this principal portion of | the Odyssey has been admired and commented on, we think that | the development of its peculiar force and interest has been | reserved for Mr. Keble. As to Homer himself, it may be hardly | necessary to add, after what has been said, that Mr. Keble never | for a moment doubts the fact of his existence, or that he wrote | both the works which have so long passed under his name; the | Iliad probably in his earlier years, the Odyssey in his later. This | view he supports by a variety of interesting | internal evidence, condescending, however, to touch | slightly on one or two points affecting the | external testimony (usually advanced on the opposite side), | for the edification of those "oculatiores" who delight in raising | doubts where there | | is least room for them, and preferring their own imagined | sagacity to the concurring testimony of all ages. The following | is an interesting passage on the subject of his blindness: ~~ | | | | | | These lines, introduced by the author, as being so beautifully | indicative of Homer's resignation and tranquility in his blindness, | lead us to speak of a view of heathen poetry advocated by Mr. | Keble, and frequently illustrated in these lectures, yet far from | being generally admitted or acknowledged, and at the same time | very striking, we should imagine, and captivating to most minds | on its being first presented to them; we mean, the way in which | he connects the religion of the better part of the pagan world with | that with which revelation has blessed ourselves, regarding the | former not as a altogether erroneous or worthless, because | superseded by a better, (the common opinion of most persons,) | but rather as the first indistinct vision and obscure contemplation | of truths afterwards declared, the impassioned expression of an | earnest gaze, looking for the first dawn of approaching light; and | thus not only poetically interesting, but, much more than this, | becoming a vehicle of grave instruction, and forming likewise | the only really strong bond of sympathy between us and them; | the study which, without such a link of connexion, might have | been unblest, being sanctified in consequence: | | For instance, when Minerva is introduced by Homer as | condescending to assume the guise of a shepherd, a messenger, | or a herald, or to watch the fall of a quoit flung by | Ulysses, and proclaim him victor, this is clearly at variance with | the canon laid down by Horace, that a god should only interfere | when there is a superhuman difficulty to be solved, and many | accordingly may have regarded such passages as puerilities | unworthy of heroic poetry; yet, in spite of the canon, they | are neither out of season nor deficient in deep beauty and interest, | if only viewed as remarkable anticipations of the revealed | doctrine of a particular providence. A similar instance of faith | on the poet's part is instanced by Mr. Keble, in the circumstance | that . Indeed he regards the whole of the Odyssey as a | poem strictly religious in its scope and character; and this view is | expanded at large in the fifteenth prælection , one of the | most interesting of the series. | | It is to Æschylus, however, that we turn, if we wish to see the full | extent to which the above-mentioned principle is capable | | of application. In this poet we may safely say, that with the | rejection of it is involved the rejection of the grandest element of | his inspiration, and a very inadequate conception of his poetry | must be the consequence. The clue of all his writings must be | found, if anywhere, in the depth of his religious contemplations. | His path lay along the mysterious ocean of God's providence, | and he gathered the treasures which it cast up. What wonder, | then, if these fragments may be identified with the discoveries of | those more highly favoured men for whom the waves have | partially retreated, and whose steps extend far out over the sands | towards the remote and central fountains of the great deep itself. | | We subjoin, in illustration, some of Mr. Keble's remarks on the | famous Æschylean chorus, . After quoting the lines on | the omen of the hare devoured by the pair of eagles, and Diana's | compassion for them, he proceeds: ~~ | | | | Afterwards follows the corresponding Scriptural view of the | same mystery: ~~ | | | | | | Again, after quoting and paraphrasing the lines, | | he remarks on the latter clause: ~~ | | | | To the same effect are the following observations: ~~ | | | | | | We have said enough, perhaps, in illustration of the religious | source of the Æschylean poetry, to give some idea of Mr. Keble's | method of tracing out the connexion and relative bearings of the | greatest of the works of Æschylus, the Orestean trilogy, which he | regards as a general recantation, written in maturer life, of the | doctrine advocated in the Prometheus, wherein Æschylus had | represented Almighty goodness disjoined from Almighty power. | The whole comment is admirably executed; but, from its fulness | and intricacy, cannot be done justice to by any brief analysis or | quotation of particular passages. Let it suffice to add only the | beautiful close of the disquisition on the Eumenides: ~~ | | | | It can hardly fail to be noticed how fine an illustration these and | such like passages supply of the well-known beautiful lines in | the Christian Year, on the "Spoiling of the Heathen:" | | | | It may be worth while however, to subjoin Mr. Keble's general | summary of the scheme of the Æschylean trilogy, if only for | | the sake of the comparison therein instituted between this poet | and Sophocles, as well as for the vindication of Æschylus | himself from the charge of upholding the doctrine, often | attributed to him, of a blind and undiscriminating fatalism. | | | | In illustration of this last clause, (the sum of the Æschylean | theology,) it is elsewhere remarked, that the views of this poet | may be suitably compared with the Book of Job in Scripture, | where the discussion on the hard lot of mortality is similarly | closed by a reference to the supreme will of the sole Governor of | the world, who, being confessed to be | Omnipotent, must also be conceded to | be a God of perfect equity. | | We must pass over the author's lectures on Pindar, full as | | they are of very interesting observations on the peculiar character | of lyric poetry, especially with regard to the management of | metrical numbers; its employment of the intricate measures of | the ode, or, in modern times, the sonnet, being in direct | accordance with the law of reserve which is so leading a feature | in Mr. Keble's system. Nor can we afford to notice the | comments on Euripides, further than to mention that Mr. Keble is | at first decidedly inclined to exclude him from his list of primary | poets, but on closer examination considers that a native vein of | feeling may, after all, be discovered in him, or which in the close | of his prælection on the subject, he gives the following | summary: ~~ | | | | The reasons on which this view is grounded will easily present | themselves to the readers of the Euripidean tragedies, more | especially the Hippolytus and the Ion. We proceed to speak of | the two great poets of nature, Lucretius and Virgil, with whom | the series of prælections closes. The comments | referring to this department of the art, and comprised in the last | half of the second volume, are, we think, some of the most | interesting portions of the work. Its attractions, like those of a | well-written novel, increase as we approach the end. | | The vein of inspiration in Lucretius is not difficult to recoginse, | ~~ it is comprised in one word, Infinity. Whatever in nature is | vast, profound, obscure, and indefinite, the depths of space, the | rapidity of light, the motions of clouds and winds, all these are | the materials of his poetry; and hence his attachment to that | otherwise most unpoetical philosophy, the system of Epicurus; | the doctrine of atoms, sublime in their minuteness and celerity, | as well as infinite in number, having naturally great charms for | an imagination such as his. Mr. Keble quotes the following | passage in illustration: ~~ | | | | | And again, the lines on the upper sphere of infinite and | transparent æther ; written, one would imagine, by the | sea-side, on the stillest of summer evenings: ~~ | | | | Without, however, dwelling on a point which will be conceded at | once by every reader of Lucretius, (no other poet, we think, | bearing such unequivocal testimony, on the very surface of his | writings, to Mr. Keble's principle,) we pass on to some other | interesting features brought under notice in this poet; among | which must be observed the extreme simplicity of the materials | which he employs. A little air and water will furnish him with | arguments and illustrations for an entire poem. He is, in this | respect, aptly compared by Mr. Keble with the author of the | Divina Commedia, of whom it is remarked, that ~~ | | | | The observation of this extreme simplicity | of material in the construction of Lucretius' poem, leads | the author into an interesting digression, on the subject of the | various marvels and strange phenomena of nature, which appear | to be, in the opinion of most writers, so indispensable for the | decoration of their poetry. Mr. Keble does not hesitate to | condemn altogether this method of attempting to dazzle and | bewilder the mind of the reader, by making a parade of the | wonderful. He strongly upholds the maxim inculcated by Horace, | that , and consequently has no sympathy with any mere | attempts at the production of effect , the | one great aim of those poets who deal largely in descriptions of | American birds, Indian figs, banyans , and other similar | curiosities. The charm of such poems, if they have any, is, he | observes, to be sought elsewhere; and he gives two methods, by | which the above-mentioned Horatian precept may be complied | with, and such foreign materials be employed consistently with | | true poetry. One of these is, where the whole poem proceeds | according to a certain analogy ; the | habits, manners, and religion of some one particular nation, | being adopted, as shadows of truths, characters, or principles, | which are higher and more universal: ~~ | | | | The second method, by which materials strange to the poet | himself may be made poetically interesting, is both more subtle, | and more universally applicable. It seems just one of those | points which an imitator, however skilful, would be sure to | overlook; nay, would probably despise as merely the result of | accident, if it were pointed out to him; and is, accordingly, one of | the best examples which could be given of Mr. Keble's nice and | discriminating taste. We will give his view, as nearly as we can | follow it, in his own language: ~~ | | | | | | The subject of Lucretius' madness, confirmed by the general | tradition of his time, was alluded to in the discussion of Mr. | Keble's theory, with which it harmonizes very satisfactorily; and | there are not a few features in the poem itself, which favour the | supposition. But it must be further noticed, that he regards | madness in general, and more especially in times antecedent to | | the Gospel, as corresponding with those cases of possession by | evil spirits which occur so frequently in Scripture narrative; and | thus, as invested with all the interest attaching to a closer than | ordinary connexion with the unseen world. | | | | It is worthy of notice, that this view of madness, in confirmation | of which Mr. Keble quotes the general opinion of antiquity, that | the most celebrated heathen oracles were the organs of | demoniacal agency, is borne out in a remarkable degree by the | testimony of some of the missionaries in the Polynesian Islands, | at least if the statements of the natives on this subject may be in | any degree relied on; but, without dwelling on the reasons | adducible in its favour, we may observe, that it is in no way | inconsistent with the high moral, and even religious tone, which, | in spite of his philosophy, pervades Lucretius' poetry; Mr. Keble | well observing, that it is . The religious character of | this poet's mind is, indeed, especially remarkable. Many are | there who, professing reverence for Sacred Truth, have been its | worst enemies; but the case is an uncommon one of a writer | verbally denying its existence, yet in reality sanctioning and | supporting it with all the powers of his poetry. This subject is | treated at large, and with great effect, in the thirty-fifth | prælection , from which we content ourselves with a single | extract: ~~ | | | | | | It is suggested by Mr. Keble, in the course of his lectures, as an | important and interesting subject of investigation, whether and in | what degree the revelation of a true religion may be considered | favourable, or not, to the general interests of poetry. He has not, | indeed, undertaken explicitly to determine a question which | would necessitate his entering, in order to do it justice, upon so | wide a field of speculation; but, as far as his opinion is expressed | on particular and minor departments of the art, and judging also | from the general tone of his lectures, he is disposed, we think, to | consider that poetry has not been injured in this respect, even if | we cannot assert it to have been positively benefited. For | instance, with regard to an important province of the art, the | whole world of the brute creation, he remarks, that while on the | one hand we, of course, lost the poetry, (of which Æschylus | made so much use,) connected with the Pythagorean doctrine of | animals, as subject to transmigration, yet that this is compensated, | on the other hand, by that deep mystery of the connexion of their | fortunes and ours, which Scripture indicates, but still leaves in | obscurity. Now, an observation, tending to confirm this view of | the question alluded to, maybe made, we believe, on the different | styles of schools of poetry, of which | Lucretius and Virgil are severally the representatives. It might | be plausibly argued, that while, independently of religion, these | two lines of poetry might have run on in their main features as | distinct as ever, perpetually parallel, | | and never meeting; yet, that the natural effect of Divine Truth, | when generally received into the world, and especially when | heartily embraced by the poets of the period, would be, not | indeed, to destroy their poetry, but at any rate to obscure it, ~~ to | round off its edges, as it were, and efface from its features their | original peculiarities of expression; thus merging it altogether | into a third species, which might, indeed, be included under the | general title of religious poetry, but | which would furnish no points of difference striking enough to | permit of its arrangement according to any other classification. | Yet, how does the case actually stand? We have, it is believed, | what we may well call a crucial instance of the reverse being the | truth; that is to say, we have two poets in the present day, both of | a high order both deeply imbued with Religion, and even closely | in sympathy together on all points of the highest moment, whose | compositions, therefore, might, on the whole, be expected to be | in style and inspiration extremely similar; yet the lines of their | poetry are, if we mistake not, as distinctly separate as those of | the first authors of their respective schools. The writers to whom | we refer are, the author of The Cathedral, and the author of The | Christian Year himself. Surely, in Mr. Williams and Mr. Keble, | the different notes of the Lucretian and Virgilian music, far from | being blended together into an indistinguishable medley by time | and distance, are, in the main, faithfully echoed back in all their | original distinctness and individuality of character. To the | readers of Mr. Williams's poetry this must, we think, be so | evident, that quotation would be wasted in support of it. Let the | lines in The Baptistery, on the Years of Eternity, be referred to, | as one example out of many, in which the mystery of Infinity in | Time is treated in a corresponding manner to the Lucretian | passage, previously quoted, on the Infinity of Space. Nor is Mr. | Keble's especial preference for Virgil obscurely indicated; if we | may augur, not only from the soft and tender tone of feeling | which characterizes either writer, as though to minister | consolation "to sick hearts and weary spirits" were their | appointed office, but also from those minuter touches, | particularly in descriptions of nature, wherein Virgil appears to | have been his model, and which, perhaps, more than any other | circumstance, would indicate a community of sentiment. How | perfectly Virgilian are the following lines in the Sea Service: ~~ | | | | | Moreover, in his remarks on Virgil, Mr. Keble comments with | particular pleasure on those more elaborately | finished landscapes which are so peculiar to this writer | among the classics, and which he considers to refute completely | the assertion of some critics, (we believe Dr. Copleston among | the number,) who deny any thorough appreciation of the | picturesque to the ancient poets. The beautiful lines at the | beginning of the seventh Æneid, describing the night-voyage | along the shore on which Circe's dwelling was situate, are quoted | by him in evidence. And may not these, again, be paralleled with | the highly-wrought pictures which occasionally present | themselves in the Christian Year, and which we believe are never | to be found in Lucretius or Mr. Williams? For instance, in the | lines on the Burial Service, we find as follows: ~~ | | | | Other arguments might be adduced, but perhaps enough has been | said in support of the point which we contend for. Let us | proceed to notice some of the instances in which the muse of | Virgil, comparatively so much disparaged by critics of the | present day, has been done justice to by his admirers. The | commencement of Virgil's decline in modern opinion may be | dated, probably, from the period of the reaction, produced chiefly | by the writings of Mr. Wordsworth, against the gaudy and | unmeaning phraseology of the school of Pope. The language of | Coleridge is usually re-echoed; ~~ ? The argument | itself would probably be stated something in the following | manner: ~~ All the earliest poets of every nation have, it is said, | written to embody their lofty thoughts, and have adopted the | simple and natural expressions which the thoughts suggested; but, | in consequence of their frequently employing the language of | passion, which is not that of quiet and ordinary life, succeeding | writers, observing the fact, but ignorant of the cause of it, | imagined that the secret of poetry was contained in the use of an | extravagant and artificial phraseology, and that hence gradually | sprung up that incongruous combination of terms usually | denominated "Poetic diction." This is accordingly stated as a | principle generally applicable to the poetry of all countries, that | the first compositions are remarkable for their truth and | | simplicity of expression, the later ones for their attempts at | verbal embellishments; and thus Virgil, it is argued, attempted to | improve, unsuccessfully, upon the severe style and language of | Lucretius. | | This argument is best met, not by denying the truth or | importance of the principle which it advocates, but rather its | applicability to the particular instance. Not but that a certain | degree of ornament and polish may in any case be reasonably | permitted to a writer, as long as it be kept subordinate to points | of higher consequence; just as we may well admire the simple | majesty of early Gothic architecture, yet without necessarily | condemning the decorated style which followed it. But if it be | urged that Virgil has transgressed these limits, and that he | employs florid or magnificent language merely as a disguise for | sentiments in themselves trivial and unpoetical, these lectures, | without directly noticing the charge, often as it is repeated, | furnish, notwithstanding, a satisfactory and adequate refutation | of it. This is done, first, by showing that Virgil writes from a | fountain of real feeling, and therefore that his productions consist | of something more than mere sound and language; and secondly, | by proving that the chief part of what would probably be called | by most persons simply ornamental diction, is a true growth and | offshoot from his poetry. And first with regard to his vein of | inspiration. It is so clearly and expressly indicated by himself | that his affections were fixed on nature ~~ | | that Mr Keble considers it must have been almost impossible for | the majority of critics to have overlooked this fact, were it not for | the circumstance that Virgil also composed an epic which | imposed on them at once by its high-sounding title and | pretensions. With regard then to the Æneid, the author states his | approval of the suggestion originally made by the late M. Froude, | that it was written probably at the request of Augustus, who, | having restored to Virgil his estate, of which he, along with many | others, had been despoiled in order to recompense the soldiery, | had established thereby a lasting claim on the poet's gratitude, | and for which no return in the eyes of Virgil could be too ample. | Be this, however, as it may, it is remarkable that Virgil himself | was so dissatisfied with the production as to leave his dying | orders that it should be destroyed; and Mr. Keble has proved it to | exhibit sufficient evidence in itself that heroic poetry was not his | appropriate province. Thus he remarks (what is so generally | complained of) the utter want of character and individuality, not | only in the subordinate actors but even in Æneas; while Homer | and Shakespeare, on the contrary, invariably distinguish every | personage introduced by | | them, however short and insignificant may be the part he plays, | by some feature or another peculiar to himself. So again it is | observed, that in his descriptions of battles, Virgil evinces his | undisguised hatred of war and bloodshed, describing these in all | their horrors, and bending over and commiserating the dead. The | following comment on this head is also particularly worthy of | notice: ~~ | | | | Accordingly, the problem of the Æneid being satisfactorily | solved, there remains no reason for doubting that the source of | the Virgilian poetry lies in the world of nature, the Eclogues and | Georgics bearing ample testimony that he entered fully and | heartily into the occupations of rustic life; nay, even the Æneid | itself affording direct evidence of this taste, in what are perhaps | its most interesting passages, those namely, in which he catches | at the opportunity presented by his subject, of escaping from the | tumult of war and action, to linger about the objects on which his | affections centred. One of the most striking examples which Mr. | Keble quotes in illustration of this, is the description of Æneas' | voyage up the Tiber on his first arrival in Italy. | | A vindication of Virgil's style and use of language is perhaps | most effectually supplied in those passages where Mr. Keble | treats of the poetical reserve so remarkable in this poet; a reserve | increased probably by the want of sympathy with his own tastes, | which Virgil, if the conjectures respecting the Æneid have any | truth in them, must have experienced among the people of his | day. | | | | | Now this same book would probably be the one, according to | some critics, most liable to censure, as being more especially a | repository of trivial sentiments recommended by pompous | diction. Yet what, in fact, is this language, but that peculiar tone | of irony in which Virgil's reserve is so generally manifested? Let | us hear Mr. Keble on this point: ~~ | | | And, elsewhere it is added: ~~ | | | Another manner of expressing himself, very commonly | occurring in this poet, is observable in his custom of investing | trees or plants with human feelings and sensations. And here, | again, the author is careful to distinguish something more than | mere verbal decoration, inasmuch as he connects this language | with the lively and peculiar interest evinced by rustics in the | productions of the country, more especially in whatever they | have themselves reared and cultivated; the faith | | belonging to the farmer even more appropriately than to the poet. | | Lastly, we must not omit all notice of Virgil's frequent | employment of "proper names," a point on which he is so very | generally accused of being cold and artificial; Mr. Keble, | however, looks deeper into the matter, and is, we think, more | than usually happy in his comments on this feature of the poet's | | style, in which he recognises great and varied beauty. One of its | chief uses, according to him, is to localize | the description, or subject, of which the verses treat, and | thereby to invest it with greater truth and reality; as when a | person adds the minute particulars of time and place, in his | narration of a story. The author refers, in illustration to the | well-known lines in which Virgil speaks of the old man whom he | remembers to have seen , ~~ and to the passage of the | echo, in the seventh Æneid, along the lake of Diana, the Nar, and | the fountains of Velinus. | | | | The author proceeds afterwards to show, at length, that names of | places, besides the general reality with which they invest a | description and bring it home to us, may be further considered as | intimately connected with poetry on three separate grounds; first, | as recalling the familiar scenes, and with them the associations of | childhood; or, secondly, as awakening a peculiar feeling of | obscure and dreamy recognition; the poet reverting to places seen | by him only once and transiently, with the pleasure of a traveler | who goes a second time, after a long interval, over ground which | he has previously traversed; or lastly, as supplying a field for the | imagination ~~ a remark which applies to the mention of all | places with which the writer is personally unacquainted, but | which he dwells on, in the same way in which persons will often | amuse themselves with map, by trying to picture to themselves | the face of the country and the character of its streams or | mountains. In all this interesting | | portion of the prælections , which deserve a more | detailed notice then we can now afford them, the characteristic | practice of the poet is both explained and vindicated. | | Finally, before quitting Virgil, let us notice a very interesting | point on which Mr. Keble touches, in his remarks on the Platonic | character of Virgil's religion, namely, the meaning of the | dismissal of Æneas from the infernal regions to the upper world, | by the ivory gate, through which the false dreams passed, rather | than by the gate of horn which was exclusively appropriated to | the true visions. Mr. Keble naturally rejects the interpretation of | the old commentators, who regard it as a tacit declaration, on the | poet's part, that the whole scheme of a state of future retribution | as exhibited in the sixth book of the Æneid, was purely | imaginary, and employed only for poetical purposes, like any | other pleasing fiction. | | | | No-one , we think, | can hesitate to accept Mr. Keble's | interpretation, in preference to the one which he explodes; but | yet we do not quite see the force or appropriateness of the | implication thus conveyed; as it was competent for the poet, from | the first, if he had preferred it, to have exhibited the whole scene | to Æneas, by a vision presented to him in his sleep, instead of the | method which he has actually adopted; and we also seem to feel | that, according to this view, it would, on the whole, have been | more satisfactory, if he had departed by the horn-gate, rather than | the ivory one. We shall venture to suggest another explanation, | which, if the theory on which it depends can be substantiated, | would not, probably, be objected to by Mr. Keble as inadequate | or inappropriate. What, then, if it can be made to appear that | Virgil wrote with no express intention of representing an | imaginary subterranean world, but took | for his theatre (much as Homer had done before him) the actual | and visible region so long marked out by popular tradition as the | kingdom of the dead, ~~ the district, namely, containing the lake, | | which still bore the name of Acheron, and that volcanic and | sulphureous tract which so naturally suggested the fiery river and | other terrors of the realm of Tartarus ~~ and that his object was | rather by a kind of illusion skillfully to adapt and interweave the | later fiction of a subterranean world, than directly to employ it as | his scene of action? If this could be proved, then the subject of | the dismissal by the ivory gate would be capable of a natural and | consistent explanation of the following effect: ~~ Æneas is | conducted into this sacred ground, and, under certain conditions, | has his eyes opened for awhile, to discern the mysteries of the | invisible world which occupies it; but when the object is | accomplished for which he was admitted there, the mysterious | scene is not, of course, intended to remain permanently visible to | him, and accordingly, he is made to pass out at the gate of false | dreams, that is, he is now placed under a delusion, or what would | be styled a "glamour," in the language of northern mythology; | his eyes are again closed to the realities of things, he discerns | nothing more of the invisible world which is around him, but | traverses, unconsciously, the very scene itself of these wonders, | ( ), and rejoins his companions on the shore of Cumæ. | | Now Heyne and other commentators on the Sixth Book of the | Æneid, while taking great pains to fix the sites of the temple of | Apollo, the lake and cavern of Avernus, and even Acheron itself, | yet invariably adopt the subterranean hypothesis, and furnish, | accordingly, some imaginary scheme of an intricate circle of | waters, or succession of rivers flowing one into the other, as best | satisfying the demands of the poet's geography. An ingenious | pamphlet was, however, published some years ago at Naples, in | which its author attempted to harmonize the description of the | poem more completely with the existing features of the country. | The ground assigned by him as the scene of Æneas' wanderings, | is the tract of country extending four or five miles from Cumæ | southwards, and terminating in Cape Misenum. | | This region is surrounded on three sides by the Mediterranean; | and in the days of Strabo, when the Lucrine lake had been united | with Avernus, was almost a peninsula, being united to the main | land only by the narrow tract of ground lying between Avernus | and the coast of Cumæ. These lakes, together with Acheron, | which lies by the sea, on the western side of the district above | mentioned, and, according to Strabo's account of it, well answers | to the modern lake of Fusaro, are considered by him as | represented in Virgil indifferently under the names of Styx, | Cocytus, &c. and constitute the boundary of the Infernal | | Regions. The cavern now existing in the side of the crater-like | basin of Avernus, which is usually identified with that described | in Virgil as the entrance of Tartarus, he states to be occasionally | open at its southern extremity, and accordingly conducts the hero | and priestess through this, downwards | towards the Acheron, or Fusaro; which being crossed, they are | supposed to leave on their left hand the "Tartarian domains" | represented by the volcanic ground in the centre of the district, | and finally arrive at the Elysian fields, which are fixed on the | sea-coast in the neighbourhood of the port of Misenum, in | accordance probably with the Homeric description of them. | | The scheme is drawn out with a minuteness of detail which is | occasionally ludicrous; but the general notion seems both | original and deserving of attention. We will mention briefly | some of the chief arguments which occur to us in favour of it. | | And first, we might perhaps expect beforehand, from the | circumstances of the case, that a writer of Virgil's judgment | would adopt this line. The difficulty with which he had to deal | was that the kingdom of the shades having been once fixed here | from the time of Homer, the whole country became naturally | invested in the eyes of men with the religious awe connected | with such a tradition; while, on the other hand, increased | familiarity with the same region would naturally give that turn to | popular belief, which gradually led men to regard the world of | spirits as situate beneath the earth rather than upon it. Would not | this difficulty be best met by adhering to the actual localities thus | reverenced, yet approaching them by so mysterious an entrance, | as should encourage the illusion that a descent had actually been | made into a subterranean region? It must be remembered also, | that Virgil was resident for a considerable time at Naples, and | would naturally haunt and dwell upon this consecrated and | mysterious scenery with more than common interest. Again, if | we look to facts, they seem to point in a similar direction. Thus | Virgil not unfrequently imitates the language of the Odyssey on | the same subject; but yet where the imitation is most striking, | differs from his original, in order to describe more accurately the | true features of the country. Thus Homer, relating the difficulties | which beset the approach to the realm of shades, says: ~~ | | | | Now the forests growing round Avernus are specially remarked | by Strabo. Acheron, again, is described by Strabo in almost the | same language which Virgil uses. is the expression of | the poet; , that of the geographer. And it may | be added, on the same subject, that Virgil perpetually employs | the term or ( palus , stagnum | , lacus , &c.) and hardly ever that of "river" in | speaking of the Infernal waters. | | The same view is confirmed by a reference to the illustrations | employed. Thus, at the outset of the journey, Æneas and the | Sibyl are compared to travelers passing through forests in dim | and uncertain moonlight. The souls round Charon are compared | to autumnal leaves and to birds of passage. The dim apparition | of Dido is likened by the poet to the moon faintly struggling | through a cloud. Or, again, one of the first objects seen on | entering is the elm, under the leaves of which the dreams are | clustered. Thus all the imagery employed appears to be taken | from the actual features of the country; yet is so managed, as to | produce in the mind a strange dreamy sense of uncertainty and | illusion, like that which, in one of La Motte Fouqué's finest | stories, is represented as overtaking his hero, Sintram, on his | entrance into the dark valley, . We leave then our | theory of the "ivory gate" to rest on the arguments above stated, | in the hope that they will be strong enough to support it. | | That which is above praise may fairly claim, it should seem, to | be above criticism. We make, therefore, the following | concluding remarks, in the way, to use the author's own language, | not so much of assertion as investigation. Our feeling is, that the | theory stated and applied in these volumes harmonizes perhaps | better with the phenomena of ancient than of modern poetry ~~ | that there have been, especially in later times, writers, who | cannot indeed be said to exhibit any one ruling affection such as | would be necessary to give them a place among the great primary | poets of Mr. Keble's system ~~ men, who perhaps have | undertaken to describe human action, and whose pages are full of | false and exaggerated sentiment, or who have depicted nature | and scenery in untrue colouring; who, notwithstanding, seem to | possess something more than mere artistical | talent, and may not consequently be thrust down at once | into the secondary ranks of versifiers and imitators ~~ men who | have not unfrequently written passages which we cannot refuse | to call in themselves eminently poetical, however much the | authors of them may be deficient in those general notes of truth | and consistency which characterize the highest poets. Why, | argued Aristotle, if a man is positively happy at any given | moment of his life, must we wait till he is dead before we can | pronounce him happy? ~~ and, so, in some sense, | | it might be asked, why, when a man has written that which is | poetical, must we wait to examine the whole of his writings | before we can pronounce him to be a poet? We lack, in short, a | middle place between Mr. Keble's two great divisions of primary | and secondary writers; and, if we can make our view intelligible, | some reasons may perhaps be assigned why such a place should | be conceded. | | The birthplace of poetry is of course in that element of our nature, | which was called by the Greek moralists, or is | represented by the general name of the "heart and affections," | among ourselves ~~ and which, under whatever particular | manifestation we regard it, whether in the form of love, or even, | according to Coleridge, embodied in the scriptural expression | , always implies a warmth of feeling which carries us | beyond ourselves, and is the direct counterpoise to the lower | propensities of our nature, to its selfishness and utilitarianism: ~~ | | Further, this feeling, when once awakened, has also its | corresponding object, something morally beautiful and excellent, | in the attainment of which it rests, and without which it is not | satisfied. In Dante's language: ~~ | | On the other hand, it must not be overlooked, that the object may | occasionally be such as by its very potency to arouse and call | forth feeling otherwise dormant in the mind: it may be one on | which we no sooner gaze than we immediately ascend towards it. | Hence, all poetry, it would seem, is capable of being | contemplated under a two-fold point of view, what we may | conveniently call its subjective and objective aspects. It is to the | latter of these that we call attention on this occasion. Mr. Keble | has confined himself almost exclusively to the former view; the | feeling as it exists in the poet's mind is what he looks to; and | naturally so; for the object which satisfies it is comparatively | unimportant, when the whole question to be determined is simply | whether such feeling be genuine or fictitious. Nor, again, in | many cases is the object of equal interest to the reader and to the | writer of the poem. We admire the Achilles, not because we are | ourselves enraptured with the perfections of the heroic ages, but | because we see evidently that they were of such surpassing | interest of Homer. The prominent feature which attracts us is | | all along that restless (in Mr. Wordsworth's language) | which requires to be "mitigated" by the aid of poetry. But let us | now approach poetry from the other side; and what if there shall | be objects which, when presented to the mind, command of | themselves, and from their own nature, a most universal interest | and direct sympathy? Will they not in some sort convert men | into poets even in spite of themselves? that is, will they not | occasionally produce for the time a true and sufficient inspiration, | even in minds not possessing, it may be, that intensity of feeling | which seeks to escape in one uniform and decided current? It | might perhaps be urged, on the other side, that this would be in | fact seeking | | and that, in attributing any inspiring power to the object, itself, | the truth contained in Coleridge's beautiful lines is overlooked: | | Our meaning, however, is altogether in the spirit of these lines | ~~ that while a certain degree of responsive feeling is, of course, | necessary in the mind which contemplates, the object itself may | justly be called poetical independently of this feeling, exactly as | a thing is really beautiful, though grief or oppression of spirits | may for the time prevent our deriving pleasure from the | perception of its beauty. And what other can these objects be, | which are thus capable of awakening deep feeling, and therefore | even of creating poetry, but those Ideas of which all men in some | degree acknowledge the influence ~~ namely, the high and | abstract ideas, or mysteries, of Perfection, Eternity, Infinity, | absolute Tranquillity, and others akin to these? | | Let us take Mr. Moore's lines as an example of what we mean: | | Who would deny these lines to exhibit an eminently poetical | feeling in the writer, setting apart the consideration whether he | be a primary poet, in Mr. Keble's sense of the term? And what | do these lines embody but one of these ideas, which, perhaps, | | more than any other, engrosses and fills the mind? , in | Hooker's language, being . We may refer, also, to one | of the most admired of Mr. Tennyson's poems, the Lotus Eaters, | as an instance of the exhibition of the same idea; where the effect | is further heightened by the contrast drawn between the | wearisome labours of men, | | and the sublime tranquility of the Epicurean heaven: ~~ | | We remember, also, a fine example in the Lyra Apostolica, in the | lines beginning, ~~ | | | | Take, again, an instance of a different idea. One of the finest | passages in Thalaba is that in which the penitent rebel-angels are | introduced: ~~ | | | All the grand and highly poetical effect of this passage is | evidently traceable to the Idea or Mystery of the Free-will, as | witnessed to in the fact that a responsible being is compelled to | acquiesce in the justice of inflicted punishment. | | Or, if we look to the poetry embodied in the national legends of | any country, we find the same ideas distinctly mirrored in them. | What else was the remarkable classic legend of the ever-flowing | ocean river, with the everlasting lights rising and setting in its | waters, but the representation of "life continuous, being | unimpaired?" What the modern Irish tale of the towers long | buried by the waves, and still occasionally visible beneath them, | but a form of representing Eternity? Such traditions, whether | originating in accident or fiction, would never have been | preserved, if they were not the imperceptible vehicles of a deeper | feeling. | | | In all these instances, then, there is high poetry in a just sense of | the word, and to be legitimately accounted for by the fact of their | connexion with one or other of those great and prime ideas which | are, more or less, engrossing to the minds of all men. | | It was observed that this species of poetry was apparently more | particularly characteristic of modern times; and so widely does | this apply, that perhaps even a third field of poetry might not | unreasonably be added to the two already enumerated by Mr. | Keble; that, as there has flourished a distinct poetry of | persons , and afterwards a distinct poetry of | things , so, lastly, there has also been a | distinct poetry of ideas ; and this last | mentioned species would apparently be especially suitable, in its | character, to the period of a revealed religion. Mr. Wordsworth | had remarked, that, after the gift of Christianity to man, ~~ | | and the observation seems more immediately applicable to | Poetry. It is not meant that this third province was altogether | unentered by the classic poets, or that it stands altogether | independent of the other two in modern composition, but that the | old writers only touched upon it slightly and incidentally in | comparison with later authors. And of the way in which this may | happen we find very good illustrations in the present lectures; for | it has been well shown by Mr. Keble that the poetry of active life | occasionally invades the province of inanimate nature, and the | reverse; the Homeric writer at times becomes Virgilian, and the | Virgilian Homeric; so, in the same manner, that Lucretius, in the | midst of his philosophical speculations, has written a lamentation | over the miseries of human life in the style of Virgil, while Virgil, | again, in those beautiful passages where he refers, on several | occasions, to the subjects of physical philosophy, for the time | fully enters into the poetry of Lucretius. Exactly in the same way | is it that the classic poets in general have touched occasionally on | that province which we have distinguished as the poetry of ideas, | none perhaps more obviously than Lucretius, though Homer and | Virgil have done the same, but less frequently and directly. | Virgil, in particular, will furnish us with a good instance both of | the fact itself, and of the difference, in this respect, between | himself and the modern poets. There is a single line in his fourth | Georgic, not noticed by Mr. Keble, but, we think, as full of | poetry as a single line can comprise: speaking of the shortness of | the lives of bees, Virgil remarks: ~~ | | | The poet evidently dwells with delight on the reflection that what | at first sight conveys the notion of nothing but the mutable and | the transitory, involves more deeply the idea of everlasting | continuance and permanency; the several momentary atoms | which pass by in such rapid succession, are found to be the links | of a chain old as the heaven and earth itself. Now what else is | this idea, so casually glanced at, and so immediately quitted, but | the one great idea which lies at the root of the compositions of | our modern master-poet, Mr. Wordsworth? An idea of which he | himself furnishes the formula in the expression ~~ | | and brought out, perhaps, most fully and directly in his Vernal | Ode; but traceable in various forms, from one end to the other of | his writings. | | Thus, how evidently he selects from the shifting scenery of | nature all that most completely embodies which he | loves to contemplate; ~~ | | With pleasure he dwells on Painting, as an art whose province it | is more especially to fix and enchain the transient. Here, then, is | a poet whom we may call primary in a new province, | comparatively unknown to the ancient world, the region of ideas | being to him, what the region of humanity was to Homer, or that | of nature to Virgil. Moreover, in which of these two other | classes could we arrange Mr. Wordsworth's poetry, if we wished | to do so? Shall we class him with those who have exquisitely | celebrated the glories of the natural world? This he has done | undoubtedly; but he is also the poet of humanity in a degree far | beyond Virgil or Lucretius; and yet it is remarkable that he by no | means possesses that dramatic faculty which is the exclusive | inheritance of the Homers and the Shakespeares, whose province | is human action. He is , as Coleridge has observed; | never sympathizing with the characters | whom he describes, but feeling always for | them; a philosophical contemplator of the drama of life, | rather than an interested actor in it. What remains, then, but to | say that the mysteries of ideas are the especial sources of his | inspiration, and consequently the thread of his poetry; that some | one of these more immediately fills and occupies his mind, but | that his province lies among them all, and that he avails himself | indifferently of the world of society and of nature, of mind and of | matter, according as these can best supply him | | with shadows and reflections of them, even as he himself writes: | ~~ | | | | Two observations may be made in confirmation of the view here | taken. It is occasionally said that Mr. Wordsworth's poetry is | deficient in that great charm of indirectness | which distinguishes the classic writers; these latter so | generally giving utterance to poetical sentiments, without | seeming to be conscious that they are doing so. Now, if it be | granted, as it probably will be, that this is chiefly the case in | those passages of the old writers in which they seem to have | stumbled unawares upon some high idea, or mystery, the display | complained of in modern poetry must, in some degree, be the | natural consequence of these mysteries being made more direct | objects of contemplation. The second proof to which we appeal, | is the not unfrequent assertion that Mr. Wordsworth's poetry is | adapted only to minds of a particular cast, and not capable of | being appreciated by a considerable number. Now is not this | exactly what might be expected with regard to a writer whose | especial province is the region of ideas, rather than things or | persons? Those who are altogether deficient in imagination, | whose wings, in Platonic language, have irrecoverably dropped | off, can never ascend with the writer into the world which is so | familiar to him, and consequently will never enter into the spirit | of his poetry. | | Thus much on the subject of Mr. Wordsworth's compositions, | which we have alluded to as principally exemplifying the view | which we have here attempted, however unsuccessfully, to | delineate. There is a pleasure in concluding with the mention of | a writer, to whom Mr. Keble, in the dedication of his volumes, | acknowledges himself to be under the deepest obligations from | the study of his poetry, and whom he considers, , to | have fulfilled most worthily the mission with which he was | entrusted.