The old Bards and Minnesingers possessed, in the fullest
perfection, the finest and truest elements of Poesy; and Thomas Moore,
singing his own ballads, is but putting the final touch to their
completion as poems.
To recapitulate, then, we would define in brief the Poetry of
words as the Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Beyond the limits of
Beauty its province does not extend. Its sole arbiter is Taste. With
the Intellect or with the Conscience it has only collateral relations.
It has no dependence, unless incidentally, upon either Duty or
Truth. That our definition will necessarily exclude much of what,
through a supine toleration, has been hitherto ranked as poetical,
is a matter which affords us not even momentary concern. We address
but the thoughtful, and heed only their approval- with our own. If our
suggestions are truthful, then "after many days" shall they be
understood as truth, even though found in contradiction of all that
has been hitherto so understood. If false, shall we not be the first
to bid them die?
We would reject, of course, all such matters as "Armstrong on
Health," a revolting production; Pope's "Essay on Man," which may well
be content with the title of an "Essay in Rhyme"; "Hudibras," and
other merely humorous pieces. We do not gainsay the peculiar merits of
either of these latter compositions- but deny them the position they
have held.
Pages:
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163