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diff --git a/42041-0.txt b/42041-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14aeca0 --- /dev/null +++ b/42041-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8044 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42041 *** + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + http://archive.org/details/studiesofcontemp00sturrich + + +Transcriber's note: + + In the original text, a row of spaced periods was used to + separate extracts where lines of the poems were omitted. + In this version these are represented as "....." + + Greek text has been transliterated and enclosed by equal + signs (example: =eithe genoimên=). + + + + + +STUDIES OF CONTEMPORARY POETS + +by + +MARY C. STURGEON + +Author of "Women of the Classics" etc. + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +New York +Dodd, Mead & Company +MCMXVI + +Printed at +The Ballantyne Press +London, England + + + + +TO + +PROFESSOR W. H. HUDSON + +IN GRATITUDE AND ESTEEM + + + + +_Acknowledgment_ + + +The author begs to offer warm thanks to the following poets and their +publishers, for the use of the quotations given in these studies: + +Mr Masefield and "John Presland"; Mr John Lane for the work of Mr +Abercrombie and Mrs Woods; Messrs Sidgwick and Jackson for the work of +Miss Macaulay and Rupert Brooke; Mr A. C. Fifield and Mr Elkin Mathews +for the work of Mr W. H. Davies; Messrs Constable for the work of Mr de +la Mare; Mr Elkin Mathews, _New Numbers_, and the Samurai Press for the +work of Mr W. W. Gibson; the Poetry Bookshop for the work of Mr Hodgson; +Messrs Max Goschen Ltd. for the work of Mr Ford Madox Hueffer; Messrs +Maunsel and Co Ltd for the work of the members of "An Irish Group" and +of Mr Stephens; the Samurai Press and the Poetry Bookshop for the work +of Mr Monro; and Mr William Heinemann for the work of Mrs Naidu. + + + + +Contents + + + PAGE + + LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE 11 + + RUPERT BROOKE 36 + + WILLIAM H. DAVIES 53 + + WALTER DE LA MARE 72 + + WILFRID WILSON GIBSON 87 + + RALPH HODGSON 108 + + FORD MADOX HUEFFER 122 + + AN IRISH GROUP 137 + + ROSE MACAULAY 181 + + JOHN MASEFIELD 197 + + HAROLD MONRO 217 + + SAROJINI NAIDU 235 + + "JOHN PRESLAND" 248 + + JAMES STEPHENS 282 + + MARGARET L. WOODS 301 + + BIBLIOGRAPHY 327 + + + + +Lascelles Abercrombie + + +In the sweet chorus of modern poetry one may hear a strange new harmony. +It is the life of our time, evoking its own music: constraining the +poetic spirit to utter its own message. The peculiar beauty of +contemporary poetry, with all its fresh and varied charm, grows from +that; and in that, too, its vitality is assured. Its art has the deep +sanction of loyalty: its loyalty draws inspiration from the living +source. + +There is a fair company of these new singers; and it would seem that +there should be large hope for a generation, whether in its life or +letters, which can find such expression. Listening carefully, however, +some notes ring clearer, stronger, or more significant than others; and +of these the voice of Mr Abercrombie appears to carry the fullest +utterance. It is therefore a happy chance that the name which stands +first here, under a quite arbitrary arrangement, has also a natural +right to be put at the head of such a group of moderns. + +But that is not an implicit denial to those others of fidelity to their +time. It is a question of degree and of range. Every poet in this band +will be found to represent some aspect of our complex life--its awakened +social conscience or its frank joy in the world of sense: its mysticism +or its repudiation of dogma, in art as in religion: its mistrust of +materialism or keen perception of reality: its worship of the future, or +assimilation of the heritage of the past to its own ideals: its lyrical +delight in life or dramatic re-creation of it: its insistence upon the +essential poetry of common things, or its discovery of rare new values +in experience and expression. + +This poetry frequently catches one or another of those elements, and +crystallizes it out of a mere welter into definite form and recognizable +beauty. But the claim for Mr Abercrombie is that he has drawn upon them +more largely: that he has made a wider synthesis: that his work has a +unity more comprehensive and complete. It is in virtue of this that he +may be said to represent his age so fully; but that is neither to accuse +him of shouting with the crowd, nor to lay on the man in the street the +burden of the poet's idealism. He is, indeed, in a deeper sense than +politics could make him, a democrat: perhaps that inheres in the poetic +temperament. But intellectuality like his, vision so brilliant, a spirit +so keen and a sensuous equipment so delicate and bountiful are not to be +leashed to the common pace. That is a truism, of course: so often it +seems to be the destiny of the poet to be at once with the people and +above them. But it needs repetition here, because it applies with +unusual force. This is a poet whose instinct binds him inescapably to +his kind, while all the time his genius is soaring where the average +mind may sometimes find it hard to follow. + +One is right, perhaps, in believing that this particular affinity with +his time is instinctive, for it reveals itself in many ways, subtler or +more obvious, through all his work. As forthright avowal it naturally +occurs most in his earlier poems. There is, for example, the +humanitarianism of the fine "Indignation" ode in his first volume, +called _Interludes and Poems_. This is an invocation of righteous anger +against the deplorable conditions of the workers' lives. A fierce +impulse drives through the ode, in music that is sometimes troubled by +its own vehemence. + + Wilt thou not come again, thou godly sword, + Into the Spirit's hands? + + ..... + + Against our ugly wickedness, + Against our wanton dealing of distress, + The forced defilement of humanity, + + ..... + + And shall there be no end to life's expense + In mills and yards and factories, + With no more recompense + Than sleep in warrens and low styes, + And undelighted food? + Shall still our ravenous and unhandsome mood + Make men poor and keep them poor?-- + +In the same volume there is a passage which may be said to present the +obverse of this idea. It occurs in an interlude called "An Escape," and +is only incidental to the main theme, which is much more abstract than +that of the ode. A young poet, Idwal, has withdrawn from the society of +his friends, to meditate about life among the hills. All the winter long +he has kept in solitude, his spirit seeking for mastery over material +things. As the spring dawns he is on the verge of triumph, and the soul +is about to put off for ever its veil of sense, when news reaches him +from the outer world. His little house, from which he has been absent so +long, has been broken into, and robbed, by a tramp. The friend who comes +to tell about it ends his tale by a word of sympathy--"I'm sorry for +you"--and Idwal replies: + + It's sorry I am for that perverted tramp, + As having gone from being the earth's friend, + Whom she would have at all her private treats. + Now with the foolery called possession he + Has dirtied his own freedom, cozen'd all + His hearing with the lies of ownership. + The earth may call to him in vain henceforth, + He's got a step-dame now, his Goods.... + +Evidence less direct but equally strong is visible in the later work. It +lies at the very root of the tragedy of _Deborah_, a heroine drawn from +fisher-folk, who in the extremity of fear for her lover's life cries: + + O but my heart is dying in me, waiting: + + ..... + + For us, with lives so hazardous, to love + Is like a poor girl's game of being a queen. + +And it is found again, gathering materials for the play called _The End +of the World_ out of the lives of poor and simple people. Here the +impulse is clear enough, but sometimes it takes a subtler form, and then +it occasionally betrays the poet into a solecism. For his sense of the +unity of the race is so strong that natural distinctions sometimes go +the way of artificial ones. He has so completely identified himself with +humanity, and for preference with the lowly in mind and estate, that he +has not seldom endowed a humble personality with his own large gifts. +Thus you find Deborah using this magnificent plea for her sweetheart's +life: + + ... there's something sacred about lovers. + + ..... + + For there is wondrous more than the joy of life + In lovers; there's in them God Himself + Taking great joy to love the life He made: + We are God's desires more than our own, we lovers, + You dare not injure God! + +Thus, too, a working wainwright suddenly startled into consciousness of +the purpose of the life-force muses: + + Why was I like a man sworn to a thing + Working to have my wains in every curve, + Ay, every tenon, right and as they should be? + Not for myself, not even for those wains: + But to keep in me living at its best + The skill that must go forward and shape the world, + Helping it on to make some masterpiece. + +And with the same largesse a fiddling vagabond, old and blind, thief, +liar, and seducer, is made to utter a lyric ecstasy on the words which +are the poet's instrument: + + Words: they are messengers from out God's heart, + Intimate with him; through his deed they go, + This passion of him called the world, approving + All of fierce gladness in it, bidding leap + To a yet higher rapture ere it sink. + ... There be + Who hold words made of thought. But as stars slide + Through air, so words, bright aliens, slide through thought, + Leaving a kindled way. + +Now, since Synge has shown us that the poetry in the peasant heart does +utter itself spontaneously, in fitting language, we must be careful how +we deny, even to these peasants who are not Celts, a natural power of +poetic expression. But there is a difference. That spontaneous poetry of +simple folk which is caught for us in _The Playboy of the Western World +or The Well of the Saints_, is generally a lyric utterance springing +directly out of emotion. It is not, as here, the result of a mental +process, operating amongst ideas and based on knowledge which the +peasant is unlikely to possess. One may be justified, therefore, in a +show of protest at the incongruity; we feel that such people do not talk +like that. The poet has transferred to them too much of his own +intellectuality. Yet it will probably be a feeble protest, proportionate +to the degree that we are disturbed by it, which is practically not at +all. For as these people speak, we are convinced of their reality: they +live and move before us. And when we consider their complete and robust +individuality, it would appear that the poet's method is vindicated by +the dramatic force of the presentment. It needs no other vindication, +and is no doubt a reasoned process. For Mr Abercrombie makes no line of +separation between thought and emotion; and having entered by +imagination into the hearts of his people, he might claim to be merely +interpreting them--making conscious and vocal that which was already in +existence there, however obscurely. There is a hint of this at a point +in _The End of the World_ where one of the men says that he had _felt_ a +certain thought go through his mind--"though 'twas a thing of such a +flight I could not read its colour." And in this way Deborah, being a +human soul of full stature, sound of mind and body and all her being +flooded with emotion, would be capable of feeling the complex thought +attributed to her, even if no single strand of its texture had ever been +clear in her mind. While as to the fiddling lyrist, rogue and poet, one +sees no reason why the whole argument should not be closed by a gesture +in the direction of Heine or Villon. + +We turn now to the content of thought in Mr Abercrombie's poetry--an +aspect of his genius to be approached with diffidence by a writer +conscious of limitations. For though we believed we saw that his +affinity with the democratic spirit of his age is instinctive, deeply +rooted and persistent, his genius is by no means ruled by instinct. It +is intellectual to an extreme degree, moving easily in abstract thought +and apparently trained in philosophic speculation. Indeed, his +speculative tendency had gone as far as appeared to be legitimate in +poetry, when he wisely chose another medium for it in the volume of +prose _Dialogues_ published in 1913. + +It must not be gathered from this, however, that the philosophic pieces +are dull or difficult reading. On the contrary, they are frequently cast +into the form of a story with a dramatic basis; and although the torrent +of thought sometimes keeps the mind astretch to follow it, it would be +hard to discover a single obscure line. An astonishing combination of +qualities has gone to produce this result: subtlety with vigour, +delicacy with strength, and loftiness with simplicity. Things elusive +and immaterial are caught and fixed in vivid imagery; and often charged +with poignant human interest. No other modern poet expresses thought so +abstract with such force, or describes the adventures of the voyaging +soul with such clarity. It suggests high harmony in the development of +sense and spirit: it explains the apparent incompatibility between his +rapture of delight in the physical world and his spiritual exaltation: +while it hints a reason for his preoccupation with the duality in human +life, and his vision of an ultimate union of the rival powers. + +We may note in passing how this reacts upon the form of his work. It has +created a unique vocabulary (enriched from many sources but derived from +no single one), which is nervous, flexible, vigorous, impassioned: +assimilating to its grave beauty words homely, colloquial or quaint, +until the range of it seems all but infinite. + +Again, rather curiously, the thought has tended toward the dramatic +form. At first glance that form would seem to be unsuitable for the +expression of reflectiveness so deep as this. Yet here is a poet whose +dominant theme might be defined, tritely, as the development of the +soul; and he hardly ever writes in any other way. + +The fact sends us back to the contrast with the Victorians. The +representative poet then, musing about life and death and the evolution +of the soul, felt himself impelled to the elegiac form, or the idyll. +But the nature of the thought itself has changed. The representative +poet now does not stand and lament, however exquisitely, because reality +has shattered dogma: neither does he try to create an epic out of the +incredible theme of a perfect soul. He accepts reality; and then he +perceives that the perfect soul _is_ incredible, besides being poor +material for his art. But on the other hand, while he takes care to +seize and hold fast truth: while it does not occur to him to mourn that +she is implacable: he resolutely denies to phenomena, the appearance of +things, the whole of truth. That is to say, he has transcended at once +the despair of the Victorians and their materialism. He has banished +their lyric grief for a dead past, along with their scientific and +religious dogmas. That was a bit of iconoclasm imperatively demanded of +him by his own soul; but from the fact that he is a poet, it is denied +to him to find final satisfaction in the region of sense and +consciousness. + +Thus there arises a duality, and a sense of conflict, which would +account for the manner of his expression, without the need to refer it +to the general tendency of modern poetry towards the dramatic form. +Doubtless, however, that also has been an influence, for the virility of +his genius and the positive strain in his philosophy would lead that +way. + +One can hardly say that there are perceptible stages in Mr Abercrombie's +thought. He is one of the few poets with no crudities to repent, either +artistic or philosophic. Yet there is a poem in his first volume, a +morality called "The New God"; and there is another piece called "The +Sale of St Thomas," first published in 1911, which are relatively +simple. Here he is content to take material that is traditional, both to +poetry and religion, and infuse into it so much of modern significance +as it will carry. The first re-tells the mediæval legend of a girl +changed by God into his own likeness in order to save her from violence. +There is, apt to our present study, but too long to give in full, at +least one passage that is magnificent in conception and imagery alike. +It is the voice of God, answering the girl's prayer that she may be +saved by the destruction of her beauty. The voice declares that the +petition is sweet and shall be granted, that he will quit the business +of the universe, that he will "put off the nature of the world," and +become + + God, when all the multitudinous flow + Of Being sets backward to Him; God, when He + Is only glory.... + +The "Sale of St Thomas" also treats a legend, with originality and +power. This remarkable poem is already well known: but one may at least +call attention to the fitness and dignity with which the poet has placed +the modern gospel upon the lips of the Christ. Thomas has been +intercepted by his master, as he is about to run away for the second +time from his mission to India. + + Now, Thomas, know thy sin. It was not fear; + Easily may a man crouch down for fear, + And yet rise up on firmer knees, and face + The hailing storm of the world with graver courage. + But prudence, prudence is the deadly sin, + And one that groweth deep into a life, + With hardening roots that clutch about the breast. + For this refuses faith in the unknown powers + Within man's nature; shrewdly bringeth all + Their inspiration of strange eagerness + To a judgment bought by safe experience; + Narrows desire into the scope of thought. + But it is written in the heart of man, + Thou shalt no larger be than thy desire. + Thou must not therefore stoop thy spirit's sight + To pore only within the candle-gleam + Of conscious wit and reasonable brain; + + ..... + + But send desire often forth to scan + The immense night which is thy greater soul; + Knowing the possible, see thou try beyond it + Into impossible things, unlikely ends; + And thou shalt find thy knowledgeable desire + Grow large as all the regions of thy soul, + Whose firmament doth cover the whole of Being, + And of created purpose reach the ends. + +Perhaps the thought here is not so simple as the pellucid expression +makes it to appear: yet the conventional material on which the poet is +working restrains it to at least relative simplicity. When, however, +his inspiration is moving quite freely, unhampered by tradition either +of technique or of theme, the result is more complex and more +characteristic. + +The tragedy called "Blind", in his first volume, is an example. The plot +of this dramatic piece is probably unique. If one gave the bald outline +of it, it might seem to be merely a story of crude revenge. It is +concerned with rude and outlawed people: it springs out of elemental +passions--fierce love turned to long implacable hatred, and then +reverting to tenderness and pity and overwhelming remorse. And yet there +are probably no subtler studies in poetry than the three persons of this +little drama--the woman who has reared her idiot son to be the weapon to +avenge her wrongs upon the father he has never known: the blind son +himself; and his father, the same fiddling tramp whom we have already +noted. There are points in the delineation of all three which are very +brilliantly imagined: the change in the woman when she meets at last the +human wreck who had once been her handsome lover: the idiot youth +hungering to express the beauty which is revealed to him, through touch, +in a child's golden hair, the warmth of fire, the mysterious presence of +the dark: + + ... like a wing's shelter bending down. + I've often thought, if I were tall enough + And reacht my hand up, I should touch the soft + Spread feathers of the resting flight of him + Who covers us with night, so near he seems + Stooping and holding shadow over us, + Roofing the air with wings. It's plain to feel + Some large thing's near, and being good to us. + +But, above all, there is the character of the fiddler. At first glance, +the phenomenon looks common enough and all its meaning obvious. "A +wastrel" one would say, glibly defining the phenomenon; and add "a +_drunken_ wastrel," believing that we had explained it. But the poet +sees further, apprehends more and understands better. Drunken indeed, +but an intoxication older and more divine than that of brandy began the +business; and much brandy had not quenched the elder fire. It flamed in +him still, mostly a sinister glow, fed from his bad and sorrowful past, +but leaping on occasion to fair radiance, as in the talk with his +unknown son, when some magnetic influence drew the two blind men +together and made them friends before they had any knowledge of +relationship. Of the many finer touches in this poem, none is more +delicate and none more moving than the suggestion of unconscious +affinity between these two: the idiot, with his half-awake mind, +groping amidst shadows of ideas which to the older man are quick with +inspiration. + + SON. What are words? + + TRAMP. God's love! Here's a man after my own heart; + We must be brothers, lad. + +But besides his dramatic and psychological interest, the fiddler is +important because he seems to represent the poet's philosophy in its +brief iconoclastic phase. For we find placed in his lips a destructive +satire of the old theological doctrine of Good and Evil. The passage is +too long to quote, and it would be unfair to mutilate it. Incidentally +we may note, however, the keen salt humour of it, and how that quality +establishes the breadth and sanity of the poet's outlook. The point of +peculiar interest at the moment is that this phase passes with the +particular poem--an early one; and thenceforward it is replaced by more +constructive thought. We come to "The Fool's Adventure," for instance, +and find the "Seeker" travelling through all the regions of mind and +spirit to find God, and the nature and cause of sin. His quest brings +him first to the Self of the World, and he believes that this is God. +But the Sage corrects him: + + ... Poor fool, + And didst thou think this present sensible world + Was God?... + + ..... + + It is a name, ... + The name Lord God chooses to go by, made + In languages of stars and heavens and life. + +And when, finally, he has won through to a certain palace at the "verge +of things," he cries his question to the unseen king within. + + SEEKER. Then thou art God? + + WITHIN. Ay, many call me so. + And yet, though words were never large enough + To take me made, I have a better name. + + SEEKER. Then truly, who art thou? + + WITHIN. I am Thy Self. + +Another aspect of the same idea, caught in a more lyrical mood, will be +found in the poem called "The Trance." The poet is standing upon a +hill-side alone at night, watching the "continual stars" and overawed by +the vastness and "fixt law" of the universe. Then, in a sudden +revelation of perhaps a fraction of a minute: + + I was exalted above surety + And out of time did fall. + As from a slander that did long distress, + A sudden justice vindicated me + From the customary wrong of Great and Small. + I stood outside the burning rims of place, + Outside that corner, consciousness. + Then was I not in the midst of thee + Lord God? + + ..... + +That, however, is the triumphant ecstasy of a moment. More often he is +preoccupied with the duality in human nature, and in "An Escape" there +is a fine simile of the struggle: + + Desire of infinite things, desire of finite. + ... 'tis the wrestle of the twain makes man. + --As two young winds, schooled 'mong the slopes and caves + Of rival hills that each to other look + Across a sunken tarn, on a still day + Run forth from their sundered nurseries, and meet + In the middle air.... + And when they close, their struggle is called Man, + Distressing with his strife and flurry the bland + Pool of existence, that lay quiet before + Holding the calm watch of Eternity. + +The incidence of finite and infinite is felt with equal force: sense is +as powerful as spirit, and therein of course lives the keenness of the +strife. In "Soul and Body" there is a passage--only one of many, +however--in which the rapture of sensuous beauty is expressed. The +spirit is imagined to be just ready to put off sense, to be for ever +caught out of "that corner, consciousness." And the body reminds it: + + Thou wilt miss the wonder I have made for thee + Of this dear world with my fashioning senses, + The blue, the fragrance, the singing, and the green. + + ..... + + Great spaces of grassy land, and all the air + One quiet, the sun taking golden ease + Upon an afternoon: + Tall hills that stand in weather-blinded trances + As if they heard, drawn upward and held there, + Some god's eternal tune; + +We may take our last illustration of this subject from a passage at the +end of the volume called _Emblems of Love_. It is from a poem so rich in +beauty and so closely wrought, that to quote from it is almost +inevitably to do the author an injustice. But the same may be said about +the whole book: while single poems from it will disclose high individual +value, both as art and philosophy, their whole effect and meaning can +only be completely seized by reading them as a sequence, and in the +light of the conception to which they all contribute. + +The book is designed to show, in three great movements representing +birth, growth, and perfection, the evolution of the human spirit in the +world. The spirit, which is here synonymous with love, is traced from +the instant which is chosen to mark its birth (the awakening sense of +beauty in primitive man), through its manifold states of excess and +defect, up to a transcendent union which draws the dual powers into a +single ecstasy. The greatness of the central theme is matched by the +dignity of its presentment, while the dramatic form in which it is +embodied saves it from mere abstraction. We see the dawn of the soul in +the wolf-hunter, suddenly perceiving beauty in nature and in women: the +vindication of the soul by Vashti, magnificently daring to prove that it +is no mere vassal to beauty: and the perfecting of the soul in the +terrible paradox of Judith's virginity. But it is in one of the closing +pieces, called fittingly "The Eternal Wedding," that the poet attains +the summit of his thought along these lines; prefiguring the ultimate +union of the conflicting powers of life in one perfect rapture. + + ... I have + Golden within me the whole fate of man: + That every flesh and soul belongs to one + Continual joyward ravishment ... + That life hath highest gone which hath most joy. + For like great wings forcefully smiting air + And driving it along in rushing rivers, + Desire of joy beats mightily pulsing forward + The world's one nature.... + ... so we are driven + Onward and upward in a wind of beauty, + Until man's race be wielded by its joy + Into some high incomparable day, + Where perfectly delight may know itself,-- + No longer need a strife to know itself, + Only by its prevailing over pain. + +That is the topmost peak that his philosophy has gained--for just so +long as to give assurance that it exists. But no one supposes that he +will dwell there: it is altogether too high: the atmosphere is too rare. +It was reached only by the concentration of certain poetical powers, +chiefly speculative imagination, which carried him safely over the +chasms of a lower altitude. But when other powers are in the ascendant, +as for instance in _The End of the World_: when he is recalled to +actuality by that keen eye for fact which is so rare a gift to genius of +this type, the terror of those lower chasms is revealed. Here is one of +the characters reflecting on the thought of the end of the world, which +he believes to be imminent from an approaching comet: + + Life, the mother who lets her children play + So seriously busy, trade and craft,-- + Life with her skill of a million years' perfection + To make her heart's delighted glorying + Of sunlight, and of clouds about the moon, + Spring lighting her daffodils, and corn + Ripening gold to ruddy, and giant seas, + And mountains sitting in their purple clothes-- + O life I am thinking of, life the wonder, + All blotcht out by a brutal thrust of fire + Like a midge that a clumsy thumb squashes and smears. + +That passage will serve to point the single comment on technique with +which this study must close. It has not been selected for the purpose, +and therefore is not the finest example that could be chosen. It is, +however, typical of the blank-verse form which largely prevails in this +poetry, and which, in its very texture, reveals the same extraordinary +combination of qualities which we have observed in the poet's genius. + +We have already seen that spiritual vision is here united with +intellectuality as lucid as it is powerful: that the mystic is also the +humanitarian: that imagination is balanced by a good grip on reality; +and that the sense-impressions are fine as well as exuberant. We have +seen, too, that this diversity and apparent contrast, although resulting +in an art of complex beauty, do not tend towards confusion or obscurity. +There has been a complete fusion of the elements, and the molten stream +that is poured for us is of glowing clarity. + +Exactly the same feature is discernible in the style of this verse. Look +at the last passage for a moment and consider its effect. It is +impossible to define in a single word, because of its complexity. The +mind, lingering delightedly over the metaphor of life the mother, is +suddenly awed by the magnitude of the idea which succeeds it. The +æsthetic sense is taken by the light and colour of the middle lines, and +then, as if the breath were caught on a half-sob, a wave of emotion +follows, pensive at first, but rising abruptly to a note that is as +rough as a curse. There are more shades of thought, lightly reflective +or glooming with prescience; and there are more degrees of emotion, from +tenderness to wrath, than we have time to analyze. The point for the +moment is the manner in which they are conveyed, and the adequacy of the +instrument to convey them. + +The texture of the verse itself will provide evidence of this. Here are +barely a dozen lines of our English heroic verse; and they will be found +to contain the maximum of metrical variety. Probably only two, or at +most three of them (it depends upon scansion, of course) are of the +regular iambic pentameter: that is to say, built up strictly from the +iamb, which is the unit of this form. All the others are varied by the +insertion at some point in the line, and frequently at two or three +points, of a different verse-unit, dactyl, anapæst, trochee or spondee; +and no two lines are varied in exactly the same way. + +But, besides the range of the instrument, there is the exquisite harmony +of it with mood or idea. The strong down-beat of the trochee summons the +intellect to consider a thought: the dactyl will follow with the quick +perception of a simile: the iamb will punctuate rhythm: anacrusis will +suggest the half-caught breath of rising emotion, and turbulent feeling +will pour through spondee, dactyl, and anapæst. And so with the diction. +Just as we find a measure which is both vigorous and light, precise and +flexible, easily bending law to beauty; so in the language there is a +corresponding union of strength and grace, homeliness and dignity. Could +a great conception be stated in a simpler phrase than that of the two +first lines? + + Life, the mother who lets her children play + So seriously busy, trade and craft-- + +and yet this phrase, simple and lucid as it is, conveys a sense of +boundless tenderness and pity, playing over the surface of a deeper +irony. Doubtless its strength and clarity come from the fact that each +word is of the common coin of daily life; but its atmosphere, an almost +infinite suggestiveness of familiar things brooded over in a wistful +mood, comes partly at least through the colloquial touch. + +Mr. Abercrombie has no fear to be colloquial, when that is the proper +garment of his thought, the outer symbol of the inner reality. Nor is he +the least afraid of fierce and ugly words, when they are apt. The last +line of our passage illustrates this. Taken out of its setting, and +considering merely the words, one would count a poet rash indeed who +would venture such a harsh collocation. But repeat the line aloud, and +its metrical felicity will appear at once: put it back in its setting, +as the culmination of a wave of feeling that has been gathering strength +throughout: remember the idea (of beauty annihilated by senseless law +and blind force), which has kindled that emotion; and then we shall +marvel at the art which makes the line a growl of impotent rage. + +All of which is merely to say that the spirit of this poetry has evolved +for itself a living body, wearing its beauty delightedly, rejoicing in +its own vitality, and unashamed either of its elemental impulse or its +transcendent vision. + + + + +Rupert Brooke + +_Born at Rugby on August 3, 1887; +Died at Lemnos an April 23, 1915_ + + +Probably most English people who love their country and their country's +greatest poet have at some time taken joy to identify the spirit of the +two. England and Shakespeare: the names have leapt together and flamed +into union before the eyes of many a youngster who was much too dazzled +by the glory to see how and whence it came. But returning from a +festival performance on some soft April midnight, or leaning out of the +bedroom window to share with the stars and the wind the exaltation which +the play had evoked, the revelation suddenly shone. And thenceforward +April 23 was by something more than a coincidence the day both of +Shakespeare and St George. + +Reason might come back with the daylight to rule over fancy; and the +cool lapse of time might remove the moment far enough to betray the +humour of it. But the glow never quite faded; or if it did it only gave +place to the steadier and clearer light of conviction. One came to see +how the poet, by reason of his complete humanity, stood for mankind; +and how, from certain sharp characteristics of our race, he stood +pre-eminently for English folk. And coming thence to the narrower but +firmer ground of historical fact, one saw how shiningly he represented +the Elizabethan Age, with its eager, inquisitive, and adventurous +spirit; its craving to fulfil to the uttermost a gift of glorious and +abundant life. + +Now precisely in that way, though not of course in the same superlative +degree, one may see Rupert Brooke standing for the England of his time. +And when this poet died at Lemnos on April 23, 1915, those who knew and +loved his work must have felt the tragic fitness of the date with the +event. If the gods of war had decreed his death, they had at least +granted that he might pass on England's day. In him indeed was +manifested the poetic spirit of the race, warm with human passion and +sane with laughter: soaring on wings of fire but nesting always on the +good earth. And though one does not claim to find in him the highest +point or the extremest advance to which the thought of his day had gone, +he stands pre-eminently for that day in the steel-clear light of his +gallant spirit. + +The title of Rupert Brooke's posthumous book--_1914_--signifies that +moment of English history which is reflected in his work. He is the +symbol of that year in a double sense. He represents the calamitous +political event of it in his voluntary service to the State, and the +manner of his death. Thus by the accident of circumstance which made him +eminent and vocal, he serves to speak for the silent millions of English +men and women who splendidly sprang to duty. But in his poetry there is +a closer and deeper relation to that tragic year. Incomplete as it may +be: youthful and prankish as some of it is, the thought and manner of +the time are imaged there. A certain level of humane culture had been +reached, a certain philosophy of life had been evolved, and a definite +attitude to reality taken. Lightly but clearly, these things which +reflect the colour of our civilization at August 1914 are crystallized +in Rupert Brooke's poetry to that date. But at that point the image, +like the whole order of which it was the reflection, was shattered by +the crash of arms; and the few poems which he wrote subsequently are +preoccupied with the spiritual crisis which the war precipitated. + +Most of the admirers of this poet have seen only in his last pieces the +singular identity of his spirit with the spirit of his country. And that +is so noble a concord that it cannot be missed. For when England plunged +into the greatest war of history, she flung off in the act several +centuries of her age. Priceless things, slowly and patiently acquired, +went overboard as mere impedimenta; but in the relapse, the slipping +backward to an earlier time and consequent recovery of youth, with its +ardour and passion, its recklessness and generosity and courage, the +optimist saw a reward for all that was lost. So with the poetry of +Rupert Brooke. Those few last sonnets, as it were the soul of +rejuvenated England, seem to the same hopeful eye a complete +compensation, not only for the wasted individual life, but for the +beauty and significance of the age for which he stood, now irrevocably +lost. + + Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! + There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, + But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. + These laid the world away; poured out the red + Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be + Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, + That men call age; and those who would have been, + Their sons, they gave, their immortality. + + Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth, + Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain. + Honour has come back, as a king, to earth, + And paid his subjects with a royal wage; + And Nobleness walks in our ways again; + And we have come into our heritage. + +Before that renunciation one can only stand with bowed head, realizing +perhaps more clearly than the giver did, the splendour of the gift. But +he too, this representative of his age, knew the value of the life that +he was casting away. It was indeed to him a "red sweet wine," precious +for the "work and joy" it promised, and the sacred seed of immortality. +It is this, above all, that his poetry signifies: a rich and exuberant +life, keenly conscious of itself, and fully aware of the realities by +which it is surrounded. Its nature grows from that--sensuous and +_spirituelle_, passionate and intellectual, ingenuous and ironic, tragic +and gay. Never before--no, not even in Donne, as some one has +suggested--was such intensity of feeling coupled with such merciless +clarity of sight: mental honesty so absolute, piercing so fierce a flame +of ardour. + +From the fusion of those two powers comes the distinctive character of +this poetry: the peculiar beauty of its gallant spirit. They are +constant features of it from first to last, but they are not always +perfectly fused nor equally present. In the earlier poems, to find which +you must go back to the volume of 1911 and begin at the end of the book, +they enter as separate and distinct components. One would expect that, +of course, at this stage; and we shall not be surprised, either, if we +discover that there is here a shade of excess in both qualities: a +touch of self-consciousness and relative crudity. The point of interest +is that they are so clearly the principal elements from which the subtle +and complex beauty of the later work was evolved. Thus, facing one +another on pages 84 and 85, are two apt examples. In "The Call" sheer +passion is expressed. The poet's great love of life, taking shape for +the moment as love of his lady, is here predominant. + + Out of the nothingness of sleep, + The slow dreams of Eternity, + There was a thunder on the deep: + I came, because you called to me. + + I broke the Night's primeval bars, + I dared the old abysmal curse, + And flashed through ranks of frightened stars + Suddenly on the universe! + + ..... + + I'll break and forge the stars anew, + Shatter the heavens with a song; + Immortal in my love for you, + Because I love you, very strong. + +But on the opposite page, the sonnet called "Dawn" swings to the +extremest point from the magniloquence of that. It is realistic in a +literal sense: a bit of wilful ugliness. Yet it springs, however +distortedly, from the root of mental clarity and courage which was to +produce such gracious blossoming thereafter. It is engaged with an +exasperated account of a night journey in an Italian train: all the +discomfort and weary irritation of it venting itself upon two +unfortunate Teutons. + + ..... + + One of them wakes, and spits, and sleeps again. + The darkness shivers. A wan light through the rain + Strikes on our faces, drawn and white. Somewhere + A new day sprawls; and, inside, the foul air + Is chill, and damp, and fouler than before.... + Opposite me two Germans sweat and snore. + +It is not long, however, before we find that the two elements are +beginning to combine; and we soon meet, astonishingly, with the third +great quality of the poet's genius. It is strange that imagination +always has this power to surprise us. No matter if we have taught +ourselves that poetry cannot begin to exist without it: no matter how +watchful and alert we think we are, it will spring upon us unaware, +taking possession of the mind with amazing exhilaration. That is +especially true of the quality as it is found in Rupert Brooke's poetry. +For, however you have schooled yourself, you do not expect imaginative +power of the first degree to co-exist with sensuous joy so keen, and so +acute an intelligence. Yet in a piece called "In Examination" the +miracle is wrought. This, too, is an early poem, which may be the reason +why one can disengage the threads so easily; whilst a notable fact is +that the delicate fabric of it is woven directly out of a commonplace +bit of human experience. The poet is engaged with a scene that is +decidedly unpromising for poetical treatment--all the stupidity of +examination, with its dull, unhappy, "scribbling fools." + + Lo! from quiet skies + In through the window my Lord the Sun! + And my eyes + Were dazzled and drunk with the misty gold, + + ..... + + And a full tumultuous murmur of wings + Grew through the hall; + And I knew the white undying Fire, + And, through open portals, + Gyre on gyre, + Archangels and angels, adoring, bowing, + And a Face unshaded ... + Till the light faded; + And they were but fools again, fools unknowing, + Still scribbling, blear-eyed and stolid immortals. + +There are at least two poems, "The Fish" and "Dining-Room Tea," in which +imaginative power prevails over every other element; and if imagination +be the supreme poetic quality, these are Rupert Brooke's finest +achievement. They are, indeed, very remarkable and significant examples +of modern poetry, both in conception and in treatment. In both pieces +the subjects are of an extremely difficult character. One, that of "The +Fish," is beyond the range of human experience altogether; and the other +is only just within it, and known, one supposes, to comparatively few. +The imaginative flight is therefore bold: it is also lofty, rapid, and +well sustained. In "The Fish" we see it creating a new material world, +giving substance and credibility to a strange new order of sensation: + + In a cool curving world he lies + And ripples with dark ecstasies. + The kind luxurious lapse and steal + Shapes all his universe to feel + And know and be; the clinging stream + Closes his memory, glooms his dream, + Who lips the roots o' the shore, and glides + Superb on unreturning tides. + + ..... + + But there the night is close, and there + Darkness is cold and strange and bare; + And the secret deeps are whisperless; + And rhythm is all deliciousness; + And joy is in the throbbing tide, + Whose intricate fingers beat and glide + In felt bewildering harmonies + Of trembling touch; and music is + The exquisite knocking of the blood. + Space is no more, under the mud; + His bliss is older than the sun. + Silent and straight the waters run. + The lights, the cries, the willows dim, + And the dark tide are one with him. + +We see, all through this poem (and the more convincingly as the whole of +it is studied) the "fundamental brain-stuff": the patient constructive +force of intellect keeping pace with fancy every step of the way. So, +too, with "Dining-Room Tea." Imagination here is busy with an idea that +is wild, elusive, intangible: on the bare edge, in fact, of sanity and +consciousness. It is that momentary revelation, which comes once in a +lifetime perhaps, of the reality within appearance. It comes suddenly, +unheralded and unaccountable: it is gone again with the swiftness and +terror of a lightning-flash. But in the fraction of a second that it +endures, æons seem to pass and things unutterable to be revealed. Only a +poet of undoubted genius could re-create such a moment, for on any lower +plane either imagination would flag or intellect would be baffled, with +results merely chaotic. And only to one whose quick and warm humanity +held life's common things so dear could the vision shine out of such a +homely scene. But therein Rupert Brooke shows so clearly as the poet of +his day: that through the familiar joys of comradeship and laughter: +through the simple concrete things of a material world--the "pouring tea +and cup and cloth," Reality gleams eternal. + + When you were there, and you, and you, + Happiness crowned the night; I too, + Laughing and looking, one of all, + I watched the quivering lamplight fall + + ..... + + Flung all the dancing moments by + With jest and glitter.... + + Till suddenly, and otherwhence, + I looked upon your innocence. + For lifted clear and still and strange + From the dark woven flow of change + Under a vast and starless sky + I saw the immortal moment lie. + One instant I, an instant, knew + As God knows all. And it and you + I, above Time, oh, blind! could see + In witless immortality. + +But the precise characteristic of this poetry is not one or other of +these individual gifts. It is an intimate and subtle blending of them +all, shot through and through with a gallant spirit which resolutely +and gaily faces truth. From this brave and clear mentality comes a sense +of fact which finds its artistic response in realism. Sometimes it will +be found operating externally, on technique; but more often, with truer +art, it will wed truth of idea and form, in grace as well as candour. +From its detachment and quick perception of incongruity comes a rare +humour which can laugh, thoughtfully or derisively, even at itself. It +will stand aside, watching its own exuberance with an ironic smile, as +in "The One Before the Last." It will turn a penetrating glance on +passion till the gaudy thing wilts and dies. It will pause at the height +of life's keenest rapture to call to death an undaunted greeting: + + Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill, + Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass. + You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass; + Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still, + When we are old, are old...." "And when we die + All's over that is ours; and life burns on + Through other lovers, other lips," said I, + --"Heart of my heart, our heaven is now, is won!" + + "We are Earth's best, that learnt her lesson here. + Life is our cry. We have kept the faith!" we said; + "We shall go down with unreluctant tread + Rose-crowned into the darkness!" ... Proud we were, + And laughed, that had such brave true things to say. + --And then you suddenly cried, and turned away. + +Perception so keen and fearless, piercing readily through the +half-truths of life and art, has its own temptation to mere cleverness. +Thence come the conceits of the sonnet called "He Wonders Whether to +Praise or Blame Her," a bit of the deftest juggling with ideas and +words. Thence, too, the allegorical brilliance of the "Funeral of +Youth"; and the merry mockery of the piece called "Heaven." This is an +excellent example of the poet's wit, as distinct from his richer, more +pervasive, humour. It is very finely pointed and closely aimed in its +satire of the Victorian religious attitude. And if we put aside an +austerity which sees a shade of ungraciousness in it, we shall find it a +richly entertaining bit of philosophy: + + Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond; + But is there anything Beyond? + This life cannot be All, they swear, + For how unpleasant, if it were! + One may not doubt that, somehow, Good + Shall come of Water and of Mud; + And, sure, the reverent eye must see + A Purpose in Liquidity. + We darkly know, by Faith we cry, + The future is not Wholly Dry. + Mud unto Mud!--Death eddies near-- + Not here the appointed End, not here! + But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, + Is wetter water, slimier slime! + + ..... + + And in that Heaven of all their wish, + There shall be no more land, say fish. + +But, on the whole, one loves this work best when its genius is not shorn +by the sterile spirit of derision. Its charm is greatest when the +creative energy of it is outpoured through what is called personality. +Never was a poet more lavish in the giving of himself, yielding up a +rich and complex individuality with engaging candour. And poems will be +found in which all its qualities are blended in a soft and intricate +harmony. Passion is subdued to tenderness: imagination stoops to +fantasy: thought, in so far as it is not content merely to shape the +form of the work, is bent upon ideas that are wistful, or sad or ironic. +Humour, standing aloof and quietly chuckling, will play mischievous +pranks with people and things. A satirical imp will dart into a line and +out again before you realize that he is there; and all the time a +clear-eyed, observing spirit will be watching and taking note with +careful accuracy. + +Of such is "The Old Vicarage, Grantchester," in which the poet is +longing for his home in Cambridgeshire as he sits outside a café in +Berlin. The poem is therefore a cry of homesickness, a modern "Oh, to be +in England!" But there is much more in it than that; it is not merely a +wail of emotion. The lyrical reverie which recalls all the sweet natural +beauty that he is aching to return to is closely woven with other +strands. So that one may catch half a dozen incidental impressions which +pique the mind with contrasting effects and yet contribute to the +prevailing sense of intolerable desire for home. Thus, when the poet has +swung off into a sunny dream of the old house and garden, the watching +sense of fact suddenly jogs him into consciousness that he is not there +at all, but in a very different place. And that wakens the satiric +spirit, so that an amusing interlude follows, summing up by implication +much of the contrast between the English and German minds: + + ... _there_ the dews + Are soft beneath a morn of gold. + Here tulips bloom as they are told; + Unkempt about those hedges blows + An English unofficial rose; + And there the unregulated sun + Slopes down to rest when day is done, + And wakes a vague unpunctual star, + A slippered Hesper; and there are + Meads towards Haslingfield and Coton + Where _das Betreten's_ not _verboten_. + + ..... + + =eithe genoimên= ... would I were + In Grantchester, in Grantchester!-- + +He slips back again into the softer mood of memory, not of the immediate +home scenes only, but of their associations, historical and academic. +Always, however, that keen helmsman steers to the windward of +sentimentality: better risk rough weather, it seems to say, than +shipwreck on some lotus-island. And every time the boat would appear to +be making fairly for an exquisite idyllic haven, she is headed into the +breeze again. But though she gets a buffeting, and even threatens to +capsize at one moment in boisterous jest, she comes serenely into port +at last. + + Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand + Still guardians of that holy land? + The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream, + The yet unacademic stream? + Is dawn a secret shy and cold + Anadyomene, silver-gold? + And sunset still a golden sea + From Haslingfield to Madingley? + And after, ere the night is born, + Do hares come out about the corn? + Oh, is the water sweet and cool, + Gentle and brown, above the pool? + And laughs the immortal river still + Under the mill, under the mill? + Say, is there Beauty yet to find? + And Certainty? and Quiet kind? + Deep meadows yet, for to forget + The lies, and truths, and pain?... oh! yet + Stands the Church clock at ten to three? + And is there honey still for tea? + + + + +_William H. Davies_ + + +I should think that the work of Mr Davies is the nearest approach that +the poetic genius could make to absolute simplicity. It is a wonderful +thing, too, in its independence, its almost complete isolation from +literary tradition and influence. People talk of Herrick in connexion +with this poet; and if they mean no more than to wonder at a resemblance +which is a marvellous accident, one would run to join them in their +happy amazement. But there is no evidence of direct influence, any more +than by another token we could associate his realism with that of +Crabbe. No, this is verse which has "growed," autochthonic if poetry +ever were, unliterary, and spontaneous in the many senses of that word. + +From that one fact alone, these seven small volumes of verse are a +singular phenomenon. But they teem with interest of other kinds too. +First and foremost there is, of course, the preciousness of many of the +pieces they contain, as pure poetry, undimmed by any other consideration +whatsoever. That applies to a fair proportion of this work; and it is a +delightsomeness which, from its very independence of time and +circumstance, one looks quite soberly to last the centuries through; and +if it lapse at all from favour, to be rediscovered two or three hundred +years hence as we have rediscovered the poets of the seventeenth +century. + +It has, however, inherent interest apart from this æsthetic joy, +something which catches and holds the mind, startling it with an +apparent paradox. For this poetry, with its solitariness and absence of +any affiliation ancient or modern, with its bird-note bubbling into song +at some sweet impulse and seemingly careless of everything but the +impelling rapture, is at the same time one of the grimmest pages out of +contemporary life. In saying that, one pauses for a moment sternly to +interrogate one's own impression. How much of this apparent paradox is +due to knowledge derived from the author's astounding autobiography? +Turn painfully back for a moment to the thoughts and feelings aroused by +that book: recall the rage against the stupidity of life which brings +genius to birth so carelessly, endowing it with appetites too strong for +the will to tame and senses too acute for the mind to leash until the +soul had been buffeted and the body maimed. And admit at once that such +a tale, all the more for its quiet veracity, could not fail to influence +one's attitude to this poetry. No doubt it is that which gives +assurance, certainty, the proof of actual data, to the human record +adumbrated in the poems. But the record is no less present _in_ the +poems. It often exists, implicit or explicit, in that part of the verse +which sings because it must and for sheer love of itself. And in that +other part of the work where the lyric note is not so clear: in the +narrative poems and queer character-studies and little dramatic pieces, +the record lives vivid and almost complete. Perhaps it is the nature of +the record itself which denies full inspiration to those pieces: perhaps +Mr Davies' lyric gift cannot find its most fitting expression in themes +so grim: in any case it is clear that these personal pieces are not +equal to the lighter songs. + +Now if one's conscience were supple enough to accept those lighter songs +as Mr Davies' complete work: if we could conveniently forget the +autobiography, and when visualizing his output, call up some charming +collected edition of the poems with the unsatisfactory ones carefully +deleted, we could go on with our study easily and gaily. We might pause +a moment to marvel at this 'isolated phenomenon': we might even remark +upon his detachment, not only from literature, but almost as completely +from the ordinary concerns of life. That done, however, we should at +once take a header into the delicious refreshment of the lyrics. Such a +study would be very fascinating; and from the standpoint of Art as Art, +it might not be inadequate. But it would totally lack significance. Even +from the point of view of pure poetry, the loss would be profound--not +to realize that behind the blithest of these trills of song is a +background as stormy as any winter sky behind a robin on a bare bough. +There is this one, for example, from the volume called _Foliage_: + + If I were gusty April now, + How I would blow at laughing Rose; + I'd make her ribbons slip their knots, + And all her hair come loose. + + If I were merry April now, + How I would pelt her cheeks with showers; + I'd make carnations rich and warm, + Of her vermilion flowers. + + Since she will laugh in April's face, + No matter how he rains or blows-- + Then O that I wild April were, + To play with laughing Rose. + +The gaiety of that, considered simply in its lightness of heart, its +verbal and metrical felicity, is a delightful thing. And it recurs so +frequently as to make Mr Davies quite the jolliest of modern poets. So +if we are content to stop there, if we are not teased by an instinct to +relate things, and see all round them, we may make holiday pleasantly +enough with this part of the poet's work. The method is not really +satisfying, however, and the inclusion of the more personal pieces adds +a deeper value to the study. Not merely because the facts of a poet's +life are interesting in themselves, but because here especially they are +illuminating, explanatory, suggestive: connecting and unifying the +philosophical interest of the work, and supplying a background, +curiously impressive, for its art. + +For that reason one would refuse to pass over in silence Mr Davies' +first book of poems, _The Soul's Destroyer_, published in 1907. Not that +it is perfect poetry: indeed, I doubt whether one really satisfying +piece could be chosen from the whole fourteen. But it has deep human +interest. The book is slim, sombre, almost insignificant in its paper +wrappers. But its looks belie it. It is, in fact, nothing less than a +flame of courage, a shining triumph of the spirit of humanity. Mr Shaw +has made play with the facts of this poet's life, partly because 'it is +his nature so to do,' and partly, one suspects, to hide a deeper +feeling. But play as you will with the willing vagabondage, the happy +irresponsibility, the weakness and excess and error of a wild youth, you +will only film the surface of the tragedy. Underneath will remain those +sullen questions--what is life about, what are our systems and our laws +about, that a human creature and one with the miraculous spark of genius +in him, is chased hungry and homeless up and down his own country, +tossed from continent to continent and thrown up at last, broken and all +but helpless, to be persecuted by some contemptible agent of charity and +to wander from one crowded lodging-house to another, seeking vainly for +a quiet corner in which to make his songs. The verses in _The Soul's +Destroyer_ were written under those conditions; and by virtue of that it +would seem that the drab little volume attains to spiritual +magnificence. + +The themes in this book and those of _New Poems_, published in the same +year, are of that personal kind of which we have already spoken. But you +will be quite wrong if you suppose that they are therefore gloomy. On +the contrary, though there is an occasional didactic piece, like that +which gives its title to the first volume, there is more often a vein of +humour. Thus we have the astonishing catalogue of lodging-house humanity +in "Saints and Lodgers" with the satirical flavour of its invocation: + + Ye saints, that sing in rooms above, + Do ye want souls to consecrate? + +And there is "The Jolly Tramp," a scrap of autobiography, perhaps the +least bit coloured: + + I am a jolly tramp: I whine to you, + Then whistles till I meet another fool. + I call the labourer sir, the boy young man, + The maid young lady, and the mother I + Will flatter through the youngest child that walks. + +In "Wondering Brown" there is surely something unique in poetry: not +alone in theme, and the extraordinary set of circumstances which enabled +such a bit of life to be observed, by a poet, from the inside; but in +the rare quality of it, its sympathetic satire, the genial incisiveness +of its criticism of life: + + There came a man to sell his shirt, + A drunken man, in life low down; + When Riley, who was sitting near, + Made use of these strange words to Brown. + + "Yon fallen man, that's just gone past, + I knew in better days than these; + Three shillings he could make a day, + As an adept at picking peas." + + ..... + + "You'd scarcely credit it, I knew + A man in this same house, low down, + Who owns a fish-shop now--believe + Me, or believe me not," said Brown. + + "He was a civil sort of cove, + But did queer things, for one low down: + Oft have I watched him clean his teeth-- + As true as Heaven's above!" cried Brown. + +This humorous quality is the most marked form of an attitude of +detachment which may be observed in most of the personal pieces. So +complete is this detachment sometimes, as in "Strange People" or "Scotty +Bill" or "Facts," that one is tempted to a heresy. Is it possible, in +view of this lightness of touch, this untroubled pace and coolness of +word and phrase, that the poet did not see the implications of what he +was recording, or seeing them, was not greatly moved by them? Now there +are certain passages which prove that that doubt is a heresy: that the +poet did perceive and feel the complete significance of the facts he was +handling. Otherwise, of course, he were no poet. There is evidence of +this in such a poem as "A Blind Child," from which I quote a couple of +stanzas: + + We're in the garden, where are bees + And flowers, and birds, and butterflies; + There is one greedy fledgling cries + For all the food his parent sees! + + I see them all: flowers of all kind, + The sheep and cattle on the leas; + The houses up the hills, and trees-- + But I am dumb, for she is blind. + +There is, too, the last stanza of "Facts," a narrative piece which +relates the infamous treatment by workhouse officials of an old and +dying man: + + Since Jesus came with mercy and love, + 'Tis nineteen hundred years and five: + They made that dying man break stones, + In faith that Christ is still alive. + +A hideous scrap of notoriety for A.D. 1905!--and proof enough to +convince us of our author's humanity. At the same time, however, it is +the fact that there is little sign of intense emotion in this work. One +comes near it, perhaps, in a passage in "The Forsaken Dead," where the +poet is musing in the burial-place of a deserted settlement, and breaks +into wrath at the tyranny which drove the people out: + + Had they no dreamer who might have remained + To sing for them these desolated scenes? + One who might on a starvèd body take + Strong flights beyond the fiery larks in song, + With awful music, passionate with hate? + +But that is a rare example. Deep emotion is not a feature of Mr Davies' +poetry: neither in the poems of life, which might be supposed to awaken +it directly; nor, stranger still, in the infrequent love poems; nor in +the lyrics of nature. It would be interesting to speculate on this, if +there were any use in it--whether it is after all just a sign of +excessive feeling, masked by restraint; whether it may be in some way a +reaction from a life of too much sensation; or whether it simply means +that emotion is nicely balanced by objective power. Perhaps an analysis +would determine the question in the direction of a balance of power; but +the fact remains that though sensibility has a wide range, though it is +quick, acute and tender, it is not intense. + +It would be unfair, however, to suggest that these earlier volumes are +only interesting on the personal side. The pure lyric note is uttered +first here: once or twice in a small perfect song, as "The Likeness" and +"Parted"; but oftener in a snatch or a broken trill, as + + He who loves Nature truly, hath + His wealth in her kind hands; and it + Is in safe trust until his death, + Increasing as he uses it. + +Or a passage from "Music," invoking the memory of childhood: + + O happy days of childhood, when + We taught shy Echo in the glen + Words she had never used before-- + Ere Age lost heart to summon her. + Life's river, with its early rush, + Falls into a mysterious hush + When nearing the eternal sea: + Yet we would not forgetful be, + In these deep, silent days so wise, + Of shallows making mighty noise + When we were young, when we were gay, + And never thought Death lived--that day. + +Or a fragment from "The Calm," when the poet has been thinking of his +"tempestuous past," and contrasts it with his present well-being, and +the country joys which he fears will be snatched away again: + + But are these pleasant days to keep? + Where shall I be when Summer comes? + When, with a bee's mouth closed, she hums + Sounds not to wake, but soft and deep, + To make her pretty charges sleep? + +The love of Nature which supplies the theme here is a characteristic +that persists throughout the subsequent volumes. It recurs more and more +frequently, until the autobiographical element is almost eliminated; and +just as it is the main motive of the later poetry, so it is its happiest +inspiration. It is rather a pagan feeling, taking great joy in the +beauty of the material world, revelling in the impressions of sight and +scent, sound and taste and touch. It is humane enough to embrace the +whole world of animal life; but it seeks no spirit behind the phenomena +of Nature, and cares precisely nothing about its more scientific aspect. +Its gay lightsomeness is a charming thing to watch, an amazing thing to +think about: + + For Lord, how merry now am I! + Tickling with straw the butterfly, + Where she doth in her clean, white dress, + Sit on a green leaf, motionless, + To hear Bees hum away the hours. + +Or again, from "Leisure," in _Songs of Joy_: + + What is this life if, full of care, + We have no time to stand and stare. + + ..... + + No time to see, when woods we pass, + Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. + + No time to see, in broad daylight, + Streams full of stars, like skies at night. + + ..... + + A poor life this if, full of care, + We have no time to stand and stare. + +And a "Greeting," from the volume called _Foliage_: + + Good morning, Life--and all + Things glad and beautiful. + My pockets nothing hold, + But he that owns the gold, + The Sun, is my great friend-- + His spending has no end. + Hail to the morning sky, + Which bright clouds measure high; + Hail to you birds whose throats + Would number leaves by notes; + Hail to you shady bowers, + And you green fields of flowers. + +The poet does not claim to be learned in nature lore: indeed he declares +in one place that he does not know 'the barley from the oats.' But he +has a gift of fancy which often plays about his observation with +delightful effect. One could hardly call it by so big a name as +imagination: that suggests a height and power of vision which this work +does not possess, and which one would not look for in this type of +genius. It is a lighter quality, occasionally childlike in its naïveté, +fantastical, graceful, even quaint. It is seen in simile sometimes, as +this from _The Soul's Destroyer_, describing the sky: + + It was a day of rest in heaven, which seemed + A blue grass field thick dotted with white tents + Which Life slept late in, though 'twere holiday. + +Or this account of the origin of the Kingfisher, from "Farewell to +Poesy": + + It was the Rainbow gave thee birth, + And left thee all her lovely hues; + And, as her mother's name was Tears, + So runs it in thy blood to choose + For haunts the lonely pools, and keep + In company with trees that weep. + +Or a fancy about the sound of rain from _Nature Poems_: + + I hear leaves drinking rain; + I hear rich leaves on top + Giving the poor beneath + Drop after drop; + 'Tis a sweet noise to hear + Those green leaves drinking near. + +It plays an important part too in the poems upon other favourite themes, +on a woman's hair, on her voice, on music. Such are "Sweet Music" and "A +Maiden and her Hair" in _Nature Poems_: as well as "The Flood," from +which I quote. It will be found in _Songs of Joy_: + + I thought my true love slept; + Behind her chair I crept + And pulled out a long pin; + The golden flood came out, + She shook it all about, + With both our faces in. + + Ah! little wren I know + Your mossy, small nest now + A windy, cold place is: + No eye can see my face, + Howe'er it watch the place + Where I half drown in bliss. + +A development of technique in the later work lends ease and precision to +the poet's use of his instrument. Little faults of metre and of rhyme +are corrected: banalities of phrase and crudities of thought almost +disappear, so that the verse acquires a new grace. It gains, too, from a +wider variety of form: for the verses may be as short as one foot, or as +long as five: and there may be stanzas of only two lines, or anything up +to eight. There are even pieces written in the closed couplet and in +blank verse. But Mr Davies is by no means an innovator in his art, as so +many of his contemporaries are. The variety we have noted is, after all, +only a modification of traditional form and not a departure from it; and +always as its basis, the almost constant unit is the iamb. Very rarely +is any other measure adopted; and so well does the iamb suit the simple +and direct nature of this work in thought, word and phrase, that one +would not often alter it. One of the perfect examples of its fitness is +in "The Battle," from _Nature Poems_: + + There was a battle in her face, + Between a Lily and a Rose: + My Love would have the Lily win + And I the Lily lose. + + I saw with joy that strife, first one, + And then the other uppermost; + Until the Rose roused all its blood, + And then the Lily lost. + + When she's alone, the Lily rules, + By her consent, without mistake: + But when I come that red Rose leaps + To battle for my sake. + +Occasionally, however, and especially in the longer poems, the regular +recurrence of the iamb is a little monotonous. Then a wish just peeps +out that Mr Davies were more venturous: that he had some slight +experimental turn, or that he did not stand quite so far aloof from the +influences which, within his sight and hearing, are shaping a new kind +of poetic expression. But the regret may be put aside. The fresh forms +which those others are evolving are valid for them--for life as they +conceive it--for the wider range and the more complex nature of the +experience out of which they are distilling the poetic essence. For him, +however, the lyric mood burns clear and untroubled, kindling directly to +the beauty of simple and common things. And instinctively he seeks to +embody it in cadence and measure which are sweetly familiar. When some +exhilarating touch quickens and lightens his verse with a more tripping +measure, as in "The Laughers" (from _Nature Poems_) its gay charm is +irresistible. + + Mary and Maud have met at the door, + Oh, now for a din; I told you so: + They're laughing at once with sweet, round mouths, + Laughing for what? does anyone know? + + Is it known to the bird in the cage, + That shrieketh for joy his high top notes, + After a silence so long and grave-- + What started at once those two sweet throats? + + Is it known to the Wind that takes + Advantage at once and comes right in? + Is it known to the cock in the yard, + That crows--the cause of that merry din? + + Is it known to the babe that he shouts? + Is it known to the old, purring cat? + Is it known to the dog, that he barks + For joy--what Mary and Maud laugh at? + + Is it known to themselves? It is not, + But beware of their great shining eyes; + For Mary and Maud will soon, I swear, + Find cause to make far merrier cries. + +It is hard to close even a slight study of Mr Davies' work without +another glance at his originality. One hesitates to use that word, +strained and tortured as it often is to express a dozen different +meanings. It might be applied, in one sense or another, to nearly all +our contemporary poets, with whom it seems to be an article of artistic +faith to avoid like the plague any sign of being derivative. So, +although their minds may be steeped in older poetry, they deliberately +turn away from its influence, seeking inspiration in life itself. There +is no doubt that they are building up a new kind of poetry, with values +that sound strange perhaps to the unfamiliar ear, but which bid fair to +enlarge the field for the poetic genius and enrich it permanently. But +the crux of the question for us at this moment is the fact of effort, +the deliberate endeavour which is made by those poets to escape from +tradition. No sign of such an effort is visible in Mr Davies' work, and +yet it is the most original of them all--the newest, freshest, and most +spontaneous. + +The reason lies, of course, in the qualities we have already noted. It +is not entirely an external matter, as the influence of his career might +lead us to believe. That has naturally played its part, making the +substance of some of his verse almost unique; and, more important still, +guarding him from bookishness and leaving his mind free to receive and +convey impressions at first hand. From this come the bracing freshness +of his poetry, its naïveté of language, its apparent artlessness and +unconscious charm. But the root of the matter lies deeper than that, +mainly I think in the sincerity and simplicity which are the chief +qualities of his genius. Both qualities are fundamental and constant, +vitalizing the work and having a visible influence upon its form. For, +on the one hand, we see that simplicity reflected not only in the +thought, and themes, but in the language and the technique of this +poetry; while on the other hand there is a loyalty which is absolutely +faithful to its own experience and the laws of its own nature. + + + + +_Walter De La Mare_ + + +There is one sense in which this poet has never grown up, and we may, if +we please, recapture our own childhood as we wander with him through his +enchanted garden. And if it be true, as John Masefield says, that "the +days that make us happy make us wise," it is blessed wisdom that should +be ours at the end of our ramble. For see what a delightful place it is! +Not one of your opulent, gorgeous gardens, with insolently well-groomed +lawns and beds that teem with precious nurselings; but a much homelier +region, and one of more elusive and delicate charm. Boundaries there +are, for order and safe going, but they are hidden away in dancing +foliage: and there are leafy paths which seem to wind into infinity, and +corners where mystery lurks. + + Some one is always sitting there, + In the little green orchard; + + ..... + + When you are most alone, + All but the silence gone ... + Some one is waiting and watching there, + In the little green orchard. + +Flowers grow in the sunny spaces, and all the wild things that children +love--primrose and pimpernel, darnel and thorn; + + Teasle and tansy, meadowsweet, + Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit; + Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells; + Clover, burnet, and thyme.... + +It is mostly a shadowy place however, not chill and gloomy, but arched +with slender trees, through whose thin leafage slant the warm fingers of +the sun, picking out clear, quickly-moving patterns upon the grass. The +air is soft, the light is as mellow as a harvest moon, and the sounds of +the outer world are subdued almost to silence. Nothing loud or strenuous +disturbs the tranquility: only the remote voices of happy children and +friendly beasts and kind old people. Wonder lives here, but not fear; +smiles but not laughter; tenderness but not passion. And the presiding +genius of the spot is the poet's "Sleeping Cupid," sitting in the shade +with his bare feet deep in the grass and the dew slowly gathering upon +his curls: a cool and lovesome elf, softly dreaming of beauty in a quiet +place. + +So one might try to catch into tangible shape the spirit of this poetry, +only to realize the impossibility of doing anything of the kind. But +mere analysis would be equally futile; for the essence of it is as +subtle as air and as fluid as light; and one is finally compelled, in +the hope of conveying some impression of the nature of it, to fall back +upon comparison. It is a clumsy method however, frequently doing +violence to one or both of the poets compared; and even when used +discreetly, it often serves only to indicate a more or less obvious +point of resemblance. But we must take the risk of that for the moment, +and call out of memory the magical effect that is produced upon the mind +by the reading of "Kubla Khan," or "Christabel" or "The Ancient +Mariner." Very similar to that is the effect of Mr. de la Mare's poetry. +There is a difference, and its implications are important; but the chief +fact is that here, amongst this modern poetry of so different an order, +you find work which seems like a lovely survival from the age of +romance. + +That is why one has the feeling that this poet has never grown up. +Partly from a natural inclination, and partly from a deliberate plan +(like that of Coleridge) to produce a certain kind of art, he has +created a faëry, twilight world, a world of wonder and fantasy, which is +the home of perpetual youth. He has never really lost that time when, as +a little boy, he says that he listened to Martha telling her stories in +the hazel glen. Martha, of 'the clear grey eyes' and the 'grave, small, +lovely head' is surely a veritable handmaid of romance: + + 'Once ... once upon a time ...' + Like a dream you dream in the night, + Fairies and gnomes stole out + In the leaf-green light. + + And her beauty far away + Would fade, as her voice ran on, + Till hazel and summer sun + And all were gone:-- + + All fordone and forgot; + And like clouds in the height of the sky, + Our hearts stood still in the hush + Of an age gone by. + +That hush, invoking a sense of remoteness in space and time, lies over +all his work. It is as though, walking in the garden of this verse, a +child flitted lightly before us with a finger raised in a gesture of +silence. And it is not for nothing that his principal book is called +_The Listeners_. Footfalls are light, and voices soft, and the wind is +gentle: the noise of life is filtered to a whisper or a rustle or a +sleepy murmur. It is a device, of course, as we quickly see if we peer +too curiously at it: just a contrivance of the romantic artist to create +'atmosphere.' But it is so cunningly done that you never suspect the +contriving; and if you would gauge the skill of the poet in this +direction, you should note that he is able to produce the desired effect +in the broad light of day as well as in shadow and twilight. It is a +more difficult achievement, and much rarer. Evening is the time that the +poets generally choose to work this particular spell: though moonlight +or starlight, dawn, sunset, and almost any degree of darkness will serve +them. Sunlight alone, wide-eyed, penetrating and inquisitive, is +inimical to their purpose. Yet Mr de la Mare, in a poem called "The +Sleeper," succeeds in spinning this hush of wondering awe out of the +full light of a summer day. A little girl (Ann, a charming and familiar +figure in this poetry: at once a symbol of childhood and a very human +child) runs into the house to her mother, and finds her asleep in her +chair. That is all the 'plot'; and it would be hard to find an incident +slighter, simpler and more commonplace. But out of this homespun +material the poet has somehow conjured an eerie, brooding, impalpable +presence which steals upon us as it does upon the child in the quiet +house until, like her, we want to creep quickly out again. + +A sense of the supernatural, that constant component of the romantic +temperament, is of the essence of this poetry. The manifestation of it +is something more than a trick of technique, for it has its origin in +the very nature of the poet's genius. In its simpler and more direct +expression, it seems to spring out of the fearful joy which this type of +mind experiences in contact with the strange and weird. Again, as in +"The Witch," it may take the form of a bit of pure fantasy, transmitting +the fascination which has already seized the poet with a lurking smile +at its own absurdity. The opening stanzas tell of a tired old witch who +sits down to rest by a churchyard wall; and who, in jerking off her pack +of charms, breaks the cord and spills them all out on the ground: + + And out the dead came stumbling, + From every rift and crack, + Silent as moss, and plundered + The gaping pack. + + They wish them, three times over, + Away they skip full soon: + Bat and Mole and Leveret, + Under the rising moon. + + Owl and Newt and Nightjar: + They take their shapes and creep, + Silent as churchyard lichen, + While she squats asleep. + + ..... + + Names may be writ; and mounds rise; + Purporting, Here be bones: + But empty is that churchyard + Of all save stones. + + Owl and Newt and Nightjar, + Leveret, Bat and Mole + Haunt and call in the twilight, + Where she slept, poor soul. + +But in its subtler forms the supernatural element of this poetry is more +complex and more potent. And it would seem to have a definite relation +to the poet's philosophy. Not that it is possible to trace an outline of +systematic thought in work like this, where every constituent is milled +and sifted to exquisite fineness and fused to perfect unity. But if we +follow up a hint here and there, and correlate them with the author's +prose fiction, we shall not be able to escape the suggestion of a +mystical basis to the elusive witchery of so many of his poems. We shall +see it to be rooted in an extreme sensitiveness to what are called +'psychic' influences: a sensitiveness through which he becomes, at one +end of the scale, acutely aware of the presence of a surrounding spirit +world; and at the other, deeply sympathetic and tender to subhuman +creatures. + +No crude claim is made on behalf of any mystical creed; and still less +would one violate the fragile and mysterious charm of a poem like "The +Listeners" by so-called interpretation. But placed beside "The Witch," +it is clearly seen to treat the supernatural on a higher plane: it is, +indeed, a piece of rare and delicate symbolism. There is no recourse to +the ready appeal of the grotesque and the marvellous; and although we +find here all the 'machinery' of a sensational poem in the older +romantic manner--the great empty house standing lonely in the forest, +moonlight and silence, and a traveller knocking unheeded at the door--it +is a very subtle blending of those elements which has gone to produce +the peculiar effect of this piece. Twice the traveller knocks, crying: +"Is there anybody there?" but no answer comes: + + ... only a host of phantom listeners + That dwelt in the lone house then + Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight + To that voice from the world of men: + Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, + That goes down to the empty hall, + Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken + By the lonely Traveller's call. + And he felt in his heart their strangeness, + Their stillness answering his cry, + While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf, + 'Neath the starred and leafy sky; + For he suddenly smote on the door, even + Louder, and lifted his head:-- + 'Tell them I came, and no one answered, + That I kept my word,' he said. + +Running through the piece--and more clearly perceived when the whole +poem is read--is the thread of melancholy which is inseparably woven +into all the poet's work of this kind. And it, too, was a gift of his +fairy-godmother when he was born, light in texture as a gossamer and +spun out of the softest silk. Melancholy is almost too big a word to fit +the thing it is, for there is no gloom in it. It is like the silvery, +transparent cloud of thoughtfulness which passes for a moment over a +happy face; and it has something of the youthful trick of playing with +the idea of sadness. Hence come the early studies of "Imogen" and +"Ophelia," where the poet is so much in love with mournfulness that he +revels in making perfect phrases about it. + + Can death haunt silence with a silver sound? + Can death, that hushes all music to a close, + Pluck one sweet wire scarce-audible that trembles, + As if a little child, called Purity, + Sang heedlessly on of his dear Imogen? + +But even when this verse approaches a degree nearer to the reality of +pain it is still, as it were, a reflected emotion; and there is no +poignance in it. It is a winning echo of sorrowfulness, caught by one +who has the habit of turning back to listen and look. Thus the studies +of old age which we sometimes find here are drawn in the true romantic +manner, with a sunset halo about them, and lightly shadowed by +wistfulness and faint regret. And the thought of death, when it is +allowed to enter, comes as caressingly as sleep. The little poem called +"All That's Past," where the poet is thinking of how far down the roots +of all things go, is only one example of many where melancholy is toned +to the faintest strain of pensive sweetness: + + Very old are the woods; + And the buds that break + Out of the briar's boughs, + When March winds wake, + So old with their beauty are-- + Oh, no man knows + Through what wild centuries + Roves back the rose. + + ..... + + Very old are we men; + Our dreams are tales + Told in dim Eden + By Eve's nightingales; + We walk and whisper awhile, + But, the day gone by, + Silence and sleep like fields + Of amaranth lie. + +So we might continue to cull passages which represent one aspect or +another of the specific quality of Mr de la Mare's poetry. The choice is +embarrassingly rich, for there is remarkable unity of tone and technical +perfection here. But there is a danger in the process, especially with +work of so fine a grain; and one feels bound to repeat the warning that +it is impossible to dissect its ultimate essence in this way. We can +only come back to our comparison, and recalling the magical music of +poems like "Arabia," "Queen Djenira," or "Voices"--in which all the +characteristics noted are so intimately blended that it is impossible to +disengage them--reiterate the fact that they possess the same +inexplicable charm as the romantic work of Coleridge. + +But that reminds us of the difference, and all that it implies. For, +after all, this poet is a romanticist of the twentieth century, and not +of the late eighteenth. It is true that his genius has surprisingly kept +its youth (even more, that is to say, than the poet usually does); but +it is a nonage which is clearly of this time and no other. The signs of +this are clear enough. First and foremost, there is his humanity--in +which perhaps all the others are included, and with which are certainly +associated the simplicity and sincerity of his diction. It is as though +the two famous principles on which the _Lyrical Ballads_ were planned +had in the fulness of time become united in the creative impulse of a +single mind. That is not to charge Mr de la Mare with the combined +weight of those two earlier giants, of course, but simply to observe the +truth which Rupert Brooke expressed so finely when he said that the +poetic spirit was coming back "to its wider home, the human heart." So +that even a born romanticist like this cannot escape; and into the +chilly enchantment of an older manner warm sunlight streams and fresh +airs blow. + +Obvious links with the life-movement of his time are not lacking, though +as mere external evidence they are relatively unimportant. Of such are +the synthesis of poetry and science in "The Happy Encounter"; and the +detachment suggested in "Keep Innocency," where the poet reveals a full +consciousness of the gulf between romance and reality. But the influence +goes deeper than that. It is because he is a child of his age that he +has observed children so lovingly, and has wrought child-psychology into +his verse with such wonderful accuracy. That also is why he calls so +gently out of 'thin-strewn memory' such a homely figure as the shy old +maid in her old-fashioned parlour; and thence, too, comes the sympathy +with toiling folk--considering them characteristically in the serene +mood when their work is done--which underlies such pieces as "Old +Susan" and "Old Ben": + + Sad is old Ben Thistlewaite, + Now his day is done, + And all his children + Far away are gone. + + He sits beneath his jasmined porch, + His stick between his knees, + His eyes fixed vacant + On his moss-grown trees. + + ..... + + But as in pale high autumn skies + The swallows float and play, + His restless thoughts pass to and fro, + But nowhere stay. + + Soft, on the morrow, they are gone; + His garden then will be + Denser and shadier and greener, + Greener the moss-grown tree. + +From the same humane temper come the poet's kindly feeling for animals +and his affectionate understanding of them. Over and over again its +positive aspect finds expression, either quaint, comical or tender. And +twice at least the negative side of it appears, coming as near to rage +at the wanton destruction of animal life as so mellow and balanced a +nature would ever get. It is a significant fact that at such moments he +takes refuge in his humour--that humour, at once rich and delicate, +which is perhaps the most precious quality of this poetry, and which, +growing from a free and sympathetic contact with life, holds the scale +counterpoised to a nicety against the glamorous romantic sense. Thus we +have this scrap of verse, lightly throwing off a mood of disgust in +whimsical idiom: + + I can't abear a Butcher, + I can't abide his meat, + The ugliest shop of all is his, + The ugliest in the street; + Bakers' are warm, cobblers' dark, + Chemists' burn watery lights; + But oh, the sawdust butcher's shop, + That ugliest of sights! + +And thus in "Tit for Tat" we find this apostrophe to a certain Tom +Noddy, just returning from a day of 'sport' with his gun over his +shoulder: + + Wonder I very much do, Tom Noddy, + If ever, when you are a-roam, + An Ogre from space will stoop a lean face, + And lug you home: + + Lug you home over his fence, Tom Noddy, + Of thorn-stocks nine yards high, + With your bent knees strung round his old iron gun + And your head dan-dangling by: + + And hang you up stiff on a hook, Tom Noddy, + From a stone-cold pantry shelf, + Whence your eyes will glare in an empty stare, + Till you are cooked yourself! + +The humour there, corresponding in degree to the indignation for which +it is a veil, is relatively broad. There are many subtler forms of it, +however, and one will be found in a charming piece which is apt to our +present point. It is called "Nicholas Nye," and tells about an old +donkey in an orchard. He is an unprepossessing creature, lame and +worn-out: just a bit of animal jettison, thrown away here to end his +days in peace. And the poet had a great friendship with him: + + But a wonderful gumption was under his skin, + And a clear calm light in his eye, + And once in a while: he'd smile:-- + Would Nicholas Nye. + + Seem to be smiling at me, he would, + From his bush in the corner, of may,-- + Bony and ownerless, widowed and worn, + Knobble-kneed, lonely and grey; + And over the grass would seem to pass + 'Neath the deep dark blue of the sky, + Something much better than words between me + And Nicholas Nye. + + + + +_Wilfrid Wilson Gibson_ + + +There are a dozen books by this author, the work of about a dozen years. +They began to appear in 1902; and they end, so far as the present survey +is concerned, with poems that were published in the first half of 1914. +They make a good pile, a considerable achievement in bulk alone; and +when they are read in sequence, they are found to represent a growing +period in the poet's mind and art which corresponds to, and epitomises, +the transition stage out of which English poetry is just passing. That +is to say, in addition to the growth that one would expect--the ripening +and development which would seem to be a normal process--there has +occurred an unexpected thing: a complete change of ideal, with steady +and rapid progress in the new direction. So that if Mr. Gibson's later +books were compared directly with the early ones, they might appear to +be by an entirely different hand. Place _Urlyn the Harper_--which was +first published--beside a late play called _Womenkind_ or a still more +recent dramatic piece called _Bloodybush Edge_; and the contrast will be +complete. On the one hand there is all the charm of romance, in material +and in manner--but very little else. On the other hand there is nothing +to which the word charm will strictly apply; an almost complete +artistic austerity: but a profound and powerful study of human nature. +On the one hand there is a dainty lyrical form appropriate to the theme: +there are songs like this one, about the hopeless love of the minstrel +for the young queen who is mated with an old harsh king: + + I sang of lovers, and she praised my song, + The while the King looked on her with cold eyes, + And 'twixt them on the throne sat mailèd wrong. + + I sang of Launcelot and Guenevere, + While in her face I saw old sorrows rise, + And throned between them cowered naked Fear. + + I sang of Tristram and La Belle Isoud, + And how they fled the anger of King Mark + To live and love, deep sheltered in a wood. + + Then bending low, she spake sad voiced and sweet, + The while grey terror crouched between them stark, + "Sing now of Aucassin and Nicolete." + +The later work cannot be so readily illustrated: it is at once subtler +and stronger, and depends more upon the effect of the whole than upon +any single part. But for the sake of the contrast we may wrest a short +passage out of its setting in _Bloodybush Edge_. A couple of tramps have +met at night on the Scottish border; one is a cockney Londoner, a bad +lot with something sinister about him and a touch of mystery. He has +just stumbled out of the heather on to the road, cursing the darkness +and the loneliness of the moor. The other, a Border man to whom night is +beautiful and the wild landscape a familiar friend, protests that it is +not dark, that the sky is 'all alive with little stars': + + TRAMP. ... Stars! + Give me the lamps along the Old Kent Road; + And I'm content to leave the stars to you. + They're well enough; but hung a trifle high + For walking with clean boots. Now a lamp or so.... + + DICK. If it's so fine and brave, the Old Kent Road, + How is it you came to leave it? + + TRAMP. ... I'd my reasons ... + But I was scared: the loneliness and all; + The quietness, and the queer creepy noises; + And something that I couldn't put a name to, + A kind of feeling in my marrow-bones, + As though the great black hills against the sky + Had come alive about me in the night, + And they were watching me; as though I stood + Naked, in a big room, with blind men sitting, + Unseen, all round me, in the quiet darkness, + That was not dark to them. And all the stars + Were eyeing me; and whisperings in the heather + Were like cold water trickling down my spine: + +Putting an early and a late book side by side in this way, the contrast +is astonishing. And it is not an unfair method of comparison, because +when the new ideal appears it strikes suddenly into the work, and +sharply differentiates it at once from all that had been written before. +Like the larger movement which it so aptly illustrates, the change is +conscious, deliberate, and full of significance; and it is the cardinal +fact in this author's poetical career. It marks the stage at which he +came to grips with reality: when he brought his art into relation with +life: when the making of poetic beauty as an end in itself could no +longer content him; and the social conscience, already prompting +contemporary thought, quickened in him too. + +Humanity was the new ideal: humanity at bay and splendidly fighting. It +appeared first in the two volumes of 1907 as dramatic studies from the +lives of shepherd-folk. Four books had preceded these, in which the +texture of the verse was woven of old romance and legend. Another book +was yet to come, _The Web of Life_, in which the prettiness of that kind +of romanticism would blossom into absolute beauty. But the new impulse +grew from the date of _Stonefolds_; and when the first part of _Daily +Bread_ appeared, the impulse had become a reasoned principle. In the +poem which prefaces that volume it comes alive, realizing itself and +finding utterance in terms which express much more than an individual +experience. I quote it for that reason. The immediate thought has +dignity and the personal note is engaging. There is, too, peculiar +interest in the clarity and precision with which it speaks, albeit +unconsciously, for the changing spirit in English poetry. But the final +measure of the poem is the touch of universality that is latent within +it. For here we have the expression of not only a law of development by +which the poet must be bound, and not only a poetical synthesis of the +most important intellectual movement of this generation, but an +experience through which every soul must pass, if and when it claims its +birthright in the human family. + + As one, at midnight, wakened by the call + Of golden-plovers in their seaward flight, + Who lies and listens, as the clear notes fall + Through tingling silence of the frosty night-- + Who lies and listens, till the last note fails, + And then, in fancy, faring with the flock + Far over slumbering hills and dreaming dales, + Soon hears the surges break on reef and rock; + And, hearkening, till all sense of self is drowned + Within the mightier music of the deep, + No more remembers the sweet piping sound + That startled him from dull, undreaming sleep: + So I, first waking from oblivion, heard, + With heart that kindled to the call of song, + The voice of young life, fluting like a bird, + And echoed that light lilting; till, ere long, + Lured onward by that happy, singing-flight, + I caught the stormy summons of the sea, + And dared the restless deeps that, day and night, + Surge with the life-song of humanity. + +Being wise after the event, one can discover auguries of that change in +the very early work. There is, for example, a group of little poems +called _Faring South_, studied directly from peasant life in the south +of France. They indicate that even at that time an awakening sympathy +with toiling folk had begun to guide his observation; and they are in +any case a very different record of European travel from that of the +mere poetaster. There are studies of a stonebreaker, a thresher, a +ploughman; there is a veracious little picture of a housemother, +returning home at the end of market-day laden, tired and dusty; but +happy to be under her own vine-porch once more. And most interesting of +all the group, there is a shepherd, the forerunner of robuster shepherds +in later books, and evidently a figure which has for this author a +special attraction. + + With folded arms, against his staff he stands, + Sun-soaking, rapt, within the August blaze + The while his sheep with moving rustle graze + The lean, parched undergrowth of stubble lands. + + Indifferent 'neath the low blue-laden sky + He gazes fearless in the eyes of noon; + And earth, because he craves of her no boon, + Yields him deep-breasted, sun-steeped destiny. + +But these characters are not living people, they are types rather than +individuals, and idealized a little. They are, as it were, seen from a +distance, in passing, and in a golden light. Years were to pass before +knowledge and insight could envisage them completely and a dramatic +sense could endow them with life. Meantime the more characteristic +qualities of this early work were to develop independently. The lyrical +power of it, in particular, was to enjoy its flowering time, revelling +in the sweet melancholy of old unhappy love stories, in courts and +rose-gardens, kings and queens, knights and ladies and lute-players. +Perhaps the most charming examples in this kind are "The Songs of Queen +Averlaine." Here are a couple of stanzas from one of them, in which the +queen is brooding sadly over the thought of her lost love and lost +youth: + + Spring comes no more for me: though young March blow + To flame the larches, and from tree to tree + The green fire leap, till all the woodland, glow-- + Though every runnel, filled to overflow, + Bear sea-ward, loud and brown with melted snow, + Spring comes no more for me! + + ..... + + Spring comes no more for me: though May will shake + White flame of hawthorn over all the lea, + Till every thick-set hedge and tangled brake + Puts on fresh flower of beauty for her sake; + Though all the world from winter-sleep awake, + Spring comes no more for me! + +They are graceful songs, and their glamour will not fail so long as +there remain lovers to read them. The critic is disarmed by their +ingenuousness: he is constrained to take them as they stand, with their +warmth and colour, their sweet music and the occasional flashes of +observed truth (like the March runnels of this poem) which redeem them +from total unreality. The reward lies close ahead. For even on this +theme of love, and still in the lyric mood, sanity soon triumphs. It +heralds its victory with a laugh, and the air is lightened at once from +the scented gloom of romanticism. "Sing no more songs of lovers dead," +it cries, sound and strong enough now to make fun of itself. + + We are no lovers, pale with dreams, + Who languish by Lethean streams. + Upon our bodies warm day gleams; + And love that tingles warm and red + From sole of foot to crown of head + Is lord of all pale lovers dead! + +The volume from which that stanza is taken, _The Web of Life_, contains +this poet's finest lyrics. From the standpoint of art nothing that he +has done--and he is always a scrupulous artist--can surpass it; and the +seeker whose single quest is beauty, need go no further down the list of +Mr Gibson's works. There are some perfect things in the book: poems like +"Song," "The Mushroom Gatherers" and "The Silence," in which the early +grace and felicity survive; and where the lyric ecstasy is deepened by +thought and winged by emotion. In one sense, therefore, although this +volume is only midway through the period we are concerned with, it has +attained finality. We ought to pause on it. We see that it culminates +and closes the 'happy singing-flight' with which this career began. We +realize, too, that it has absolute value, as poetry, by virtue of which +many a good judge might rank it higher than its remarkable successors. +And, indeed, it is hard to break away from its spell. But when we judge +_The Web of Life_ relatively, when we place it back in the proper niche +amongst its kindred volumes, its importance seems suddenly to dwindle. +Beside the later books, it grows almost commonplace; we perceive its +charm to be of the conventional kind of the whole order of regular +English poetry to which it belongs. That is to say, though there is no +sign that the work has been directly modelled upon the accredited poets +of an earlier generation, it has characteristics which relate it to them +and secure a place in the line of descent. There are pieces which remind +us of Keats or the younger Tennyson. Here is a stanza from the poem +called "Beauty" which might have been the inspiration of the whole book: + + With her alone is immortality; + For still men reverently + Adore within her shrine: + The sole immortal time has not cast down, + She wields a power yet more divine + Than when of old she rose from out the sea + Of night, with starry crown. + Though all things perish, Beauty never dies. + +Or there are poems in which passion trembles under a fine restraint, as +in "Friends": + + Yet, are we friends: the gods have granted this. + Withholding wine, they brimmed for us the cup + With cool, sweet waters, ever welling up, + That we might drink, and, drinking, dream of bliss. + + ..... + + O gods, in your cold mercy, merciless, + Heed lest time raze your thrones; and at the sign, + The cool, sweet-welling waters turn to wine; + The spark to day, and dearth to bounteousness. + +And there is the group of classical pieces at the end of the book, in +which one regretfully passes over the flexible blank-verse of "Helen in +Rhodos" and "The Mariners," to choose a still more characteristic +passage from "A Lament for Helen": + + Helen has fallen: she for whom Troy fell + Has fallen, even as the fallen towers. + O wanderers in dim fields of asphodel, + Who spilt for her the wine of earthly hours, + With you for evermore + By Lethe's darkling shore + Your souls' desire shall dwell. + + ..... + + But we who sojourn yet in earthly ways; + How shall we sing, now Helen lieth dead? + Break every lyre and burn the withered bays, + For song's sweet solace is with Helen fled. + Let sorrow's silence be + The only threnody + O'er beauty's fallen head. + +But this book, which is so good an example of poetic art in the older +English manner, is not Mr Gibson's distinguishing achievement. That +came immediately afterwards, and was the outcome of the changed ideal +which we have already noted. _The Web of Life_ may be said to belong to +a definite school--though to be sure its relation to that school is in +affinity rather than actual resemblance. The books which follow have no +such relation: they stand alone and refuse to be classified, either in +subject or in form. And while the earlier work would seem to claim its +author for the nineteenth century, in _Daily Bread_ he is new-born a +twentieth-century poet of full stature. + +The most striking evidence of the change is in the subject-matter. +_Daily Bread_, like _Fires_, is in three parts, and each of them +contains six or seven pieces. There is thus a total of about forty +poems, every one of which is created out of an episode from the lives of +the working poor. Thus we find a young countryman, workless and +destitute in a London garret, joined by his village sweetheart who +refuses to leave him to starve alone. A farm labourer and his wife are +rising wearily in the cold dawn to earn bread for the six sleeping +children. There are miners and quarrymen in some of the many dangers of +their calling, and their womenfolk enduring privation, suspense and +bereavement with tireless courage. There is a stoker, dying from burns +that he has sustained at the furnace, whose young wife retorts with +passionate bitterness to a hint of compensation: + + Money ... woman ... money! + I want naught with their money. + I want my husband, + And my children's father. + Let them pitch all their money in the furnace + Where he ... + I wouldn't touch a penny; + 'Twould burn my fingers. + Money ... + For him! + +There are fishermen in peril of the sea; the printer, the watchman, the +stonebreaker, the lighthousekeeper, the riveter, the sailor, the +shopkeeper; there are school-children and factory girls; outcasts, +tramps and gipsies; and a splendid company of women--mothers in +childbirth and child-death, sisters, wives and sweethearts--more heroic +in their obscure suffering and toil than the noblest figure of ancient +tragedy. With deliberate intention, therefore, the poet has set himself +to represent contemporary industrial life: the strata at the base of our +civilization. He has, as it were, won free at a leap from illusion, from +a dominant idealism, and the jealous, tyrannical instinct for mere +beauty. Life is the inspiration now, and truth the objective. The facts +of the workers' lives are carefully observed, realized in all their +significance and faithfully recorded. Sympathy and penetration go hand +in hand. Personal faults and follies, superstitions and vices, play +their part in these little dramas, no less than the social wrongs under +which the people labour. And the conception, in its balance and +comprehensiveness, is really great; for while on the one hand there is +an humiliating indictment of our civilization (implicit, of course, but +none the less complete) on the other hand there is a proud vindication +of the invincible human spirit. + +Viewed steadily thus, by a poetic genius which has subdued the +conventions of its art, such themes are shown to possess a latent but +inalienable power to exalt the mind. They are therefore of the genuine +stuff of art, needing only the formative touch of the poet to evoke +beauty. And thus we find that although the normal process seems to have +been reversed here: although the poet has sought truth first--in event, +in character and in environment--beauty has been nevertheless attained; +and of a type more vital and complete than that evoked by the statelier +themes of tradition. + +As might have been expected the new material and method have directly +influenced form; and hence arises another distinction of these later +works. The three parts of _Daily Bread_ and the play called _Womenkind_ +are the extreme example; and their verse is probably unique in English +poetry. It has been evolved out of the actual substance on which the +poet is working; directly moulded by the nature of the life that he has +chosen to present. The poems here are dramatic; and whether the element +of dialogue or of narrative prevail, the language is always the living +idiom of the persons who are speaking. It is nervous, supple, incisive: +not, of course, with much variety or colour, since the vocabulary of +such people could not be large and its colour might often be too crude +for an artist's use. Selection has played its part, in words as in +incidents; but although anything in the nature of dialect has been +avoided, we are convinced as we read that this is indeed the speech of +labouring folk. We can even recognize, in a light touch such as an +occasional vocative, that they are the sturdy folk of the North country. +There is a dialogue called "On the Road" which illustrates that, as well +as more important things. Just under the surface of it lies the problem +of unemployment: a young couple forced to go on tramp, with their infant +child, because the husband has lost his job. That, however, inheres in +the episode: it is not emphasized, nor even formulated, as a problem. +The appeal of the poem is in its fine delineation of character, the +interplay of emotion, the rapid and telling dialogue--the pervasive +humanitarian spirit; and, once again, an exact and full perception of +the woman's point of view. Mr Gibson is a poet of his time in this as +well--in his large comprehension and generous acknowledgment of the +feminine part in the scheme of things. I do not quote to illustrate +that, because it is an almost constant factor in his work. But I give a +passage in which the Northern flavour is distinctly perceptible, in +addition to qualities which are limited to no locality--the kindliness +of the poor to each other and their native courtesy. An old stonebreaker +has just passed the starving couple by the roadside and, divining the +extremity they are at, he turns back to them: + + Fine morning, mate and mistress! + Might you be looking for a job, my lad? + Well ... there's a heap of stones to break, down yonder. + I was just on my way ... + But I am old; + And, maybe, a bit idle; + And you look young, + And not afraid of work, + Or I'm an ill judge of a workman's hands. + And when the job's done, lad, + There'll be a shilling. + + ..... + + Nay, but there's naught to thank me for. + I'm old; + And I've no wife and children, + And so, don't need the shilling. + + ..... + + Well, the heap's down yonder-- + There, at the turning. + Ah, the bonnie babe! + We had no children, mistress. + And what can any old man do with shillings, + With no one but himself to spend them on-- + An idle, good-for-nothing, lone old man? + +The curious structure of the verse is apparent at a glance--the +irregular pattern, the extreme variation in the length of the line, the +absence of rhyme and the strange metrical effects. It is a new poetical +instrument, having little outward resemblance to the grace and dignity +of regular forms. Its unfamiliarity may displease the eye and the ear at +first, but it is not long before we perceive the design which controls +its apparent waywardness, and recognize its fitness to express the life +that the poet has chosen to depict. For it suggests, as no rhyme or +regular measure could, the ruggedness of this existence and the +characteristic utterance of its people. No symmetrical verse, with its +sense of something complete, precise and clear, could convey such an +impression as this--of speech struggling against natural reticence to +express the turmoil of thought and emotion in an untrained mind. Mr +Gibson has invented a metrical form which admirably produces that +effect, without condescending to a crude realism. He has made the worker +articulate, supplying just the coherence and lucidity which art demands, +but preserving, in this irregular outline, in the plain diction and +simple phrasing, an acute sense of reality. Here is a fragment of +conversation, one of many similar, in which this verse is found to be a +perfect medium of the idea. A wife has been struck by her husband in a +fit of passion: she has been trying to hide from her mother the cause of +the blow, but she is still weak from the effects of it and has not lied +skilfully. Her mother gently protests that she is trying to screen her +husband: + + Nay! There's naught to screen. + 'Twas I that ... Nay! + And, if he's hot, at times, + You know he's much to try him; + The racket that he works in, all day long, + Would wear the best of tempers. + Why, mother, who should know as well as you + How soon a riveter is done? + The hammers break a man, before his time; + And father was a shattered man at forty; + And Philip's thirty-five; + And if he's failed a bit ... + And, sometimes, over-hasty, + Well, I am hasty, too; + You know my temper; no one knows it better. + +Occasionally, it is true, the principle on which the verse is built is +too strictly applied: the phraseology is abrupt beyond the required +effect; and the lines, instead of following a rule which seems to +measure their length by a natural pause, are broken arbitrarily. +Speaking broadly, however, it is beautifully fitted to the themes of +_Daily Bread_, though one is not so sure about it in a poem like "Akra +the Slave." This is a delightful narrative, akin in subject to the +earlier work, and belonging to that period much more than to the date at +which it was published, 1910. One cannot linger upon it, nor even upon +the more important work which followed, and is happily still +continuing--more important because it indicates development and marked +progress along the new lines. The three parts of _Fires_ carry forward +the conception of _Daily Bread_, but now in narrative style, permitting +therefore a relaxation of the austere dramatic truth of the dialogue +form. The verse is modified accordingly, as will be seen in this passage +from "The Shop": A workman has entered his favourite shop--the little +general-store of a poor neighbourhood--to buy his evening paper. But he +is not attended to immediately; and a sickly little girl who has come +for a fraction of a loaf and a screw of tea, is also waiting. The +shopkeeper is engrossed with a parcel from the country--from a little +convalescent son who has gone for the first time to his father's native +place: + + Next night, as I went in, I caught + A strange, fresh smell. The postman had just brought + A precious box from Cornwall, and the shop + Was lit with primroses, that lay atop + A Cornish pasty, and a pot of cream: + And as, with gentle hands, the father lifted + The flowers his little son had plucked for him, + He stood a moment in a far-off dream, + As though in glad remembrances he drifted + On Western seas: and, as his eyes grew dim, + He stooped, and buried them in deep, sweet bloom: + Till, hearing, once again, the poor child's cough, + He served her hurriedly, and sent her off, + Quite happily, with thin hands filled with flowers. + And, as I followed to the street, the gloom + Was starred with primroses; and many hours + The strange, shy flickering surprise + Of that child's keen, enchanted eyes + Lit up my heart, and brightened my dull room. + +Music has come in again, in frequent and sometimes intricate rhyme; in +metrical lightness and variety; in a fuller and more harmonious +language. The spirit of this later work remains humanitarian, but it is +not concentrated now solely upon the tragic aspects of the workers' +lives. A wider range is taken, and comedy enters, with an accession of +urbanity from which characterization gains a mellower note. The world of +nature, too, banished for a time in the exclusive study of humanity, +returns to enrich this later poetry with a store of loving observation, +an intimate knowledge of wild creatures, and the refreshing sense of a +healthful open-air life in which, over a deep consciousness of sterner +things, plays a jolly comradeship with wind and weather. + + + + +_Ralph Hodgson_ + + +The format of Mr Hodgson's published work is almost as interesting as +the poetry itself--and that is saying a good deal. For all of his poetry +that matters (there is an earlier, experimental volume which is not +notable) has been issued during the past two or three years in the form +of chapbook and broadside. + +It was a new publishing venture, quietly launched _At the Sign of Flying +Fame_, and piloted now through the rapids of a larger success by the +Poetry Bookshop. In a sense, of course, it is not a new thing at all, +but a revival of the means by which ballad and romance were conveyed +into the hands of the people a couple of centuries ago. Yet it is no +imitation of a quaint style for the sake of its picturesqueness, nor the +haphazard choice of a vehicle unsuited either to the author or his +public, nor a mere bid for popular favour. + +The peculiar interest of the revival lies in the fact that it is part of +the larger movement, the renascent spirit of poetry which has been +visibly stirring the face of the waters in these past few years. The +reappearance of the chapbook synchronized with that, and is closely +related with it. For it is found to be as well fitted to the form and +the content of the newest poetry as it is suited to the need of the +newest audience. On the one hand it brings to the freshly awakened +public a book which is cheap enough to acquire and small enough readily +to become a familiar possession of the mind. On the other hand, it is +suited perfectly to the simple themes and metrical effects of the work +hitherto published in this form; and is designed only to include small +poems of unquestioned excellence. Here may be perceived the more +important factors which go to the formation of literary taste; and while +one would estimate that the educational value of these little books is +therefore high, aptly meeting the need of the novice in poetry, it is +clear that the discriminating mind also is likely to find them +satisfying. + +Mr Hodgson's work, then, will be found in four chapbooks and a thin +sheaf of broadsides. The chapbooks are small and slim, and could all be +picked up between the thumb and finger of one hand. They are wrapped in +cheery yellow and decorated with impressionistic sketches which, nine +times out of ten, perhaps, really help the illusion that the poet is +creating. The broadsides--there are about a dozen of them--are long +loose sheets, each containing a single poem similarly decorated. + +The sum of the work is thus quite small. Perhaps there are not more than +five-and-twenty pieces altogether, none very long, and amongst them an +occasional miniature of a single stanza. Probably the format in which +the author has chosen to appear has had an effect in restricting his +production. That would be a possible result of the vigorous selection +exercised and the limits imposed in space and style. But there are signs +that he would not have been in any case a ready writer--the sense these +lyrics convey of having waited on inspiration until the veritable moment +shone, finding thought and feeling, imagination and technique, ripe to +express it. And by those very signs watchers knew and acclaimed this +author for a poet, despite the slender bulk of his accomplishment, long +before the Royal Society of Literature had awarded to his work the +_Polignac_ prize. + +The two poems which gained the prize are "The Bull" and "The Song of +Honour." Each occupies a whole chapbook to itself, and therefore must be +accounted, for this poet, of considerable length. They are, indeed, the +most important of his poems. And if one does not immediately add that +they are also the most beautiful and the most charming, the reason is +something more than an aversion from dogma and the superlative mood. +For the artistic level of all this work is high, and it would be +difficult, on a critical method, to single out the finest piece. The +decision would be susceptible, even more than poetical judgments usually +are, to mood and individual bias. One person, inclining to the smaller, +gem-like forms of verse, will find pieces by Mr Hodgson to flatter his +fancy. This poet has, indeed, a gift of concentrated expression, before +which one is compelled to pause. There are tiny lyrics here which +comprise immensities. The facile imp that lurks round every corner for +the poor trader in words whispers 'epigram' as we read "Stupidity +Street" or "The Mystery" or "Reason has Moons." But is the specific +quality of these delicate creations really epigrammatic? No, it would +appear to be something more gracious and more subtly blent with emotion; +having implications that lead beyond the region of stark thought, and an +impulse far other than to sharpen a sting. "Stupidity Street" is an +example: + + I saw with open eyes + Singing birds sweet + Sold in the shops + For the people to eat, + Sold in the shops of + Stupidity Street. + I saw in vision + The worm in the wheat, + And in the shops nothing + For people to eat; + Nothing for sale in + Stupidity Street. + +Analysis of that will discover an anatomy complete enough to those who +enjoy that kind of dissection. There are bones of logic and organic heat +sufficient of themselves for wonder how the thing can be done in so +small a compass. And the strong simple words, which articulate the idea +so exactly, confirm the impression of something rounded and complete; as +though final expression had been reached and nothing remained behind. +But as a fact there is much behind. One sees this perhaps a little more +clearly in "The Mystery": + + He came and took me by the hand + Up to a red rose tree, + He kept His meaning to Himself + But gave a rose to me. + + I did not pray Him to lay bare + The mystery to me, + Enough the rose was Heaven to smell, + And His own face to see. + +Again the idea has been crystallized so cleanly out of the poetic matrix +that one sees at first only its sharp, bright outline. Perhaps to the +analyst it would yield nothing more. But the simpler mind will surely +feel, no matter how dimly, the presence of all the imaginings out of +which it sprang, a small synthesis of the universe. + +Here we touch the main feature of this poet's gift--his power to +visualize, to make almost tangible, a poetic conception. So consummate +is this power that it dominates other qualities and might almost cheat +us into thinking that they did not exist. Thus we might not suspect this +transparent verse of reflective depths; and of course, it is not +intellectual poetry, specifically so-called. Yet reflection is implied +everywhere; and occasionally it is a pure abstraction which gets itself +embodied. The poem called "Time" illustrates this. In its opening +line--"Time, you old Gipsy-man"--the idea swings into life in a figure +which gains energy with every line. One positively sees this restless +old man who has driven his caravan from end to end of the world and who +cannot be persuaded to stay for bribe or entreaty. And it would be +possible quite to forget the underlying thought did not the gravity of +it peep between the incisive strokes of the third stanza. + + Last week in Babylon, + Last night in Rome, + Morning, and in the crush + Under Paul's dome; + Under Paul's dial + You tighten your rein-- + Only a moment, + And off once again; + Off to some city + Now blind in the womb, + Off to another + Ere that's in the tomb. + +So it is too with this poet's imagination. It deals perpetually with +concrete imagery--as for instance when it pictures Eve: + + Picking a dish of sweet + Berries and plums to eat, + +or presents her, when the serpent is softly calling her name, as + + Wondering, listening, + Listening, wondering, + Eve with a berry + Half-way to her lips. + +Moreover, the poet does not in the least mind winging his fancy in a +homely phrase. He is not afraid of an idiomatic touch, nor of pithy, +vigorous words. His conception is vivid enough to bear rigorous +treatment; and in the same poem, "Eve," the serpent is found plotting +the fall of humanity in these terms: + + Now to get even and + Humble proud heaven and + Now was the moment or + Never at all. + +And when his wiles have been successful, Eve's feathered comrades, +Titmouse and Jenny Wren, make an indignant 'clatter': + + How the birds rated him, + How they all hated him! + How they all pitied + Poor motherless Eve! + +That is the nearest approach to fantasy which will be found in this +poetry. There is nothing subtle or whimsical here: no half-lights or +neutral tones or hints of meaning. This genius cannot fulfil itself in +an 'airy nothing.' The imaginative power is too firmly controlled by a +sense of fact to admit the bizarre and incredible; yet there can be no +doubt of its creative force when one turns for a moment to either of the +prize poems, and particularly to "The Bull." It would be hard to name a +finer specimen of verse in which imagination, high and sustained, is +seen to be operating through a purely sensuous medium. That is to say, +moving in a region of fact, accurately observing and recording the +phenomena of a real world, there is yet achieved an imaginative creation +of great power--a bit of all-but-perfect art. Quotation will not serve +to illustrate this, since the poem is an organic whole and a principal +element of its perfection is its unity. One could, however, demonstrate +over again from almost any line the poet's instinct for reality: as for +example in the truth, quiet but unflinching, of his presentment of the +cruelty inherent in his theme. The passages are almost too painful taken +out of their context; and there may be some for whom they will rob the +poem of complete beauty. But the same instinct may be observed +visualizing, in strong light and rich colour and incisive movement, the +teeming tropical world in which the old bull stands, sick, unkinged and +left to die. + + Cranes and gaudy parrots go + Up and down the burning sky; + Tree-top cats purr drowsily + In the dim-day green below; + And troops of monkeys, nutting, some, + All disputing, go and come; + + ..... + + And a dotted serpent curled + Round and round and round a tree, + Yellowing its greenery, + Keeps a watch on all the world, + All the world and this old bull + In the forest beautiful. + +This poem is indeed very characteristic of its author's method. One +perceives the thought behind (apart, of course, from the mental process +of actual composition); and one realizes the magnitude of it. But again +it is implicit only, and reflection on 'the flesh that dies,' on +greatness fallen and worth contemned, hardly wins a couple of lines of +direct expression. + +In "The Song of Honour" it would seem for the moment as if all that were +reversed. This poem is the re-creation of a spiritual experience, a hymn +of adoration. It is entirely subjective in conception, and is strangely +different therefore from the cool objectivity of "The Bull" or "Eve" or +"Time." In them the poet is working so detachedly that there is even +room for the play of gentle humour now and then. He is working with +delight, indeed, and emotion warm enough, but with a joy that is wholly +artistic, caring much more for the thing that he is making than for any +single element of it. But in "The Song of Honour" it is evident that he +cares immensely for his theme; and hence arise an ardour and intensity +which are not present in the other poems. Moreover, the work is the +interpretation of a vision, which would seem to imply a mystical quality +only latent hitherto; and there is a rapture of utterance which is not +found elsewhere. + +The apparent contrast has no reality however. It is possible to catch, +though in subtle inflexions it is true, an undertone which runs below +even the simplest and clearest of these lyrics. No doubt it is as quiet, +as subdued, as it well could be--this soft, complex harmony flowing +beneath the ringing measure. But one can distinguish a note here and a +phrase there which point directly to the dominant theme of "The Song of +Honour." There is a hint of it, for example, in "The Mystery," where the +soul is imagined as standing, reverent but without fear, within the +closed circle of the unknown, and joyfully content to accept as the +pledge and symbol of that which it is unable to comprehend, the beauty +of the material world. One may see in that a familiar attitude of the +modern mind; the perception that there _is_ a mystery, which somehow +perpetually eludes the creeds and philosophies, but which seems to be +attaining to gradual revelation and fulfilment in actual existence. A +vision of the unity of that existence was the inspiration of this +greater poem: a realization, momentary but dazzling, of the magnificence +of being: of its joy, of its continuity, of the progression of life +through countless forms of that which we call matter to an ultimate goal +of supreme glory. + +I do not say that any thesis, in those or kindred terms, was the origin +of this Song. I feel quite sure that it had no basis so abstract. It was +born in a mood of exaltation, kindled perhaps by such an instant of +flaming super-consciousness as may be observed in the spiritual +experience of other contemporary poets. The moment of its inception is +recorded in the opening of the poem: + + I climbed a hill as light fell short, + And rooks came home in scramble sort, + And filled the trees and flapped and fought + And sang themselves to sleep; + +Silence fell upon the landscape as darkness came and the stars shone +out. + + I heard no more of bird or bell, + The mastiff in a slumber fell, + I stared into the sky, + As wondering men have always done + Since beauty and the stars were one, + Though none so hard as I. + + It seemed, so still the valleys were, + As if the whole world knelt at prayer, + Save me and me alone; + +So true is the poet to his impulse towards clarity and the concrete, so +unerringly does he select the strong, familiar word with all its meaning +clear on the face of it, that it is possible to regard the Song simply +as a religious poem--a hymn of adoration to a Supreme Being: + + I heard the universal choir, + The Sons of Light exalt their Sire + With universal song, + Earth's lowliest and loudest notes, + Her million times ten million throats + Exalt Him loud and long, + +Pure religion the poem is, but its implications are broader than any +creed. And, define it as we may, it remains suggestive of the most vital +current of modern thought. For it takes its stand upon the solid earth, +embraces reality and perceives in the material world itself that which +is urging joyfully toward some manifestation of spiritual splendour. +Thus the poet hears the Song rising from the very stocks and stones: + + The everlasting pipe and flute + Of wind and sea and bird and brute, + And lips deaf men imagine mute + In wood and stone and clay, + +The pæan is audible to him, too, from lowly creatures in whom life has +not yet grown conscious, from the tiniest forms of being, from the most +transient of physical phenomena. + + The music of a lion strong + That shakes a hill a whole night long, + A hill as loud as he, + The twitter of a mouse among + Melodious greenery, + The ruby's and the rainbow's song, + The nightingale's--all three, + The song of life that wells and flows + From every leopard, lark and rose + And everything that gleams or goes + Lack-lustre in the sea. + +But it is in humanity that the Song attains its fullest and noblest +harmony. Out of the stuff of actual human life the spiritual essence is +distilled, making the wraiths of a mystical imagination poor and pale by +comparison. + + I heard the hymn of being sound + From every well of honour found + In human sense and soul: + The song of poets when they write + The testament of Beautysprite + Upon a flying scroll, + The song of painters when they take + A burning brush for Beauty's sake + And limn her features whole-- + + ..... + + The song of beggars when they throw + The crust of pity all men owe + To hungry sparrows in the snow, + Old beggars hungry too-- + The song of kings of kingdoms when + They rise above their fortune men, + And crown themselves anew,-- + + + + +_Ford Madox Hueffer_ + + +There is a collected edition of Mr Hueffer's poetry published in that +year of dreadful memory nineteen hundred and fourteen. It is a valuable +possession. Its verse-content may not--of course it cannot--appeal in +the same degree to all lovers of poetry. For reasons that we shall see, +it is more liable than most poetic art to certain objections from those +whose taste is already formed and who therefore, wittingly or +unwittingly, have adopted a pet convention. They may boggle at a word or +a phrase in terminology which is avowedly idiomatic. They may wince +occasionally at a free rhyme or grow a little restive at the +irregularities of a rhyme-scheme, or resent an abrupt change of rhythm +in the middle of a stanza just as they believed they had begun to scan +it correctly. If they are the least bit sentimental (and it is not many +who have cast out, root and branch, the Anglo-Saxon vice) they will be +chilled here and there by an ironic touch, repelled by an apparent +levity, or irritated at the contiguity of subjects and ideas which seem +inept and unrelated. The classicist will grumble that the unities are +broken; the idealist will shudder at a bit of actuality; the formalist +will eye certain new patterns with disfavour; and even the realist, +with so much after his own heart, will be graceless enough to be +impatient at recurrent signs of a romantic temperament. + +So, in perhaps a dozen different ways, the literary person of as many +different types may find that he is just hindered from complete +enjoyment of what he nevertheless perceives to be beautiful work. If he +be honest, however, and master of his moods, he will be ready to admit +that it _is_ beautiful, and that none of these objections invalidate the +essential poetry of the book. That has its own winning and haunting +qualities, quite strong enough to justify the claim that the volume is a +valuable possession. That is to say, there is absolute beauty in it, +considered simply as a work of art and judged only from the point of +view of the conventional lover of poetry. There are other values +however, immediate or potential. There is, for example, to the believer +in Mr Hueffer's theory, promise of the power which his method would have +upon all the good, kind, jolly, intelligent, but unliterary people, +could they be induced to read poetry at all. As a mere corollary from +the literary quibbles already named, one would expect such people to +find this volume delightful--an expectation by no means daunted by the +declared fate of earlier productions. One sees that the evident +sincerity of the work, the attitude of that particular individuality to +life, the free hand and the right instinct in the selection of incident, +and the use of language that is homely and picturesque, ought to be +potent attractions to the reader who frequently finds the older poetry +stilted and artificial. + +Moreover, so successful has the author's method been in many cases that +even the _littérateur_ must pause and think. He will observe how well +the new artistry suits the new material; he will note the exhilaration +of the final effect; and when, returning to his beloved poets of the +last generation, he finds that some of their virtue seems to have fled +meantime, he will ask himself whether the life of our time may not +_demand_ poetic presentation in some such form as this. Which is to say +that he will probably be a convert to Mr Hueffer's impressionism. + +That point is debatable, of course; but what will hardly be questioned, +apart from the joy we frequently experience here in seeing a thing +consummately done, is the importance of this work as an experiment. That +is obviously another kind of value, with a touch of scientific interest +added to the æsthetics. And the importance of the experiment is +enhanced, or at any rate we realize it more fully, from the fact that +the poet has been generous enough to elaborate his theory in a preface. +That is no euphemism, as other prefaces and theories of exasperating +memory might seem to suggest. It is real generosity to give away the +fundamentals of your art, to show as clearly as is done here the +principles upon which you work and the exact means which are taken to +give effect to them. It is courageous too, particularly when confessions +are made which supply a key to personality. For the hostile critic is +thus doubly armed. But the 'gentle reader' is armed too; and Mr Hueffer +would seem to have been wise, even from the point of view of mere +prudence, to take the risk. + +The reader of this book then will find the poems doubly interesting in +the light that the preface throws upon them. He may, of course, read and +enjoy them without a single reference to it--that is the measure of +their poetic value. Or, on the other hand, he may read the preface, brim +full of stimulating ideas, without reference to the poetry. But the full +significance of either can only be appreciated when they are taken in +conjunction. For instance, we light upon this phrase indicating the +material of the poet's art: "Modern life, so extraordinary, so hazy; so +tenuous, with still such definite and concrete spots in it." It is a +charming phrase, and from its own suggestiveness gently constrains one +to think. But if we turn at once to the most considerable poem of the +collection, "To All the Dead," we shall see our poet in the very act of +recording the life that he visualizes in this way; and we shall see how +remarkably the texture of the poem fits the description in the passage +just quoted: "life hazy and tenuous, with such definite and concrete +spots." + +To tell the truth, haze is the first thing we see when observing the +effect of this poem. It is pervasive too, and for a time nothing more is +visible save two or three islets of concrete experience, projecting +above it and appearing to float about in it, unstable and unrelated. +This first effect is rather like that of a landscape in a light autumn +ground-mist, which floats along the valley-meadows leaving tree-tops and +hillsides clear. Or it is like trying to recollect what happened to you +on a certain memorable day. The mood comes back readily enough, golden +or sombre; but the events which induced it, or held it in check, or gave +it so sudden a reverse only return reluctantly, one by one, and not even +in their proper order; so that we have to puzzle them out and rearrange +and fit them together before the right sequence appears. + +Such is the main impression of "To All the Dead." Only the artist has +been at work here selecting his incidents with a keen eye and sensitive +touch, brooding over them with a temperament of complex charm, and for +all their apparent disjunction, relating and unifying them, as in life, +with the subtlest and frailest of links. As a consequence, at a second +glance the haze begins to lift, while at a third the whole landscape is +visible, a prospect very rich and fair despite the ugly spots which the +artist has not deigned to eliminate, and which, as a fact, he has +deliberately retained. + +But there is no doubt the first glance is puzzling. If one were not +caught by the interest of those concrete spots it might even be +tiresome, and one would probably not trouble to take the second glance. +But they are so curious in themselves, and so boldly sketched, that we +are arrested; and the next moment the general design emerges. First the +picture of the ancient Chinese queen--a Mongolian Helen-- + + With slanting eyes you would say were blind-- + In a dead white face. + +That, with its quaint strange setting and its suggestion of a guilty +love story, is a thing to linger over for its own sake, apart from its +apparent isolation. Nor do we fully realize till later (although +something subtler than intelligence has already perceived it), that in +this opening passage the theme has been stated, and that the key-note +was struck in the line + + She should have been dead nine thousand year.... + +But we pass abruptly, in the second movement, to our own time and to the +very heart of our own civilization. We are paying a call on a garrulous +friend in the rue de la Paix. He is an American and therefore a +philosopher; but as he descants on the 'nature of things,' doubtless in +the beautiful English of the gentle American, we let our attention +wander to things that touch us more sharply, to sights and sounds +outside the window, each vividly perceived and clearly picked out, but +all resolving themselves into a symbol, vaguely impressive, of the +complicated whirl of life. And this passage again, with its satiric +flavour and dexterity of execution, we are content to enjoy in its +apparent detachment, until we glimpse the link which unites it to the +larger interest of the whole. + +The link with that ancient queen is in a flash of contrast--a couple of +Chinese chiropodists, grinning from their lofty window at a _mannequin_ +on the opposite side of the street. And as the theme is developed, +episodes which seem irrelevant at first, are soon found to have their +relation with the thought--of death and tragic passion--on which the +poet is brooding. At a chance word dropped by the American host the +confused and perplexing sights and sounds of the outer world vanish; and +the philosophical lecture, droning hitherto just on the edge of +consciousness, fades even out of hearing-- + + ... I lost them + At the word "Sandusky." A landscape crossed them; + A scene no more nor less than a vision, + All clear and grey in the rue de la Paix. + +He is seven years back in time and many hundreds of miles away, pushing +up a North American river in a screaming, smoky steamer, between high +banks crowned with forests of fir: + + And suddenly we saw a beach-- + + A grey old beach and some old grey mounds + That seemed to silence the steamer's sounds; + So still and old and grey and ragged. + For there they lay, the tumuli, barrows, + The Indian graves.... + +So, rather obliquely perhaps as to method, but with certainty of effect, +we are prepared for the culmination in the third movement. The poet has +fled from civilization and 'Modern Movements' to the upland heather of a +high old mound above the town of Trêves. And here, on a late autumn +evening, he lingers to think. He remembers that it is the eve of All +Souls' Day; and remembers too that the mound on which he is seated is an +old burying-place of great antiquity. In the cold and dark of his eerie +perch, certain impressions of the last few days return to him, just +those which have been subtly galling a secret wound and impelling him to +flee--the tragedy of the Chinese queen, the vision of the old tumuli at +Sandusky Bay, the unheeded platitudes of his friend-- + + ... "_From good to good, + And good to better you say we go._" + (There's an owl overhead.) "_You say that's so?_" + My American friend of the rue de la Paix? + "_Grow better and better from day to day._" + Well, well I had a friend that's not a friend to-day; + Well, well, I had a love who's resting in the clay + Of a suburban cemetery. + +One has felt all through that something weird is impending; but I am +sure that no ghost-scene so curiously impressive as that which follows +has ever been written before. It could not have been done, waiting as it +was for the conjuncture of time and temperament and circumstance. But +here it is, a thing essentially of our day; with its ironic mood, its +new lore, its air of detachment, its glint of grim humour now and then, +and its intense passion, both of love and of despair, which the +fugitive show of nonchalance does but serve to accentuate. Passion is +the dominant note as the myriad wraiths of long-dead lovers crowd past +the brooding figure in the darkness. + + And so beside the woodland in the sheen + And shimmer of the dewlight, crescent moon + And dew wet leaves I heard the cry "Your lips! + Your lips! Your lips." It shook me where I sat, + It shook me like a trembling, fearful reed, + The call of the dead. A multitudinous + And shadowy host glimmered and gleamed, + Face to face, eye to eye, heads thrown back, and lips + Drinking, drinking from lips, drinking from bosoms + The coldness of the dew--and all a gleam + Translucent, moonstruck as of moving glasses, + Gleams on dead hair, gleams on the white dead shoulders + Upon the backgrounds of black purple woods.... + +That poem naturally comes first in a little study, because it is the +most considerable in the collection, and again because it is the most +characteristic. It is very convenient, too, for illustrating those +theories of the preface, as for example, that the business of the poet +is "the right appreciation of such facets of our own day as God will let +us perceive ... the putting of certain realities in certain aspects ... +the juxtaposition of varied and contrasting things ... the genuine love +and the faithful rendering of the received impression." But on æsthetic +grounds one is not so sure of "To All the Dead" for the first place. +Perhaps it tries to include too many facets of life--or death; perhaps +we get a slight impression as regards technique that the poet is +_consciously_ experimenting; and there is a shade of morbidity haunting +it. In many of the shorter pieces there is a nearer approach to +perfection. "The Portrait," for instance, a symbolical picture of life, +has only one flaw; a slight excess of a trick of repetition which is a +weakness of our author. It is mere carping, however, to find fault with +a piece which is so noble in idea and gracious in expression; and it +seems a crime to spoil the lovely thing by mutilating it. But with a +resemblance of theme, the poem is so strongly contrasted in manner with +"To All the Dead" that one cannot resist quoting from it at this point. +The idea, although great, is relatively simple: life, symbolized in the +figure of a woman, seated upon a tomb in a sequestered graveyard. The +mood is one of serene melancholy, not rising to passion or dropping to +satire; and the gentle unity of thought and feeling leaves the mind free +to receive the impression of beauty. + + She sits upon a tombstone in the shade; + + ..... + + Being life amid piled up remembrances + Of the tranquil dead. + ... So she sits and waits. + And she rejoices us who pass her by, + And she rejoices those who here lie still, + And she makes glad the little wandering airs, + And doth make glad the shaken beams of light + That fall upon her forehead: all the world + Moves round her, sitting on forgotten tombs + And lighting in to-morrow. + +That was written earlier than "To All the Dead," but, like the two songs +which come immediately after it in this volume, and like the "Suabian +Legend," it is amongst Mr Hueffer's best things. One precious quality is +the temperament which pervades it--and the principal artistic +significance of all this work is to have expressed so strikingly an +exuberant and complex personality. Sensibility rules, perhaps; but +reflective power is visibly present, with a vein of irony running below +it, precipitated out of its own particular share of the bitterness that +nobody escapes. In one aspect after another this individuality is +revealed, and the changing moods are matched by changing forms. It +follows that there are many varied measures here; and most of them have +some new feature. A few are very irregular, and all are, of course, +modelled to suit the author's impressionistic theory. And the fact that +these forms are in the main so well adapted to their themes: that they +are so successful in conveying the desired impression, is as much as to +say that the poet has evolved a technique which perfectly suits his own +genius. It may or it may not carry much further than that; and the +extent to which the new instrument would respond to other hands may be +problematical. One would suppose that some of its qualities at least +would be a permanent gain, particularly the larger range which brings +within its compass so many fresh aspects of life on the one hand and on +the other a richer idiom. But whether or no these are qualities which +will pass into the substance of future poetry, there can be no question +that life seen through this particular temperament is interpreted +vividly by this method. + +Thus we have the fulmination of "Süssmund's Address to an Unknown God"; +violent, bitter, and unreasoned, the mere rage of weary mind and body +against the goads of modern existence. Thus, in the "Canzone _à la_ +Sonata" as in "The Portrait" a single serious thought is rendered in +grave unrhymed stanzas which have all the dignity of blank verse with +something more than its usual vivacity; and thus, too, in "From Inland," +one of the exquisite pieces of the volume, the whole of a tragedy is +suggested by the rapid sketching of two or three brief scenes. Again the +verse is perfectly fitted to the theme; the sober rhythm matching the +quietness of retrospect; memory tenderly grieving in simple rhymes which +vary their occurrence as emotion rises and falls. + + "... We two," I said, + "Have still the best to come." But you + Bowed down your brooding, silent head, + Patient and sad and still.... + + ... Dear! + What would I give to climb our down, + Where the wind hisses in each stalk + And, from the high brown crest to see, + Beyond the ancient, sea-grey town, + The sky-line of our foam-flecked sea; + And, looking out to sea, to hear, + Ah! Dear, once more your pleasant talk; + And to go home as twilight falls + Along the old sea-walls! + The best to come! The best! The best! + One says the wildest things at times, + Merely for comfort. But--_The best!_ + +Again, in "Grey Matter" and "Thanks Whilst Unharnessing," the colloquial +touch is right and sure. In the latter poem, the almost halting time of +the opening lines clearly suggests the tired horse as he draws to a +standstill in the early darkness of a winter evening: there is a quicker +movement as the robin's note rings out; the farmer's song is broken at +intervals as he moves about the business of unharnessing, and when he +stands at the open stable door, peering through the darkness at the +robin on the thorn, the impression of relief from toil, of gratitude for +home and rest, of simple kindliness and humanity, is complete-- + + Small brother, flit in here, since all around + The frost hath gripped the ground; + And oh! I would not like to have you die. + We's help each other, + Little Brother Beady-eye. + +One might continue to cite examples: the rapid unrhymed dialogue of +"Grey Matter," which continues so long as there is a touch of +controversy in the talk of husband and wife, and changes to a lyric +measure as emotion rises; the real childlikeness of the "Children's +Song"; or the mingled pain and sweetness of "To Christina at Nightfall," +epitomising life in its philosophy and reflecting it in its art. But it +is unnecessary to go further; and this last little poem (I will not do +it violence by extracting any part of it) is perhaps the most complete +vindication of our poet's theories. Never surely were impressions so +vivid conveyed with a touch at once so firm and tender; never were +thought and feeling so intense rendered with such gracious homeliness. + + + + +_An Irish Group_ + + +The spirit of poetry is native to Ireland. It awakened there in the +early dawn, and has hardly slumbered in two thousand years. Probably +before the Christian era it had become vocal; and as long as twelve +hundred years ago it had woven for the garment of its thought an +intricate and subtle prosody. You would think it had grown old in so +great a time. You would almost expect to find, in these latter days, a +pale and mournful wraith of poetry in the green isle. You would look for +the symbol of it in the figure of some poor old woman, like the +legendary Kathleen ni Houlihan, who is supposed to incarnate the spirit +of the country. But even while you are looking it will happen with you +as it happened before the eyes of the lad in the play by Mr Yeats. The +bent form will straighten and the old limbs become lithe and free, the +eyes will sparkle and the cheeks flush and the head be proudly lifted. +And when you are asked, "Did you see an old woman?" you will answer with +the boy in the play: + + I did not; but I saw a young girl, and she had the walk of a queen. + +So it is with the later poetry of Ireland. One would not guess, in the +more recent lyrics, that these singers are the heirs of a great +antiquity. Their songs are as fresh as a blade of grass: they are as new +as a spring morning, as young and sweet as field flowers in May. They +partake of youth in their essence; and they would seem to proceed from +that strain in the Irish nature which has always adored the young and +beautiful, and which dreamed, many centuries ago, a pagan paradise of +immortal youth which has never lost its glamour: + + Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, + Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, + Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue. + +Doubtless we owe this air of newness largely to the rebirth of +literature in the Isle. When we say that poetry has never slumbered +there, we get as near to the truth as is possible; it seems always to +have been quick, eager and spontaneous, and never to have drowsed or +faded. But there was a black age when it was smitten so hard by external +misfortune that it nearly died. It was early in the nineteenth century +when, as Dr Hyde tells, "The old literary life of Ireland may be said to +come to a close amidst the horrors of famine, fever and emigration." All +that Dr Hyde and Lady Gregory have done to build up the new literary +life of their land cannot be fully realized yet. But out of their +labours has surely sprung the movement which we call the Irish Literary +Renaissance--a movement in which, disregarding cross currents, the +detached observer would include the whole revival, whether popular or +æsthetic. By fostering the Gaelic they have awakened in the people +themselves a sense of the dignity of their own language and literature. +By the translation of saga and romance, the patient gathering of +folk-tale and fairy-lore, the search for and interpretation of old +manuscripts, they have given to native poets a mass of material which is +peculiarly suited to their genius. And since approximately the year 1890 +they have seen their reward in the work of a band of brilliant writers. +Romance is reborn in the novel; the poetry of the old saga blooms again +in the lyric; and a healthy new development has given to Ireland what +she never before possessed--a native drama. + +Now it is true that the larger figures of the movement have receded a +little; the one in whom the flame of genius burned most fiercely has +passed into silence. And Synge being gone, there is no hand like his, +cunning to modulate upon every string of the harp. There is no voice of +so full a compass, booming out of tragic depths or shrilling satiric +laughter or sweet with heroic romance; breathing essential poetry and +yet rich with the comedy of life. It is a fact to make us grieve the +more for that untimely end, but it is not a cause for despair. For there +are many legatees of the genius of Synge. They are slighter +figures--naturally so, at this stage of their career--but they belong, +as he did, to the new birth of the nation's genius and they draw their +inspiration directly from their own land. + +Here we touch a constant feature of Irish poetry. Dr. Hyde tells that +from the earliest times the bards were imbued with the spirit of +nationality: that their themes were always of native gods and heroes, +and that they were, in a sense, the guardians of national existence. The +singers of a later day curiously resemble them in this. Sometimes it is +a matter of outward likeness only, the new poets having drawn directly +upon the stories which have been placed in their hands from the old +saga. But much more often it is a rooted affinity--a thing of blood and +nerve and mental fibre. Then, although the gods may bear another name +and the heroes be of a newer breed and the national ideal may be +enlarged, it is still with these things that the poets are preoccupied. + +This has become to the scoffer a matter of jest, and to the grumbler a +cause of complaint--that the Irish poet is obsessed by race. They say +that they can guess beforehand what will be the mood, the manner and the +subject of nine Irish poems out of ten. They are very clever people, so +they probably could get somewhere near the mark. And they would +naturally find themselves cramped in these narrow bounds. Religion and +history and national ideals would give them no scope. But when they +maintain that this is a radical defect, I am not at all convinced. I +remember that many of the world's great books proceeded from an intense +national self-consciousness; and I ask myself whether it may not be a +law in the literary evolution of a people, as well as in their political +development, that they proceed by way of a strong, free and proud spirit +of nationality to something wider. The reply may be that that is a +relatively early stage through which, in a normal literary progress, +Ireland should have passed long since. True, but normal growth and +advance have never been possible to her; and recalling the events of her +history, it is something of a marvel that the literary genius should +have survived at all. + +In contrast with modern English poetry, impatient as it is to escape +from tradition, these traits which mark a line of descent so clearly are +the more striking. One may even smile a little at them--whimsically, as +we do when we see a youth or a young girl reproducing the very looks and +tones and gestures of an older generation. There is something comical in +the unconscious exactitude of it. But the laugh comes out of the deeper +sources of comedy. There lies below it, subconsciously perhaps, a +profound sense of those things in life which are most precious and most +enduring. + +One of the gayer features of this family likeness is the persistence of +a certain kind of satire. We know from Dr Hyde's _Literary History of +Ireland_ that an important function of the ancient bards was to satirize +the rivals and enemies of their chieftain. They had, of course, to sing +his victories, to inspire and encourage his warriors and to weave into +verse the hundreds of romances which had come down to them from times +older still. But their equipment was not complete unless it included a +good stinging power of ridicule; and the _ollamh_, or chief bard, was +commonly required to castigate in this way the king of some other +province who happened to have given offence. But it is not to be +supposed that the rival _ollamh_ would remain silent under the +punishment inflicted on his lord; and one can imagine the battle of wits +which would follow. Or, if we need any assurance as to the caustic power +of the bard, it may be found in one quaint incident. The hero Cuchulain +was ranged against Queen Maeve of Connacht in her famous raid into +Ulster about the year 100 B.C. Maeve was astute as well as warlike, and +when she had failed several times to induce Cuchulain to engage singly +with one of her warriors, she sent to him a threat that her bards "would +criticize, satirize and blemish him so that they would raise three +blisters on his face" ... and Cuchulain instantly consented to her wish. + +I cannot guess how many blisters have been raised by Irish satirists +since that date, but I know the art has not died out. There are modern +practitioners of it. Synge made the national susceptibility smart; and +yet his satire, to the mere onlooker, would seem sympathetic enough. So, +too, with Miss Susan Mitchell. She pokes fun at her compatriots with +perfect good humour and we cannot believe that they would be annoyed by +it. But you never can tell. Perhaps the witty philosophy of "The Second +Battle of the Boyne" would not appeal to an Ulster Volunteer; and it is +conceivable that even a Nationalist might resent the sly shaft at the +national pugnacity. The opening stanza tells about an old man, whose +name of portent is Edward Carson MacIntyre. His little grandchild runs +in to him from the field carrying a dark round thing that she has +found, and she trundles it along the floor to the old man's feet. + + Now Edward Carson MacIntyre + Was old, his eyes were dim, + But when he heard the crackling sound, + New life returned to him. + "Some tax-collector's skull," he swore, + "We used to crack them by the score." + + "Why did you crack them, grandpapa?" + Said wee Victoria May; + "It surely was a wicked thing + These hapless men to slay." + "The cause I have forgot," said Mac, + "All I remember is the crack." + + ..... + + "And some men said the Government + Were very much to blame; + And I myself," says MacIntyre, + "Got my own share of fame. + I don't know why we fought," says he, + "But 'twas the devil of a spree." + +Again it is possible (though hardly probable one would think) that Mr +George Moore does not really enjoy the fun so cleverly poked at him in +the stanzas, "George Moore Comes to Ireland." Safe in our own +detachment, the criticism seems delicious, brightly hitting off the +personality which has grown so familiar in Mr Moore's work, and +especially in "Hail and Farewell": the delightful garrulity, the +disconcerting candour, the intimacy and naïve egoism, and the perfectly +transparent what-a-terror-I-was-in-my-youth air. The speaker in the poem +is, of course, Mr Moore himself; and it will be seen how cunningly the +author has caught his attitude, particularly to the work of Mr W. B. +Yeats-- + + I haven't tried potato cake or Irish stew as yet; + I've lived on eggs and bacon, and striven to forget + A naughty past of ortolan and frothy omelette. + + ..... + + But W. B. was the boy for me--he of the dim, wan clothes; + And--don't let on I said it--not above a bit of pose; + And they call his writing literature, as everybody knows. + + If you like a stir, or want a stage, or would admirèd be, + Prepare with care a naughty past, and then repent like me. + My past, alas! was blameless, but this the world won't see. + +When Miss Mitchell's satire is engaged on personalities in this way, it +has a piquancy which may obscure the subtler flavour of it. But the +truth is that it is often literary in a double sense, both in subject +and in treatment. So we may find a theme of considerable general +interest in the world of literature, treated in the allusive literary +manner which has so much charm for the booklover. And to that is added a +racy and vigorous satirical touch. Thus, for instance, is the question +of Synge's _Playboy_ handled. Ridicule is thrown on the stupid rage with +which it was received, and on the folly which generalized so hotly from +the play to the nation, deducing wild nonsense against a whole people +and its literature because the man who killed his father in the story is +befriended by peasants. Here is a snatch of it: + + I can't love Plato any more + Because a man called Sophocles, + Who lived in distant Attica, + Wrote a great drama _Oedipus_, + About a Greek who killed his da. + I know now Plato was a sham, + And Socrates I brush aside, + For Phidias I don't care a damn, + For every Greek's a parricide. + +So, too, comes the burlesque touch in the "Ode to the British Empire": + + God of the Irish Protestant, + Lord of our proud Ascendancy, + Soon there'll be none of us extant, + We want a few plain words with thee. + Thou know'st our hearts are always set + On what we get, on what we get. + +The genial temper of this work pervades even the political pieces. Miss +Mitchell is no respecter of persons or institutions: she finds food for +derision in friend as well as foe. But her laughter is not +bitter--unless, perhaps, a tinge comes in when she touches that old +source of bitterness, the gulf between the Saxon and the Celt-- + + We are a pleasant people, the laugh upon our lip + Gives answer back to your laugh in gay good fellowship; + We dance unto your piping, we weep when you want tears; + Wear a clown's dress to please you, and to your friendly jeers + Turn up a broad fool's face and wave a flag of green-- + But the naked heart of Ireland, who, who has ever seen? + +There is, however, a more important strain of heredity in the new Irish +poetry; and it comes directly through the renaissance of which we have +already spoken. There are two lines of development which begin in that +rebirth; but they proceed almost at right angles from each other. One, +the clearer and more direct, is towards work of a specifically literary +order. The other is tending to a simple and direct rendering of life. On +the one hand we find poetry which is romantic in manner and heroic in +theme. This is largely of narrative form, and seems to hold within it +the promise of epic growth. On the other hand, there is a lyric form of +less pretension and wilder grace; music so fresh and apparently artless +as to mock the idea of derivation. Yet it, too, owes its vitality to the +same impulse, and is, perhaps, its healthiest blossoming. + +The treasury of Irish romance has been eagerly drawn upon by the +literary poet; and splendid stories they are for his purpose. Every one +by this time knows the incomparable Deirdre legend, in one or other of +the fine versions by Mr Yeats, Mr Trench or Synge. Deirdre, as a heroine +of the ancient world, positively shines beside a Helen or a Cleopatra. +In her is crystallized the Celtic conception of womanhood, with her +free, clean, brave, generous soul; magnificently choosing her true mate +rather than wed the High King Conchubar; and with her lover +magnificently paying the penalty of death. + +We have become almost as familiar, too, with the Hosting of Maeve, the +prowess of Cuchulain, and the mythological figures of Dagda and Dana, +who are the Zeus and Hera of early Irish religion. Here is a fragment of +a poem by Mr James Cousins called "The Marriage of Lir and Niav." The +personages of the story belong to very early myth. To find Lir you must +go back past the heroes and the demigods: further still, past the gods +themselves, to their ancestors. For Lir was the father of Mananan the +sea-god; and he was the Lord of the Seven Isles. Niav (or Niamh) is +described as the Aphrodite of Irish myth; which probably accounts for +the symbolism in the passage where Lir first sees her-- + + But, as upon the breathless hour of eve, + The gentle moon, smiling amid the wreck + And splendid remnant of the flaming feast + Wherewith Day's lord had sated half the world, + Sets a cool hand on the tumultuous waves, + And soothes them into peace, and takes the throne, + And beams white love that wakens soft desire + In waiting hearts; so in that throbbing pause + Came Niav, daughter of the King whose name + May not be named till First and Last are one. + ... And He who stood + Unseen, apart, marked how about Her form, + Clothed white as foam, Her sea-green girdle hung + Like mermaid weed, and how within her wake + There came the sound and odour of the sea, + The swift and silent stroke of unseen wings, + And little happy cries of mating birds; + +This poem appeared in one of Mr. Cousins' earlier books, _The Quest_, +published in 1904; and it is interesting to observe in it the little +signs which indicate the nearness of the poet at that time to the source +of his inspiration. The stories from the three great national cycles of +romance had been made accessible in the years just preceding; and the +poetic imagination seems to have been charmed by their quaint manner as +well as stimulated by their vigour. Hence we find in this poem one or +two familiar epic devices which have apparently been adopted as a means +to catch the tone of the old story, and to convey a sense of its +antiquity. There is, for instance, the trick of repetition that we know +so well, a whole phrase recurring, either word for word or varied very +slightly, at certain intervals through the poem. Thus we have the phrase +which appears in the passage quoted above, and which is several times +repeated in other places-- + + --the King whose name + May not be named till First and Last are one. + +Thus, too, we find the frequent use of simile of an involved and +elaborate order. Mr Cousins reveals himself as poet and artist in this +device alone. Imagination and mastery of technique are alike implied in +fancies so beautifully wrought. The opening lines of the passage we have +given supply an example, and another may be taken from "Etain the +Beloved." It is simpler than most, but it illustrates very aptly the +grace of idea and expression which is characteristic of this poet. The +scene is an assembly of the people before King Eochaidh; and the chief +bard is presenting their urgent petition to him-- + + He ceased, and all the faces of the crowd + Shone with the light that kindles when the boon + Of speech has eased the heart; as when a cloud + Falls from the labouring shoulder of the moon, + And all the world stands smiling silver-browed. + +In the same poem of Etain we may note the free use of description and +the rich colour and profuse detail which mark romantic work of this +kind. The story of Etain has a mythological association. She was the +beloved wife of Mider, one of the ancient gods; but she seems to have +been driven out of the hierarchy and to have become incarnate in the +form of a young girl of great beauty. King Eochaidh, not knowing of her +divine origin, wooed her and made her queen. But Mider followed her to +earth and won her back from her human lover. There is an exquisite +stanza in which the King sends to seek for his bride, and tells how they +will find her-- + + "She shall be found in some most quiet place + Where Beauty sits all day beside her knee + And looks with happy envy on her face; + Where Virtue blushes, her own guilt to see, + And Grace learns new, sweet meanings from her grace; + Where all that ever was or will be wise + Pales at the burning wisdom of her eyes." + +News is brought to the King that Etain is found, and he goes to the +remote and lonely place that his messengers have told him of. He comes +upon her unaware-- + + There by the sea, Etain his destined bride + Sat unabashed, unwitting of the sight + Of him who gazed upon her gleaming side, + Fair as the snowfall of a single night; + Her arms like foam upon the flowing tide; + Her curd-white limbs in all their beauty bare, + Straight as the rule of Dagda's carpenter. + +There is, too, in this poetry of Mr Cousins, a very tender feeling for +Nature. Perhaps it does not quite accord with the spirit of the wild +time out of which the stories came; but that opens up a larger question +into which we are not bound to enter. For if we are going to quarrel +with the treatment of epic material in any but the vigorous, 'primitive' +manner, we shall make ourselves the poorer by rejecting much beautiful +poetry. We may even find ourselves robbed of Virgilian sweetness. But +most of us will be wise enough to take good things wherever we find +them; and may, therefore, rejoice in stanzas like these, which describe +the stirring of wild creatures at dawn: + + Somewhere the snipe now taps his tiny drum; + The moth goes fluttering upward from the heath; + And where no lightest foot unmarked may come, + The rabbit, tiptoe, plies his shiny teeth + On luscious herbage; and with strident hum + The yellow bees, blustering from flower to flower, + Scatter from dew-filled cups a sparkling shower. + + The meadowsweet shakes out its feathery mass; + And rumorous winds, that stir the silent eaves, + Bearing abroad faint perfumes as they pass, + Thrill with some wondrous tale the fluttering leaves, + And whisper secretly along the grass + Where gossamers, for day's triumphal march, + Hang out from blade to blade their diamond arch. + +There is, however, a very different manner in which these early legends +are being treated by some of the Irish poets. One may call it 'Celtic,' +in the hope of conveying some impression of it in a single word. But if +you would get nearer than that, you may take one or two fragments from +Mr Yeats' _The Celtic Twilight_--such as "the voice of Celtic sadness +and of Celtic longing for infinite things ... the vast and vague +extravagance that lies at the bottom of the Celtic heart." And to +phrases like that, which adumbrate the spirit of the work, you must add +a style which is allusive, mystic, and symbolical: in fact, a mode of +expression rather like Mr Yeats' own early poetry. But the crux of the +matter lies there. For the production of really good work of this kind +demands just the equipment which Mr Yeats happens to possess: the right +temperament and the right degree (a high one) of poetic craftsmanship. +It is a rare combination--unique, of course, in so far as the element +of individuality enters. And attempts which have been made to gain the +same effects with a different natural endowment have failed in +proportion as temperament was unsuited or 'the capacity for taking +pains' was less. Hence 'Celtic' poetry, in the specific sense, has +fallen into some disfavour. Yet when mood and material and craft 'have +met and kissed each other,' it is clear that authentic beauty is +created; and that of a kind which cannot be made in any other way. Thus +we might choose, from the romantic work of Miss Eva Gore Booth, passages +where all the desirable qualities seem to meet. There is, for instance, +the poem which prefaces her _Triumph of Maeve_, from which I take the +last two stanzas. Here is finely caught that unrest of soul which we +have been taught to believe essentially Celtic; though it probably +haunts every imaginative mind, of whatever race. + + There is no rest for the soul that has seen the wild eyes of Maeve; + No rest for the heart once caught in the net of her yellow hair-- + No quiet for the fallen wind, no peace for the broken wave; + Rising and falling, falling and rising with soft sounds everywhere, + There is no rest for the soul that has seen the wild eyes of Maeve. + I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill + And I know that the deed that is in my heart is her deed; + And my soul is blown about by the wild winds of her will, + For always the living must follow whither the dead would lead-- + I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill. + +From the same romance we may select a speech by Fionavar, Queen Maeve's +beautiful young daughter. The sense of the supernatural enters here, for +the occasion is Samhain, the pagan All Souls' Eve. It is a night when +gods and fairies are abroad, and Fionavar has seen things strange and +awesome: + + As I came down the valley after dark, + The little golden dagger at my breast + Flashed into fire lit by a sudden spark; + I saw the lights flame on the haunted hill, + My soul was blown about by a strange wind. + Though the green fir trees rose up stark and still + Against the sky, yet in my haunted mind + They bent and swayed before a magic storm: + A wave of darkness thundered through the sky, + And drowned the world.... + +In _Nera's Song_, again, as in the whole romance, we find the element +of dreams which is supposed to be an indubitable sign of the Celtic +temperament. Nera, who is the Queen's bard, has just returned after an +absence of one whole year in the Land of Faëry; and though it is autumn, +his arms are full of primroses, the fairies' magical flower: + + I bring you all my dreams, O golden Maeve, + There are no dreams in all the world like these + The dreams of Spring, the golden fronds that wave + In faery land beneath dark forest-trees,-- + I bring you all my dreams. + + I bring you all my dreams, Fionavar, + From that dim land where every dream is sweet, + I have brought you a little shining star, + I strew my primroses beneath your feet, + I bring you all my dreams. + +There is yet another style in which the heroic tales are occasionally +treated, and it is directly contrasted with either of those which we +have just considered. Examples of it may be found in Miss Alice +Milligan's book of _Hero Lays_, where it will be seen that the poet's +chief concern is with the story itself, rather than with the manner of +telling. In such a piece as "Brian of Banba," for instance, the action +is clear and moves rapidly. There is a sense of morning air and light in +the poem which is very refreshing after the atmosphere of golden +afternoon, or evening twilight, in which we have been wandering. It +comes partly from the blithe swing of the rhythm: partly from the vigour +and clear strength of diction. And a true dramatic sense imparts the +life and movement of quickly changing emotion. + +Banba is one of the many beautiful old names for Ireland; and Brian was +perhaps her greatest king. He lived about the time of our English Alfred +and, like him, Brian fought continually against the invading Dane. He, +too, when a young man, lived for a long time the life of an +outlaw--outcast even from his own clan because he would not suffer the +Danish yoke. The poem relates an incident of Brian's appearance at the +palace of his brother, King Mahon, after a long absence. He strides into +the gay assembly alone, his body worn thin by privation and his garments +ragged. + + "Brian, my brother," said the King, in a tone of scornful wonder, + "Why dost thou come in beggar-guise our palace portals under? + Where hast thou wandered since yester year, on what venture of love + hast thou tarried? + Tell us the count of thy prey of deer, and what cattleherds thou + hast harried." + + ..... + + "I have hunted no deer since yester year, I have harried no + neighbour's cattle, + I have wooed no love, I have joined no game, save the kingly game of + battle; + The Danes were my prey by night and day, in their forts of hill and + hollow, + And I come from the desert-lands alone, since none are alive to + follow. + Some were slain on the plundered plain, and some in the midnight + marching; + Some were lost in the winter floods, and some by the fever parching; + Some have perished by wounds of spears, and some by the shafts of + bowmen; + And some by hunger and some by thirst, and all are dead; but they + slaughtered first + Their tenfold more of their foemen." + +The King impulsively offers him gifts for a reward, but Brian declines +them: + + "I want no cattle from out your herds, no share of your shining + treasure; + But grant me now"--and he turned to look on the listening warriors' + faces-- + "A hundred more of the clan Dal Cas, to follow me over plain and + pass: + To die, as fitteth the brave Dal Cas, at war with the Outland + races." + +It must not be supposed, however, that these poets are working solely +upon romantic themes, more or less in the epic manner. On the contrary, +direct treatment of the saga is declining, even with the poets who, like +those we have named, were formerly preoccupied with it. Mr Cousins' +volume of 1915 is sharply symptomatic of the change. Subjects of more +social and more immediate interest are engaging attention, and legendary +material is passing into a phase of allusion and symbol. Concurrently, +there is a development of the pure lyric which gives great promise, +being sound and sweet and vigorous. It has all the signs of vitality, +drawing its inspiration directly from life, keeping close to the earth, +as it were, and often dealing with the large and simple things of +existence. + +One may not make too precise a claim here for affiliation with the +literary revival; but observing the movement broadly, it would appear +that this is its more popular manifestation, springing out of the +devotion to the old language of the country, its folklore and the life +of its people. That current of the stream would touch actual existence +much more closely than æsthetic or academic study; and while one might +regard Lady Gregory and Mr Yeats as the pioneers of the movement on the +specifically literary side, on the other hand there are Dr Hyde, A. E., +and others, whose influence must have counted largely in these new +lyrics of life. + +There are about half a dozen poets who are making these sweet, fresh +songs. They have not published very much, but that follows from the +nature of the medium in which they are working. Lyrical rapture is +brief, and the form of its expression correspondingly small. Very seldom +can it be sustained so long and so keenly as, for example, in Mr +Stephens' "Prelude and a Song," for the wise poet accepts the natural +limits of inspiration and technique. But this little group does not, of +course, include all the Irish lyrists. The poets whom we may describe as +literary--who have, at any rate, the more obvious connexion with the +revival--have made beautiful lyrics too. But they are sharply contrasted +in subject or style, or both, with those others. Thus we may take a +"Spring Rondel" by Mr Cousins, which is supposed to be sung by a +starling: + + I clink my castanet, + And beat my little drum; + For spring at last has come, + And on my parapet + Of chestnut, gummy-wet, + Where bees begin to hum, + I clink my castanet, + And beat my little drum. + "Spring goes," you say, "suns set." + So be it! Why be glum? + Enough, the spring has come; + And without fear or fret + I clink my castanet, + And beat my little drum. + +The lyrical virtues of that need no emphasis: the quick, true reflection +of a mood: the lightness of touch and grace of expression. It is, +however, mainly by qualities of form that one is delighted here--the +art's the thing. To make a rondel at all seems an achievement; and to +make it so daintily, with playful fancy and feeling caught to the nicest +shade, almost compels wonder. But that is characteristic of the kind of +verse of which I am speaking, another aspect of which may be seen in a +captivating fragment which has been translated by this poet from the +Irish of some period before the tenth century. It is called "The +Student"; and to find the like of it, with its combined love of nature +and of learning, one must seek a certain 'Clerk of Oxenford' and endow +him with the spirit of his own springtime poet-- + + High on my hedge of bush and tree + A blackbird sings his song to me, + And far above my linèd book + I hear the voice of wren and rook. + From the bush-top, in garb of grey, + The cuckoo calls the hours of day. + Right well do I--God send me good!-- + Set down my thoughts within the wood. + +It is not often that these poets are occupied with "Modern Movements," +wherein they differ from their English contemporaries. For that reason, +it is the more significant that one public question has moved them +deeply. Thus we find Miss Mitchell writing of womanhood: + + Oh, what to us your little slights and scorns, + You who dethrone us with a careless breath. + God made us awful queens of birth and death, + And set upon our brows His crown of thorns. + +And Miss Gore-Booth, thinking of the sheltered ignorance of many women +who oppose the suffrage for their sex, makes a little parable: + + The princess in her world-old tower pined + A prisoner, brazen-caged, without a gleam + Of sunlight, or a windowful of wind; + She lived but in a long lamp-lighted dream. + + They brought her forth at last when she was old; + The sunlight on her blanchèd hair was shed + Too late to turn its silver into gold. + "Ah, shield me from this brazen glare!" she said. + +Mr Cousins, too, has several noble sonnets on the theme, from which we +may select part of the one called "To the Suffragettes": + + Who sets her shoulder to the Cross of Christ, + Lo! she shall wear sharp scorn upon her brow; + And she whose hand is put to Freedom's plough + May not with sleek Expediency make tryst: + + ..... + + O fateful heralds, charged with Time's decree, + Whose feet with doom have compassed Error's wall; + Whose lips have blown the trump of Destiny + Till ancient thrones are shaking toward their fall; + Shout! for the Lord hath given to you the free + New age that comes with great new hope to all. + +The main point of contrast, in turning to the more 'popular' lyrics, is +their simplicity. It is a difference of manner as well as of material. +You will not find in this verse either an elaborate metrical form, or +the treatment of questions such as that which we have just noted. Those +things belong to a more complex condition, both of life and of letters, +than that which is reflected here. And if such a contrast always implied +separation in time, we could believe ourselves to be in a different +epoch--a younger and more ingenuous age. But that, of course, by no +means follows. Even if we regard it as figured by a kind of separation +in space, with town and university on the one hand and the broad land +and toiling people on the other, it is still too arbitrary and, +moreover, it is incomplete. No room is found for the wanderers in +neutral territory. + +The contrast is rather like that between the newer English poetry and +the old. It is indicative of a current of thought which is running +throughout Europe, and which may be observed in England, stimulating the +more vital work of contemporary poets. That, crudely stated, is a +perception of the value of life--of the whole of life, sense and spirit, +heart and brain and soul. As the poet is seized by it, he is carried +into a larger and more vivid world, one of manifold significance and +beauty which he had never before perceived. He grasps eagerly at _all_ +the stuff of existence, persistently seeks his inspiration in life +instead of in literature, and having rejected the artifice of +conventional terminology, begins to create a new kind of poetry. + +Now that undercurrent is not visible in a superficial glance at this +poetry. Even native critics seem to have missed it, or tend to refer it +to anything rather than to the whole movement of the national mind +towards reality. But that is not surprising, indeed. For the limpidity +of these lyrics is quite untroubled; they are innocent of ulterior +purpose, and free from the least chill of philosophical questioning into +origins or ends. The impulse out of which they came is instinctive: +their very art, at least in the selection of themes, is spontaneous. An +excellent example is the whole volume by Mr Joseph Campbell called _The +Mountainy Singer_. He has another, _Irishry_, but although that is very +interesting in its studies of Irish life, it is not so good as poetry, +nor is it so apt to our present purpose, because a tinge of +self-consciousness has crept into it. Let us take, however, the piece +which gives its name to the first of these two books: + + I am the mountainy singer-- + The voice of the peasant's dream, + The cry of the wind on the wooded hill, + The leap of the fish in the stream. + + Quiet and love I sing-- + The carn on the mountain crest, + The cailin in her lover's arms, + The child at its mother's breast. + + ..... + + Sorrow and death I sing-- + The canker come on the corn, + The fisher lost in the mountain loch, + The cry at the mouth of morn. + + No other life I sing, + For I am sprung of the stock + That broke the hilly land for bread, + And built the nest in the rock! + +That comes directly out of life, and the confidence and sincerity of it +are a result. The poet, become aware of the prompting of genius, loyally +follows its leading through the common and familiar things of human +experience. And partly because of his loyalty to himself; partly because +he happens to be in touch with the land--quite literally the oldest and +commonest thing of all, except the sea--there comes into his poetry a +sense of natural dignity and strength. His themes are simple and touched +with universal significance. Thus there is the song of ploughing: + + I will go with my father a-ploughing + To the green field by the sea, + And the rooks and the crows and the seagulls + Will come flocking after me. + I will sing to the patient horses + With the lark in the white of the air, + And my father will sing the plough-song + That blesses the cleaving share. + +One finds, too, a song of reaping, and one of winter, and one of night. + +There is a love-song, pretty and tender, and fresh with the suggestion +of breezes and blue skies, which begins like this: + + My little dark love is a wineberry, + As swarth and as sweet, I hold; + But as the dew on the wineberry + Her heart is a-cold. + +There is a piece, in _Irishry_, which tells of the wonder of childhood, +and another in the same book which reverently touches the thought of +motherhood and old age: + + As a white candle + In a holy place, + So is the beauty + Of an agèd face. + + As the spent radiance + Of the winter sun, + So is a woman + When her travail done. + + Her brood gone from her, + And her thoughts as still + As the waters + Under a ruined mill. + +So we might turn from one to another of these old and ever-new themes: +not alone in this poet's work, but also in that of Mr Padraic Colum, +whom he resembles. We shall notice in their music a characteristic +harmony. It is a blending of three diverse elements: the individual, the +national, and the universal. One would expect a discord sometimes; but +the measure of the success of this verse is that it contrives to be, at +one and the same time, specifically lyrical (and therefore a reflection +of personality), definitely Irish, and completely human. Most of the +poems will illustrate this, but for an obvious example take this one by +Mr Campbell: + + I met a walking-man; + His head was old and grey. + I gave him what I had + To crutch him on his way. + The man was Mary's Son, I'll swear; + A glory trembled in his hair! + + And since that blessed day + I've never known the pinch: + I plough a broad townland, + And dig a river-inch; + And on my hearth the fire is bright + For all that walk by day or night. + +If one found that on a bit of torn paper in the wilds of Africa, one +would know it for unquestionable Irish. There are half a dozen signs, +but the spirit of the last two lines is enough. The element of +personality is there, too; clearly visible in tone and choice of words +to those who know the poet's work a little. But stronger than all is +the human note, with all that it implies of man's need of religion, his +incorrigible habit of making God in his own image, and the half comical, +half pathetic materialism of his faith. + +There are, of course, some occasions when the blending is unequal: when +one or other of the three elements, usually that of national feeling, +weighs down the balance. But, on the other hand, there are many pieces +in which it is very intimate and subtle. Then it follows that the poet +is at his best, for he has forgotten the immediacy of self and country +and the world of men and things in the joy of singing. Of such is this +"Cradle Song" by Mr Colum: + + O, men from the fields! + Come softly within. + Tread softly, softly, + O! men coming in. + + Mavourneen is going + From me and from you, + To Mary, the Mother, + Whose mantle is blue! + + From reek of the smoke + And cold of the floor, + And the peering of things + Across the half-door. + + O, men from the fields! + Soft, softly come thro'. + Mary puts round him + Her mantle of blue. + +Such also is Mr Colum's "Ballad Maker," from which I quote the first and +last stanzas: + + Once I loved a maiden fair, + _Over the hills and far away_. + Lands she had and lovers to spare, + _Over the hills and far away_. + And I was stooped and troubled sore, + And my face was pale, and the coat I wore + Was thin as my supper the night before. + _Over the hills and far away_. + + ..... + + To-morrow, Mavourneen a sleeveen weds, + _Over the hills and far away_; + With corn in haggard and cattle in shed, + _Over the hills and far away_. + And I who have lost her--the dear, the rare, + Well, I got me this ballad to sing at the fair, + 'Twill bring enough money to drown my care, + _Over the hills and far away_. + +It is an arresting fact, however, that the spirit of nationality is +strong in the work of these poets. True, one may distinguish between a +national sense, keen and directly expressed, and the almost +subconscious influence of race. The first is a theme deliberately chosen +by the poet and variously treated by him. It is a conscious and direct +expression--of aspiration or regret. Racial influence is something +deeper and more constant: something, too, which quite confounds the +sceptic on this particular subject. Whether from inheritance or +environment, it has 'bred true' in these poets; and it will be found to +pervade their work like an atmosphere. It belongs inalienably to +themselves: it is of the essence of their genius, and it is revealed +everywhere, in little things as in great, in cadency and idiom as well +as in an attitude to life and a certain range of ideas. + +But though we may make the distinction, it will hardly do to disengage +the strands, because they are so closely bound together. We may only +note the predominance of one or the other, with an occasional complete +and perfect combination. Perhaps the work in which they are least +obvious is the slim volume of Miss Ella Young. But, even here, and +choosing two poems where the artistic instinct has completely subdued +its material, we shall find some of the signs that we are looking for; +and not altogether _because_ we are looking for them. Thus a sonnet, +called "The Virgin Mother," suggests its origin in its very title and, +moreover, it is occupied with a thought of death and a sense of +blissful quietude which are familiar in Irish poetry. + + Now Day's worn out, and Dusk has claimed a share + Of earth and sky and all the things that be, + I lay my tired head against your knee, + And feel your fingers smooth my tangled hair. + I loved you once, when I had heart to dare, + And sought you over many a land and sea; + Yet all the while you waited here for me + In a sweet stillness shut away from care. + I have no longing now, no dreams of bliss. + But drowsed in peace through the soft gloom I wait + Until the stars be kindled by God's breath; + For then you'll bend above me with the kiss + Earth's children long for when the hour grows late, + Mother of Consolation, Sovereign Death. + +In the blank-verse piece called "Twilight" it is again the title which +conveys the direct sign of affinity, but it will also be found to lurk +in every line: + + The sky is silver-pale with just one star, + One lonely wanderer from the shining host + Of Night's companions. Through the drowsy woods + The shadows creep and touch with quietness + The curling fern-heads and the ancient trees. + The sea is all a-glimmer with faint lights + That change and move as if the unseen prow + Of Niamh's galley cleft its waveless floor, + And Niamh stood there with the magic token, + The apple-branch with silver singing leaves. + The wind has stolen away as though it feared + To stir the fringes of her faery mantle + Dream-woven in the Land of Heart's Desire, + And all the world is hushed as though she called + Ossian again, and no one answered her. + +Now that, in inspiration and imagery, is very clearly derived from +native legendary sources. But no one would expect to find in such work a +direct expression of national feeling. The backward-looking poet, the +one who is drawn instinctively to old themes and times, has not usually +the temper for politics, even on the higher plane. Or if he have, he +will make a rigid separation in style and treatment between his poetry +in the two kinds. Thus Miss Milligan sharply differentiates her lays on +heroic subjects from her lyrics. The lays try to catch the spirit of the +age out of which the stories came. The lyrics, as lyrics should, reflect +no other spirit than the poet's own. The lays are somewhat strict in +form: they are in a brisk narrative style, with a swinging rhythm and +plenty of vigour. The songs, depending on varying sense impressions and +fluctuating emotion, are more irregular as to form and, at the same +time, stronger in their appeal to human sympathy. It is in them that +the poet is able to express the passionate love of country which, +superimposed on a deep sense of Ireland's melancholy history and an +intense longing for freedom, is the birthright of so many Irish poets. +One would like to quote entire the lovely "Song of Freedom," in which +the poet hears in wind and wave and brook a joyous prophecy. But here is +the last stanza: + + To Ara of Connacht's isles, + As I went sailing o'er the sea, + The wind's word, the brook's word, + The wave's word, was plain to me---- + "_As we are, though she is not + As we are, shall Banba be---- + There is no King can rule the wind + There is no fetter for the sea._" + +More beautiful and significant, perhaps, is a fragment from "There Were +Trees in Tir-Conal": + + Fallen in Erin are all those leafy forests; + The oaks lie buried under bogland mould; + Only in legends dim are they remembered, + Only in ancient books their fame is told. + But seers, who dream of times to come, have promised + Forests shall rise again where perished these; + And of this desolate land it shall be spoken, + "In Tir-Conal of the territories there are trees." + +The prophetic figure there, of course, is symbolical; but thinking of +the basis it has in fact--of the schemes which are afoot in the Isle +for afforestation--one cannot help wondering whether it was consciously +suggested by them. Not that there need be the slightest relation, of +course. The poetical soul will often take a leap in the dark and reach a +shining summit long before the careful people who travel by daylight +along beaten tracks are half way up the hill. Still, there is proof that +this group of writers is keenly interested in the question of the land +and the organized effort to reclaim it. It is the more practical form of +their patriotism, and the sign by which one knows it for something more +than a sentiment. It is a deeply rooted and reasoned sense that the +well-being of a nation, and therefore its strength and greatness, come +ultimately from the soil and depend upon the close and faithful relation +of the people to it. That surely is the conviction which underlies the +work of a poet like Mr Padraic Colum, and particularly such a piece as +his "Plougher": + + Sunset and silence! A man: around him earth savage, earth broken; + Beside him two horses--a plough! + + Earth savage, earth broken, the brutes, the dawn-man there in the + sunset, + And the Plough that is twin to the Sword, that is founder of cities! + + ..... + + Slowly the darkness falls, the broken lands blend with the savage; + The brute-tamer stands by the brutes, a head's breadth only above + them. + A head's breadth? Ay, but therein is hell's depth, and the height up + to heaven, + And the thrones of the gods and their halls, their chariots, purples + and splendours. + +In closing this study we must take a glance at two recent volumes, one +containing the poetry of Mr Seumas O'Sullivan and the other Mr Cousins' +latest work. Mr O'Sullivan's book is curiously interesting, inasmuch as +it unites certain contrasted qualities which are found separately in the +other poets we have been considering. Thus, this poet is 'literary' in +the sense of knowing and loving good books, in his familiarity with the +old literature of his country, and in the fact that those things have +had a palpable influence upon him. Temperamentally he is an artist, with +the artistic instinct to subordinate everything to the beauty of his +work. But he is also like the more 'popular' poets in his lyrical gift +and in the range and depth of his sympathies; so that his collected +poems of 1912 may be regarded in some degree as an epitome of modern +Irish poetry. There you will find work which indicates that its author +might have lived very happily in a visionary world of æsthetic delight. +He might have chosen always to sing about gods and heroes and fair +ladies with "white hands, foam-frail." But, just as clearly, you will +see that he has been aroused from dreams. Vanishing remnants of them are +perceptible in such a piece as "The Twilight People"; and when they are +gone, in that serene moment before complete awakening, when the light is +growing and the birds call and a fresh air blows, you get a piece like +"Praise": + + Dear, they are praising your beauty, + The grass and the sky: + The sky in a silence of wonder, + The grass in a sigh. + + I too would sing for your praising, + Dearest, had I + Speech as the whispering grass, + Or the silent sky. + + These have an art for the praising + Beauty so high. + Sweet, you are praised in a silence, + Sung in a sigh. + +Then comes the awakening, sudden and sharp, with an impulse to spring +out and away from those old dreams of myth and romance: + + Bundle the gods away: + Richer than Danaan gold, + The whisper of leaves in the rain, + The secrets the wet hills hold. + +A spiritual adventure seems to be implied in the poem from which this +fragment is taken, similar to that which Mr Cousins has recorded in +"Straight and Crooked." It is the call of reality: the impulse which is +drawing the poetic spirit closer and closer to life, and bidding it seek +inspiration in common human experience. Thus when we find Mr O'Sullivan +invoking the vision of earth we soon discover that 'earth' means +something more to him than 'countryside'--the beauty of Nature and of +pastoral existence. It comprises also towns and crowded streets and busy +people; and it seems to mean ultimately any aspect of human existence +which has the power to induce poetic ecstasy. An infinitely wider range +is thus open to the poet, and though this little volume does not pretend +to cover any large part of it, there are pieces which suggest its almost +boundless possibility. Let us put two of them together. The first, "A +Piper," describes a little street scene: + + A Piper in the streets to-day + Set up, and tuned, and started to play, + And away, away, away on the tide + Of his music we started; on every side + Doors and windows were opened wide, + And men left down their work and came, + And women with petticoats coloured like flame + And little bare feet that were blue with cold, + Went dancing back to the age of gold, + And all the world went gay, went gay, + For half an hour in the street to-day. + +That expresses the rapture which is evoked directly by the touch of the +actual. The next piece, a fragment from "A Madonna," is equally +characteristic; but its inspiration came through another art, a picture +by Beatrice Elvery: + + Draw nigh, O foolish worshippers who mock + With pious woe of sainted imagery + The kingly-human presence of your God. + Draw near, and with new reverence gaze on her. + See you, these hands have toiled, these feet have trod + In all a woman's business; bend the knee. + For this of very certainty is she + Ordained of heavenly hierarchies to rock + The cradle of the infant carpenter. + +Under the diverse sources from which such poems immediately spring, +there flows the current which is fertilizing, in greater or less degree, +all modern poetry. It has been running strongly in England for some +years, but hitherto the Irish poet has hardly seemed conscious of it, +though it was visibly moving him. Its presence has been mainly felt in +the silence of Mr Yeats, whose lovely romanticism fell dumb at its +touch. But, significantly, the latest poetic utterance of Ireland is a +cry of complete realization. It has remained for Mr Cousins, more +sensitive and complex than his compatriots, to hear the call of his age +more consciously than they; and it is left to him, in grace and courage, +to declare it: + + ... From a sleep I emerge. I am clothed again with this woven + vesture of laws; + But I am not, and never again shall be the man that I was. + At the zenith of life I am born again, I begin. + Know ye, I am awake, outside and within. + I have heard, I have seen, I have known; I feel the bite of this + shackle of place and name, + And nothing can be the same. + + ..... + + I have sent three shouts of freedom along the wind. + I have struck one hand of kinship in the hands of Gods, and one in + the hands of women and men. + I am awake. I shall never sleep again. + + + + +_Rose Macaulay_ + + +There is one small volume of poems by Miss Macaulay, called _The Two +Blind Countries_. It is curiously interesting, since it may be regarded +as the testament of mysticism for the year of its appearance, nineteen +hundred and fourteen. That is, indeed, the most important fact about it; +though no one need begin to fear that he is to be fobbed off with +inferior poetry on that account. For the truth is that the artistic +value of this work is almost, if not quite, equal to the exceptional +power of abstraction that it evinces. Poetry has really been achieved +here, extremely individual in manner and in matter, and of a high order +of beauty. + +One is compelled, however, though one may a little regret the +compulsion, to start from the fact of the poet's mystical tendency. Not +that she would mind, presumably; the title of her book is an avowal, +clear enough at a second glance, of its point of view. But the reader +has an instinct, in which the mere interpreter but follows him, to +accept a poem first as art rather than thought; and if he examine it at +all, to begin with what may be called its concrete beauty. I will not +say that the order is reversed in the case of Miss Macaulay's poetry, +since that would be to accuse her of an artistic crime of which she is +emphatically not guilty. But it is significant that the greater number +of pieces in this book impress the mind with the idea they convey, +simultaneously with the sounds in which it is expressed. And as the idea +is generally adventurous, and sometimes fantastic, it is that which +arrests the reader and on which he lingers, at any rate long enough to +discover its originality. + +But though the mystical element of the work is suggested in its very +title, one discovers almost as early that it is mysticism of a new kind. +It belongs inalienably to this poet and is unmistakably of this age. The +world of matter, this jolly place of light and air and colour and human +faces, is vividly apprehended; but it is seen by the poet to be ringed +round by another realm which, though unsubstantial, is no less real. +Indeed, so strong is her consciousness of that other realm, and its +presence so insistently felt, that sometimes she is not sure to which of +the two she really belongs. In the first poem of the book, using the +fictive 'he' as its subject, she indicates her attitude to that region +beyond sense. In the physical world, this 'blind land' of 'shadows and +droll shapes,' the soul is an alien wanderer. Constantly it hears a +'clamorous whisper' from the other side of the door of sense, coming +from the + + ... muffled speech + Of a world of folk. + +But no cry can reach those others: no clear sight can be had of them, +and no intelligible word of theirs can come back. + + Only through a crack in the door's blind face + He would reach a thieving hand, + To draw some clue to his own strange place + From the other land. + + But his closed hand came back emptily, + As a dream drops from him who wakes; + And naught might he know but how a muffled sea + In whispers breaks. + + ..... + + On either side of a gray barrier + The two blind countries lie; + But he knew not which held him prisoner, + Nor yet know I. + +This poem may be said to state the theme of the whole book. It would +appear, however, that in the difficult feat of giving form to thought so +intangible, the poet has attained here a detachment which is almost +cold. But it would be unfair to judge her manner of expression from one +poem; and it happens that there is another piece, built upon a similar +theme, which is much more characteristic. It is called "Foregrounds," +and here again the two countries are conceived as bordering upon each +other, inter-penetrating, but sharply contrasted as night from day. The +contrast favours a more vivid setting, and the subjective treatment, +admitting deeper emotion, infuses a warmth that "The Alien" lacked. +Moreover, the psychic region is here called simply the _dream-country_; +and, presented in the delicate suggestion of a moonlit night, it hints +only at the lure of the mystery, and nothing of its terror. Throughout +the poem, too, runs exuberant joy in common earthly things, in the +beauty of nature and in human feeling; and this is followed, in the +closing lines of each stanza, by an afterthought and a touch of +melancholy: reflection coming, in the most natural way, close upon the +heels of emotion. Thus the first lines revel in the glory of spring; and +then, almost audibly, the tone drops to the lower level of one who +perceives that glory as the veil of something beyond it. + + The pleasant ditch is a milky way, + So alight with stars it is, + And over it breaks, like pale sea-spray, + The laughing cataract of the may + In luminous harmonies. + (Cloak with a flower-wrought veil + The face of the dream-country. + The fields of the moon are kind, are pale, + And quiet is she.) + +Thus, too, in the third stanza, the recurrent idea of an alien spirit is +caught into imagery which glows with light and colour: imagery so simple +and sensuous as almost to mock abstraction and quite to disguise it; but +bearing at its heart the essence of a philosophy. Again the soul is +imagined as standing at the barrier of the two countries, when reality +has melted to an apparition and the sense of that other realm has grown +acute. Bereft of the comfortable earth, but powerless still to enter the +dream-country: standing lonely and fearful at the cold verge of the +mystic region, the spirit will seek to draw about it the garment of +appearance: + + I will weave, of the clear clean shapes of things, + A curtain to shelter me; + I will paint it with kingcups and sunrisings, + And glints of blue for the swallow's wings, + And green for the apple-tree. + (Oh, a whisper has pierced the veil + Out of the dream-country, + As a wind moans in the straining sail + Of a ship lost at sea.) + +In reading this poem, and in others too, one is struck by the hold +which the real world has upon our poet. It is a surprising fact in one +of so speculative a turn, and is the clearest sign by which we recognize +her work as of our time and no other. Her thought may be projected very +far, but her feet are generally upon solid ground. Perhaps I ought +rather to say that they are always there; for it is more than probable +that bed-rock may exist in two or three poems where I have been unable +to get down to it. It is in any case safe to say that a sense of +reality--shown in human sympathy and tenderness for lowly creatures, in +love of nature and perception of beauty, in truth to fact, in a touch of +shrewd insight and a sense of humour bred of the habit of detachment--is +very strong. I do not suggest that these qualities are everywhere +apparent. By their nature they are such as could not often enter into +the framework of poems so subtly wrought. But they are woven into the +texture of the poet's mentality, and have even directed its method. So +that, remote as may be the idea upon which she is working, it is +generally brought within the range of sight; and, intangible though it +may seem, it is given definite and charming shape. And if there were not +one obvious proof of this steady anchorage, we might have happy +assurance of it in the clarity and precision of her thought. But +fortunately there _is_ obvious proof. There is, for instance, this +delicious passage in the poem from which I have just quoted, surely +proving a kinship with our own 'blind country' as close as with that +other and something dearer: + + The jolly donkeys that love me well + Nuzzle with thistly lips; + The harebell is song made visible, + The dandelion's lamp a miracle, + When the day's lamp dips and dips. + +There are, too, a sonnet called "Cards" and the very beautiful longer +poem, "Summons," in which the glow of human love makes of the +supernatural a mere shadow. In "Cards" the scene is a 'dim +lily-illumined garden,' and four people are playing there by candle +light. But out of the darkness which rings the circle of flickering +light sinister things creep, menacing the frail life of one of the +players. + + But, like swords clashing, my love on their hate + Struck sharp, and drove, and pushed.... Grimly round you + Fought we that fight, they pressing passionate + Into the lit circle which called and drew + Shadows and moths of night.... I held the gate. + You said, "Our game," more truly than you knew. + +Again we perceive this sense of reality in the humour of a poem like +"St Mark's Day" or "Three." It is a quality hearty and cheery in the way +of one who knows all the facts, but has reckoned with them and can +afford to laugh. It has a depth of tone unexpected in an artist whose +natural impulse seems to be towards delicate line and neutral tint; and +there is a tang of salt in it which one suspects of having been added of +intent--as a quite superfluous preservative against sentimentality. "St +Mark's Day" is very illuminating in this respect, and in the bracing +sanity under which mere superstition wilts. The village girl, teased by +neighbours into believing that her spectre was seen the night before and +that therefore she must die within the year, is a genuine bit of rustic +humanity. No portrait of her is given; but in two or three strong +touches she stands before us, plump, rosy and rather stupid; hale enough +to live her fourscore years, but sobbing in foolish fright as her sturdy +arms peg the wet linen upon the line. + + I laughed at her over the sticky larch fence, + And said, "Who's down-hearted, Dolly?" + + And Dolly sobbed at me, "They saw you, too!" + (And so the liars said they had, + Though I've not wasted paper nor rhymes telling you), + And, "Well," said I, "_I'm_ not sad." + "But since you and me must die within the year, + What if we went together + To make cowslip balls in the fields, and hear + The blackbirds whistling to the weather?" + + So in the water-fields till blue mists rose + We loitered, Dolly and I, + And pulled wet kingcups where the cold brook goes, + And when we've done living, we'll die. + +The realism of that goes deeper than its technique, and is a notable +weapon in the hands of such an idealist. But in "Three," another +humorous poem, something even more surprising has been accomplished. "St +Mark's Day" is a bit of pure comedy, and might have been written by a +poet for whom _one_ 'blind country' was the beginning and end of all +experience. That is to say, it is interesting as proof of a healthy +grasp on the real world; but the distinctive feature of this poetry +hardly appears in it. Abstraction is absent, inevitably, of course; and +with it that ideal realm which largely preoccupies the poet's thought. +But in "Three," with reality no less strong, with art matching it in +bold and vigorous strokes, and touches here and there positively comic; +with the scene laid out-of-doors in a sunny noonday of August, there is +achieved an almost startling sense of the supernatural. More than that, +it is the supernatural under two different aspects, or on two separate +planes (whichever may be the correct way to state that sort of thing): +the consciousness of a ghostly presence, in the accepted sense of the +spirit of one dead; and that obscure but disturbing awareness of a +hidden life close at hand which most people have experienced at some +time or other. But while the poet has sketched these two of her "Three" +with an equally light hand, smiling amusedly, as it were, at her own +fantasy, she has differentiated them quite clearly. For the true ghost, +conjured out of the stuff of memory, association and the influence of +locality, is a creature of pure imagination. He is not so much described +as suggested, and only dimly felt. There is a stanza devoted to the +Cambridge landscape in the hot noon, and then-- + + In the long grass and tall nettles + I lay abed, + With hawthorn and bryony + Tangled o'erhead. + And I was alone with Hobson, + Two centuries dead. + + Hidden by sprawling brambles + The Nine Waters were; + From a chalky bed they bubbled up, + Clean, green, and fair. + And I was alone with Hobson, + Whose ghost walks there. + +But it seems that the poet is not alone with the pleasant ghost of the +old university carrier. There is a third presence near, hidden and +silent, but malign; and the stanzas in which this secret presence grows +to a realization that is acute and almost terrifying, are remarkably +done. They illustrate this poet's ability to create illusion out of mere +scraps of material, and those of the most commonplace kind; and they +rely for their verbal effect upon the homeliest words. Yet the +impression of an intangible something that is evil and uncanny is so +strong, that when the very real head of the tramp appears the contrast +provokes a sudden laugh at its absurdity. + + And something yawned, and from the grass + A head upreared; + And I was not alone with Hobson, + For at me leered + A great, gaunt, greasy tramp + With a golden beard. + + He had a beard like a dandelion, + And I had none; + He had tea in a beer-bottle, + Warm with the sun; + He had pie in a paper bag, + Not yet begun. + +The vigorous handling of that passage, and its comical actuality, makes +an excellent foil to the subtler method of presenting the two spirits, +living and dead. And the poem as a whole may be said to reflect the dual +elements which are everywhere present in this work. It is true that in a +more characteristic piece the ideal will prevail over the real. And +consequently, imagination will there be found to weave finer strands, +while thought goes much further afield. Thus, in "Crying for the Moon" +and in "The Thief," one may follow the idea very far; and in both poems +we move in the pale light and dim shadow where mystery is evoked at a +hint. Never, I think, was there such an eerie dawn as that in "The +Thief"; yet never was orchard-joy more keenly realized-- + + He stood at the world's secret heart + In the haze-wrapt mystery; + And fat pears, mellow on the lip, + He supped like a honey-bee; + But the apples he crunched with sharp white teeth + Were pungent, like the sea. + +Probably it is in work like this, where both blind countries find +expression, that Miss Macaulay is most successful. But when she gives +imagination licence to wander alone in the ideal region, it occasionally +seems to go out of sight and sound of the good earth. That happens in +"Completion," a poem which is frankly mystical in theme, symbolism, and +terminology. There is not a touch of reality in it; and neither its fine +strange music, nor glowing colour, nor certain perfect phrases, nor the +language, at once rich and tender and strong, can make it more than the +opalescent wraith of a poem. But perhaps that is just what the author +intended it to be! + +In any case "Completion" does correspond to, and daintily express, the +mystical strain which is dominant in this work. It is, however, the +extreme example of it. It stands at the opposite pole from "St Mark's +Day," and antithetical to that, it might have been written by a mystic +for whom the material world was virtually nothing. Moreover, it might +belong to almost any time, or not to time at all; whereas the mysticism +of the book as a whole is peculiarly that of its own author and its own +day. It is individual--a thing of this poet's personality and no +other--in the evidence of a finely sensitive spirit, of a gift of vision +abnormally acute, imaginative power that ranges far and free, and a fine +capacity for abstract thought. But all these qualities, though pervasive +and dominant, are sweetly controlled by a humane temper that has been +nurtured on realities. + +Hence comes a duality in which it is, perhaps, not too fanciful to see +a feature of contemporary thought--intensely interested in the region of +ideas, but frankly claiming the material world as the basis and +starting-point of all its speculation. One might put it colloquially +(though without the implied reproach) as making the best of both worlds: +humanity recognizing an honourable kinship with matter, but reaching out +continually after the larger existence which it confidently believes to +be latent in the physical world itself. + +A voice may be raised to protest that that is too vaguely generalized; +and if so, the protestant may turn for more precise evidence to such +poems as "Trinity Sunday" and "The Devourers." There he will perceive, +after a moment's reflection, the store of modern knowledge--of actual +data--which has been assimilated to the mystical element here. Let him +consider, for example, the first two stanzas of "The Devourers," and +other similar passages: + + Cambridge town is a beleaguered city; + For south and north, like a sea, + There beat on its gates, without haste or pity, + The downs and the fen country. + + Cambridge towers, so old, so wise, + They were builded but yesterday, + Watched by sleepy gray secret eyes + That smiled as at children's play. + +It is clear that the knowledge really has been assimilated--it is not a +fragmentary or external thing. It is absorbed into the essence of the +work and will not be found to mar its poetic values. But by a hint, a +word, a turn of expression or a mental gesture, one can see that +learning both scientific and humane (a significant union) has gone into +the poetic crucible. There are signs which point to a whole system of +philosophy: there is an historical sense, imaginatively handling the +data of cosmic history; and there are traces which lead down to a basis +in geology and anthropology. Yet these elements are, as I said, +perfectly fused: it would be difficult to disengage them. And inimical +as they may seem to the very nature of mysticism, they are constrained +by this poet to contribute to her vision of a world beyond sense. + +From this point of view "Trinity Sunday" is the most important poem in +the book. It records an experience which the mystic of another age would +have called a revelation, and which he would have apprehended through +the medium of religious emotion. But this poet attains to her ultimate +vision through the phenomena of the real world, apprehended in terms of +the ideal. The warm breath of Spring, rich with scent and sound of the +teeming earth, stirs it to awakening. But though she is walking in +familiar Cambridge with, characteristically, the scene and time exactly +placed: though friendly faces pass and cordial voices give a greeting, +all that suddenly shrivels at the touch of the wild earth spirit. Space +and time curl away in fold after fold; and with them pass successive +forms of strange life immensely remote. But even while reality thus +terribly unfolds, it is perceived to be the _stuff of the world's live +brain_; to have existence only in idea. + + And the fens were not. (For fens are dreams + Dreamt by a race long dead; + And the earth is naught, and the sun but seems: + And so those who know have said.) + +Thus the facts of science have gone to the making of this poem, as well +as the theories of an idealist philosophy. It is through them both that +imagination takes the forward leap. But neither the one nor the other +can avail to utter the revelation; and even the poet's remarkable gift +of expression can only suffice to suggest the awfulness of it. + + So veil beyond veil illimitably lifted: + And I saw the world's naked face, + Before, reeling and baffled and blind, I drifted + Back within the bounds of space. + + + + +_John Masefield_ + + +There is one sense at least in which Mr Masefield is the most important +figure amongst contemporary poets. For he has won the popular ear, he +has cast the poetic spell further than any of his compeers, and it has +been given to him to lure the multitudinous reader of magazines--that +wary host which is usually stampeded by the sight of a page of verse. + +Now I know that there are cultured persons to whom this fact of +uncritical appreciation is an offence, and to them a writer bent upon +purely scientific criticism would be compelled to yield certain points. +But they would be mainly on finicking questions, as an occasional lapse +from fineness in thought or form, an incidental banality of word or +phrase; or a lack of delicate effects of rhyme and metre. And the whole +business would amount in the end to little more than a petulant +complaint; an impertinent grumble that Mr Masefield happens to be +himself and not, let us say, Mr Robert Bridges; that his individual +genius has carved its own channels and that, in effect, the music of the +sea or the mountain torrent does not happen to be the same thing as the +plash of a fountain in a valley. + +But having no quarrel with this offending popularity: rejoicing in it +rather, and the new army of poetry-readers which it has created; and +believing it to be an authentic sign of the poetic spirit of our day, +one is tempted to seek for the cause of it. Luckily, there is a poem +called "Biography" which gives a clue and something more. It is a pæan +of zest for life, of the intense joy in actual living which seems to be +the dynamic of Mr Masefield's genius. There is, most conspicuous and +significant, delight in beauty; a swift, keen, accurate response of +sense to the external world, to sea and sky and hill, to field and +flower. But there is fierce delight, too, in toil and danger, in +strenuous action, in desperate struggle with wind and wave, in the +supreme effort of physical power, in health and strength and skill and +freedom and jollity; and above all, first, last and always, in ships. +But there is delight no less in communion with humanity, in comradeship, +in happy memories of kindred, in still happier mental kinships and +intellectual affinities, in books, in 'glittering moments' of spiritual +perception, in the brooding sense of man's long history. + +These are the 'golden instants and bright days' which correctly spell +his life, as this poet is careful to emphasize; and we perceive that the +rapture which they inspire in him, the ardour with which he takes this +sea of life, is of the essence of his poetry. It is seen most clearly +in the lyrics; and that is natural, since these are amongst his early +work, and youth is the heyday of joy. It is found in nearly all of them, +of course in varying degree, colouring substance and shaping form, +evoking often a strong rhythm like a hearty voice that sings as it goes. + + So hey for the road, the west road, by mill and forge and fold, + Scent of the fern and song of the lark by brook, and field, and + wold; + +Or again, in "Tewkesbury Road," + + O, to feel the beat of the rain, and the homely smell of the earth, + Is a tune for the blood to jig to, a joy past power of words; + And the blessed green comely meadows are all a-ripple with mirth + At the noise of the lambs at play and the dear wild cry of the + birds. + +And it rings in many songs of the sea, telling of its beauty or terror, +its magic and mystery and hardship, its stately ships and tough +sailor-men and strange harbourages, its breath of romance sharply +tingling with reality, its lure from which there is no escape-- + + I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide + Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; + And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, + And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. + +Under the wistfulness of that throbs the same zest as that which finds +expression in "Laugh and be Merry"; but the mood has become more +buoyant-- + + Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song, + Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong. + Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span. + Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man. + +Sometimes a minor key is struck, as in "Prayer;" but even here the joy +is present, revealing itself in sharp regret for the beloved things of +earth. It manifests itself in many ways, subtler or more obvious; but +mainly I think in a questing, venturous spirit which must always be +daring and seeking something beyond. Whether in the material world or +the spiritual, it is always the same--whether it be sea-longing, or +hunger for the City of God, or a vague faring to an unknown bourne, or +the eternal quest for beauty. The poem called "The Seekers" is +beautifully apt in this regard. Simply, clearly, directly, it expresses +the alpha and omega of this genius: the zest which is its driving force +and the aspiration, the tireless and ceaseless pursuit of an ideal, +which is its objective. + + Not for us are content, and quiet, and peace of mind, + For we go seeking a city that we shall never find. + + There is no solace on earth for us--for such as we-- + Who search for a hidden city that we shall never see. + +There is the spirit of adventure, the eternal allure of romance, as old +and as potent as poetry itself. And surely nothing is more engaging, +nothing quicker and stronger and more universal in its appeal, than zest +for life finding expression in this way. In these early lyrics its +spontaneous and simple utterance is very winning; but in the later +narrative poems it is none the less present because, having grown a +little older, it is a little more complex and not so obvious in its +manifestation. Under these longer poems too runs the stream of joy, +somewhat quieter now, perhaps, subdued by contemplation, brought to the +test of actuality, shaping a different form through the conflict of +human will, but still deep and strong, and, as in the earlier work, +expressing its ultimate meaning through the spirit of high adventure. + +Thus "The Widow in the Bye Street," which was the first written of these +four narrative poems, is the adventure of motherhood. "Oh!" will protest +some member of the dainty legion which lives in terror of appearances, +"it is a story of lust and murder!" But no; fundamentally, triumphantly, +it is a tale of mother-love, venturing all for the child. Only +superficially is it a tragedy of ungoverned desire and rage, made out of +the incidence of character which we call destiny. The mother's spirit +prevails over all that, and remains unconquerable. In "Daffodil Fields" +there is the adventure of romantic passion. The "Everlasting Mercy," so +obviously as hardly to need the comment, is the high adventure of the +soul; and "Dauber," less clearly perhaps, though quite as certainly, is +that too. But while in the first of these two poems the spirit's spark +is struck into 'absolute human clay,' in "Dauber" it is burning already +in the brain of an artist. Saul Kane, when his soul comes to birth at +the touch of religion, puts off bestiality and rises to a joyful +perception of the meaning of life. The Dauber, with that precious +knowledge already shining within him, but twinned with another, the +supreme and immortal glory of art, with his last breath cries holy +defiance to the elements that snatch his life--_It will go on_. + +But there is another reason for the popularity of this poet's work; and +it also is deducible from the poem called "Biography." I mean the +complete and robust humanity which is evinced there. One sees, of +course, that this has a close relation with the zest that we have +already noted; that it is indeed the root of that fine flower. But the +balance of this personality--with power of action and of thought about +equally poised, with the mystic and the humanitarian meeting half-way, +with the ideal and the real twining and intertwining constantly, with +sensuous and spiritual perception almost matched--determines the quality +by which Mr Masefield's poems make so wide and direct an appeal. If +reflectiveness were predominant, if the subjective element outran the +keen dramatic sense, if the ideal were capable of easy victory over the +material (it does conquer, but of that later), this would be poetry of a +very different type. Whether it would be of a finer type it is idle to +speculate, the point for the moment being that it would not command so +large an audience. By just so far as specialization operated, the range +would be made narrower. + +It is this sense of humanity which wins; not only explicit, as, for +example, in the deliberate choice of subject avowed once for all in the +early poem called "Consecration"-- + + The men of the tattered battalion which fights till it dies, + Dazed with the dust of the battle, the din and the cries, + + ..... + + The sailor, the stoker of steamers, the man with the clout, + The chantyman bent at the halliards putting a tune to the shout, + + ..... + + Of the maimed, of the halt and the blind in the rain and the cold-- + Of these shall my songs be fashioned, my tales be told. + +There the poet is responding consciously to the time-spirit: the +awakening social sense which, moving pitifully amongst bitter and ugly +experience, was to evoke the outer realism of his art. That, of course, +being passionately sincere, is a powerful influence. But stronger still +is the unconscious force of personality, this completeness of nature +which in "Biography" is seen as a rare union of powers that are +nevertheless the common heritage of humanity; and which is implicit +everywhere in his work, imbuing it with the compelling attraction of +large human sympathy. + +Out of this arise the curiously contrasted elements of Mr Masefield's +poetry. For, as in life itself, and particularly in life that is full +and sound, there is here a perpetual conflict between opposing forces. +It is, perhaps, the most prominent characteristic of this work. It +pervades it throughout, belongs to its very essence and has moulded its +form. It is, of course, most readily apparent in the poet's art. Here +the battling forces of his genius, transferred to the creatures whom he +has created, have made these narrative poems largely dramatic in form. +Here, too, we come upon a clash of realism with romance and idyllic +sweetness. That bald external realism has found much disfavour with +those who do not or will not see its relation to the underlying reality. +And one observes that the critic who professes most to dislike it +hastens to quote the gaudiest example, practically ignoring the many +serene and gracious passages. + +But, putting aside the prejudice which has been fostered by a +conventional poetic language, this realistic method does seem to +conflict with certain other characteristics of the work--with the +essential romance of the spirit of adventure, for instance. There does +at first glance appear to be a disturbing lack of unity between that +ardent, wistful and elusive spirit, and the grim actuality here, of +incident and diction; or, on the other hand, between the raw material of +this verse and its elaborate metrical form, or its frequent passages of +rare and delicate beauty. But is it more than an appearance? I think +not. I believe that the incongruity exists only in a canon of poetical +taste which is false to the extent that it is based too narrowly. That +canon has appropriated romance to a certain order of themes and, almost +as exclusively, to a certain manner of expression. Most of our +contemporary poets have cheerfully repudiated the convention so far as +it governed language; building up, each for himself, a fresh, rich, +expressive idiom in which the magic of romance is often vividly +recreated. Some of them, and Mr Masefield pre-eminently, have gone +further. They have perceived the potential romance of all life, and have +broken down the old limit which prescribed to the poet only graceful +figures and pseudo-heroic themes. They have set themselves to express +the wonder and mystery, the ecstasy and exaltation which inhere, however +obscurely, in the lowliest human existence. + +Thus we have Saul Kane, the village wastrel of "The Everlasting Mercy," +glimpsing his heritage, for a moment, in a lucid interval of a drunken +orgy. Suddenly, for a marvellous instant, he is made aware of beauty, +smitten into consciousness of himself and a fugitive apprehension of +reality. + + I opened window wide and leaned + Out of that pigstye of the fiend + And felt a cool wind go like grace + About the sleeping market-place. + The clock struck three, and sweetly, slowly, + The bells chimed Holy, Holy, Holy; + + ..... + + And summat made me think of things. + How long those ticking clocks had gone + From church and chapel, on and on, + Ticking the time out, ticking slow + To men and girls who'd come and go, + + ..... + + And how a change had come. And then + I thought, "You tick to different men." + What with the fight and what with drinking + And being awake alone there thinking, + My mind began to carp and tetter, + "If this life's all, the beasts are better." + +The elements of that passage, and cumulatively to its end, are genuinely +romantic: the heightened mood, the night setting of darkness and +solemnity, the wondering and regretful gaze into the past, and the sense +of eternal mystery. So, too, though from a very different aspect, is the +amazing power of the mad scene in this poem. The fierce zest of it +courses along a flaming pathway and is as exhilarating in its speed and +vigour as any romantic masterpiece in the older manner. It is difficult +to quote, in justice to the author, from so closely woven a texture; but +there is a short passage which illustrates over again the physical +development that we have already noted balancing mental and spiritual +qualities in this genius. It is the exultation of Kane in his +swiftness, as he rages through the streets with a crowd toiling after +him. + + The men who don't know to the root + The joy of being swift of foot, + Have never known divine and fresh + The glory of the gift of flesh, + Nor felt the feet exult, nor gone + Along a dim road, on and on, + Knowing again the bursting glows, + The mating hare in April knows, + Who tingles to the pads with mirth + At being the swiftest thing on earth. + O, if you want to know delight, + Run naked in an autumn night, + And laugh, as I laughed then.... + +The sensuous ecstasy of that is as strongly contrasted with the +pensiveness of the previous scene at the window as it is with the gentle +rhapsody which follows the drunkard's conversion. Of that rhapsody what +can one say? It is a piece about which words seem inadequate, or totally +futile. Perhaps one comment may be made, however. Reading it for the +twentieth time, and marvelling once more at the religious emotion which, +in its naïve sweetness and intensity is so strange an apparition in our +day, my mind flew, with a sudden sense of enlightenment, back to +Chaucer. At first, reflection made the transition seem abrupt to +absurdity; but the connexion had no doubt been helped subconsciously by +the apt fragment from Lydgate on the fly-leaf of this poem. Thence it +was but a step to the large humanity, the sympathy and tolerance and +generosity, the wide understanding bred of practical knowledge of men +and affairs, of the father of poets. An actual likeness gleamed which +was at the same time piquant and satisfying. For, first, it stimulated +curiosity regarding the use by this poet of the Chaucerian rhyme-royal +in three of these long poems. That evinces a leaning on traditional form +rather curious in so independent an artist. And then it teased the mind +with suggestions that led out of range--about mental affinities, and the +different manifestations of the same type of genius, born into ages so +far apart. + +It is not, of course, a question of exact or direct comparison between, +let us say, the _Canterbury Tales_ and these narrative poems of the +twentieth century. It is rather a matter of the spirit of the whole +work, of the personality and its reaction to life, which satisfy one +individual at least of a resemblance. Of course it is not easily +susceptible of proof; but there are passages from the two poets which in +thought, feeling, and even manner of expression, will almost form a +parallel. Consider this stanza from a minor poem of Chaucer, a prayer +to the Virgin in the quaint form of an "A. B. C." + + Xristus, thy sone, that in this world alighte, + Up-on the cros to suffre his passioun, + And eek, that Longius his herte pighte, + And made his herte blood to renne adoun; + And al was this for my salvacioun; + And I to him am fals and eek unkinde, + And yit he wol not my dampnacioun-- + This thanke I you, socour of al mankinde. + +The childlike faith of that, the quiet rapture of adoration, the abandon +and simple confidence, are curiously matched by the following passage +from "The Everlasting Mercy." Saul Kane has found his soul in the +mystical rebirth of Christianity, and dawn coming across the fields +lightens all his world with new significance. + + O Christ who holds the open gate, + O Christ who drives the furrow straight, + O Christ, the plough, O Christ, the laughter + Of holy white birds flying after, + Lo, all my heart's field red and torn, + And Thou wilt bring the young green corn, + The young green corn divinely springing, + The young green corn for ever singing; + And when the field is fresh and fair + Thy blessèd feet shall glitter there. + And we will walk the weeded field, + And tell the golden harvest's yield, + The corn that makes the holy bread + By which the soul of man is fed, + The holy bread, the food unpriced, + Thy everlasting mercy, Christ. + +So one might go on to contrast the several characteristics of this +poetry, and to trace them back to the combination of qualities in the +author's genius. This elemental religious emotion, dramatically fitted +as it is to the character, could only have found such expression by a +mind which deeply felt the primary human need of religion, and which was +relatively untroubled by abstract philosophy. But set over against that +is the almost pagan joy in the senses, the vigour and love of action +which make so strong a physical basis to this work; whilst, on the other +hand, there stands the astonishing contrast between the lyrical +intensity of the idyllic passages of these poems; and the dramatic power +(at once identified with humanity and detached from it) which has +created characters of ardent vitality. + +There is, of course, a corresponding technical contrast; but the fact +that it does 'correspond' is an answer to the critics who object to the +violence of certain scenes or to a literal rendering here and there of +thought or word. Granted that this poet is not much concerned to polish +or refine his verse, it remains true that the same sense of fitness +which closes three of these tragedies in exquisite serenity, governs +elsewhere an occasional crudity of expression or a touch of banality. It +is largely--though not always--a question of dramatic truth. The medium +is related to the material of this poetry and ruled by its moods. Hence +its realism is not an external or arbitrary thing. It is something more +than a trick of style or the adoption of a literary mode, being indeed a +living form evolved by the reality which the poet has designed to +express. + +The root of the matter lies in a stanza of "Dauber." The young +artist-seaman, who is the protagonist here, has for long been patiently +toiling at his art at the prompting of instinct--the æsthetic impulse to +capture and make permanent the beauty of the material world. But the +pressure of reality upon him, the unimaginable hardships of a sailor's +existence, have threatened to crush his spirit. A crisis of physical +fear and depression has supervened; terror of the storms that the ship +must soon encounter, of the frightful peril of his work aloft, and of +the brutality of his shipmates, has shaken him to the soul. For a +moment, even his art is obscured, shrouded and almost lost in the whirl +of these overmastering realities. But when it emerges from the chaos it +brings revelation to the painter of its own inviolable relation with +those same realities. + + ... a thought occurred + Within the painter's brain like a bright bird: + + That this, and so much like it, of man's toil, + Compassed by naked manhood in strange places, + Was all heroic, but outside the coil + Within which modern art gleams or grimaces; + That if he drew that line of sailors' faces + Sweating the sail, their passionate play and change, + It would be new, and wonderful, and strange. + + That that was what his work meant; it would be + A training in new vision.... + +One might almost accept that as Mr Masefield's own confession of +artistic faith; it only needs the substitution of the word 'poet' for +the word 'painter' in the second line. But it is not quite complete as +it stands; and an important article of it will be discovered by reading +this poem through and noting the triumph of the ideal over the real, +which is the essential meaning of the work. It is not the most obvious +interpretation, perhaps. The idealist broken by the elements, wasted and +thrown aside, is hardly a victorious figure on the face of things. But, +in spite of that, the poem is a song of victory--of spirit over matter, +of the ideal over reality, of art over life. + +The fact is all the more remarkable when we turn for a moment to note +the poet's grip on facts. We have just seen that profound sense of +reality lying at the base of his technical realism; and it has been won, +through a comprehensive experience, by virtue of the balance of his +equipment. There is no bias here, of mind or spirit, which would have +changed the clear humanity of the poet into the philosopher or the +mystic. The naïveté and simple concrete imagery in the expression of +religious feeling are far removed from mysticism. And, on the other +hand, one cannot conceive of Mr Masefield formally ranged with the +abstractions of either the materialist or the idealist school. Yet it is +true that "Dauber" raises the practical issue between the two; and +because the poet has realized life profoundly and dares to tell the +truth about it, the triumph of the ideal is the more complete. He shows +his hero scourged by the elements until all sense is lost but that of +physical torture-- + + ... below + He caught one giddy glimpsing of the deck + Filled with white water, as though heaped with snow. + ... all was an icy blast. + + Roaring from nether hell and filled with ice, + Roaring and crashing on the jerking stage, + An utter bridle given to utter vice, + Limitless power mad with endless rage + Withering the soul; + +With greater daring still we are shown the spirit itself, cowering in +temporary defeat before material force-- + + "This is the end," he muttered, "come at last! + I've got to go aloft, facing this cold. + I can't. I can't. I'll never keep my hold. + ... I'm a failure. All + My life has been a failure. They were right. + + ..... + + I'll never paint. Best let it end to-night. + I'll slip over the side. I've tried and failed." + +And then, finally, the poet does not shrink from the last and grimmest +reality. He seems to say--Let material force do its utmost against this +man. Admit the most dreadful possibility; shatter the life, with its +fine promise, its aspiration and toil and precious perception of beauty, +and fling it to the elements which claim it. Nevertheless the spirit +will conquer, as it has won in the long fight hitherto and will continue +to win. When the Dauber had been goaded almost beyond endurance by the +cruelty of his shipmates, and when their taunts had availed at last to +conjure in him a sickening doubt of his vocation, the poet represents +him as turning instinctively to his easel, and healed in a moment of all +the abasement and derision-- + + He dipped his brush and tried to fix a line, + And then came peace, and gentle beauty came, + Turning his spirit's water into wine, + Lightening his darkness with a touch of flame: + +So, too, when the horror of the storm and the immense danger of his work +aloft had shaken his manhood for a moment: when he saw his life as one +'long defeat of doing nothing well' and death seemed an easy escape from +it, a rallying cry from the spirit sent him to face his duty: + + And then he bit his lips, clenching his mind, + And staggered out to muster, beating back + The coward frozen self of him that whined. + +And in the last extremity, when he lay upon the deck broken by his fall +and rapidly slipping back into the eternal silence, the ideal gleamed +before him still. _It will go on!_ he cried; and the four small words, +considered in their setting, with the weight of the story behind them, +have deep significance. For they bring a challenge to reality from a +poet who has very clearly apprehended it; and in their triumphant +idealism they put the corner-stone upon his philosophy and his art. + + + + +_Harold Monro_ + + +The poetry of Mr Monro--that which counts most, the later work--is of so +fine a texture and so subtle a perfume that its charm may elude the +average reader. It is, moreover, very individual in its form; and the +unusual element in it, which is yet not sufficiently bizarre to snatch +attention, may tend to repel even the poetry lover. That person, as we +know, still prefers to take his poetry in the traditional manner; and +hence the audience for work like this, delicately sensitive and quietly +thoughtful, is likely to be small. It will be fully appreciative, +however, gladly exchanging stormy raptures for a serene and satisfying +beauty; and it will be of a temper which will delight to trace in this +work, subdued almost to a murmur, the same influences which are urging +some of his contemporaries to louder, more emphatic, and more copious +expression. + +A particular interest of this poetry is precisely the way in which those +influences have been subdued. It is that which gives the individual +stamp to its art; but, curiously, it is also that which marks its +heredity, and defines its place in the succession of English poetry. +There is independence here, but not isolation; nor is there violent +conflict with an older poetic ideal. On the contrary, a reconciliation +has been made; balance has been attained; and revolutionary principles, +whether in the region of technique or ideas, have been harnessed and +controlled. So that this work, while fairly representing the new poetry, +is clearly related in the direct line to the old. A little "Impression," +one of a group at the end of the volume called _Before Dawn_, will +illustrate this: + + She was young and blithe and fair, + Firm of purpose, sweet and strong, + Perfect was her crown of hair, + Perfect most of all her song. + + Yesterday beneath an oak, + She was chanting in the wood: + Wandering harmonies awoke; + Sleeping echoes understood. + + To-day without a song, without a word, + She seems to drag one piteous fallen wing + Along the ground, and, like a wounded bird, + Move silent, having lost the heart to sing. + + She was young and blithe and fair, + Firm of purpose, sweet and strong, + Perfect was her crown of hair, + Perfect most of all her song. + +One may cite a piece like that, breaking away, in the third stanza, to a +freer and more fitting rhythm, as an example of the normal development +of English prosody. And that is, perhaps, the final significance of Mr +Monro's work. With less temptation to waywardness than a more exuberant +genius, he has achieved a completer harmony. But it was not so easy a +task as the quiet manner would cheat one into supposing; and, of course, +it has not always been so successfully done. There are many +pieces--beautiful nevertheless--where external influences have not been +completely subdued. From them one may measure the strength with which +contemporary thought claims this poet. For it appears that he, too, +cannot be at ease in Zion; that he is troubled and ashamed by reason of +a social conscience; that he is haunted by an unappeasable questioning +spirit; that he is perpetually seeking after the spiritual element in +existence. Indeed, so clear and persistent is this last motive, that if +one were aiming epithets it would be possible to fit the word +'religious' to the essential nature of Mr Monro's poetry. Of course, no +poet, be he great or small, can be packed into the compass of a single +word. His work will mean much more, and sometimes greatly different from +that. And the word religious in this connexion is more than usually +hazardous, for almost all the connotations are against it. It is true +that the common meaning, bandied on the lips of happy irresponsibles, +has no application here. On the contrary, it seems sometimes completely +reversed; and the good unthinking folk would find themselves nonplussed +by such a piece as that called "The Poets are Waiting," in the chapbook +which Mr Munro published at the end of 1914. Yet it is of the essence of +religion; and it most faithfully presents the spiritual crisis which was +precipitated by the Great War for many who had clung to a last vague +hope of some intelligent providence-- + + To what God + Shall we chant + Our songs of Battle? + + Hefty barbarians, + Roaring for war, + Are breaking upon us; + Clouds of their cavalry, + Waves of their infantry, + Mountains of guns. + Winged they are coming, + Plated and mailed, + Snorting their jargon. + Oh to whom shall a song of battle be chanted? + + Not to our lord of the hosts on his ancient throne, + Drowsing the ages out in Heaven alone. + The celestial choirs are mute, the angels have fled: + Word is gone forth abroad that our lord is dead. + + To what God + Shall we chant + Our songs of Battle? + +I do not wish, to stress unduly the spiritual element in this work, but +it compels attention for two reasons. It is a dominant impulse, +supplying themes which occur early and late and often; and the manner of +its expression reveals a link with the past generation which is +analogous to the technical connexion that we have already noted. + +The signs of descent from the Victorians are naturally to be found in +the early poems. There is, for example, the inevitable classic theme +treated in the (also inevitable) romantic manner, and making a charming +combination, despite the grumblings of the realist and the pedant. That, +however, is a very obvious and external mark of descent. A more +interesting sign is in the spirit of "A Song at Dawn," a wail to the +Power of Powers which the author probably wishes to forget. So I will +not quote it. The point about it is the celerity with which it sends +thought flying back to Matthew Arnold and "Dover Beach." Yet there is an +important difference. For whilst the Victorian muses upon the decay of +faith with exquisite mournfulness, the 'Georgian' takes an attitude of +greater detachment. Instead of grieving for a dead or dying system of +theology, he seeks to question the reality which lies behind it. + +In the volume of 1911, called _Before Dawn_, there are several poems +which pursue the same quest. Sometimes the method is one of provocative +directness, as in the dramatic piece called "God"; and at other times it +is by way of symbol or suggestion, as in "Moon-worshippers" or "Two +Visions." From the nature of things, however, the pieces in which the +argumentative attitude is taken are the less satisfying, as poetry. Thus +the colloquy in "God" just fails, from the polemical theme, of being +truly dramatic; while, on the other hand, its form prevents it from +rising into such lovely lyrism as that of "The Last Abbot." In the +former poem we are to imagine all sorts and conditions of people coming +in and out of an old English tavern on market day; and all of them ready +and willing to enlighten a travel-stained pilgrim there as to "Who and +what is God?" One sees the allegory, of course; but, somehow, that is +less convincing than the touches of satirical portraiture which we find +in passing, and which point to this poet's gift of objectivity. The +judge and the priest, the soldier and sailor and farmer, the beggar, +thief and merchant, are presented mainly as types: that, of course, +being demanded by the allegory. And when a poet arrives to solve the +problem, he also speaks 'in character'--though we recognize the voice +for one more modern than his reputed age. + + ... God is a spirit, not a creed; + He is an inner outward-moving power: + + ..... + + He is that one Desire, that life, that breath, + That Soul which, with infinity of pain, + Passes through revelation and through death + Onward and upward to itself again. + + Out of the lives of heroes and their deeds, + Out of the miracle of human thought, + Out of the songs of singers, God proceeds; + And of the soul of them his Soul is wrought. + +There follows a quick clatter of disputation, broken by the entrance of +the philosopher; and the pilgrim's question being put to him, he +replies-- + + God? God! There is no GOD. + +Thus 'the spirit that denies' abruptly shatters the poetic vision; and +the artistic effect is, correspondingly, to break the music of the +previous stanzas with a sudden discord. The design of the work required +that the philosopher should be heard, and dramatic fitness suggested +that his most effective entrance would be here, rending the fair new +synthesis with denial. And the resulting dissonance is inherent in the +very scheme of the poem. + +That defect does not appear in "The Last Abbot," which is also engaged +upon the thought of the universal soul. Here an old monk, knowing that +he is drawing near the end of life, quietly talks to the brethren of his +order about life and death and after-death. There is no argument, no +discussion even. No other voice is raised to interrupt the meditative +flow of the old man's message, which is, in fact, a recantation. And, as +a consequence, the poem has a unity of serene reflectiveness, rising at +times to lyrical ecstasy. He is thinking of his approaching death-- + + Oh, I, with light and airy change, + Across the azure sky shall range, + When I am dead. + + ..... + + I shall be one + Of all the misty, fresh and healing powers. + Dew I shall be, and fragrance of the morn, + And quietly shall lie dreaming all the noon, + Or oft shall sparkle underneath the moon, + A million times shall die and be reborn, + Because the sun again and yet again + Shall snatch me softly from the earth away: + I shall be rain; + I shall be spray; + At night shall oft among the misty shades + Pass dreamily across the open lea; + And I shall live in the loud cascades, + Pouring their waters into the sea. + ... Nought can die: + All belongs to the living Soul, + Makes, and partakes, and is the whole, + All--and therefore, I. + +So much then for the poet's cosmic theory, presented more or less +directly. This explicit treatment may, as we see, give individual +passages where thought and feeling are completely fused, and the idea +gets itself born into a shape sufficiently concrete for the breath of +poetry to live in it. But the final effect of such poems is apt to be +dimmed by the shadow of controversy. A subtler method is used, however, +justified in a finer type of art. In "Don Juan in Hell," for instance, +there is a symbolical presentment of the theme: a conception of life +which is a corollary from the poet's theory of the universe. Don Juan is +here an incarnation of the vital forces of the world, of the positive +value and power of life which is in eternal conflict with a religion of +negation. And, a newcomer among the shades in Hell, he turns his scorn +upon them for the lascivious passion which found it necessary to invent +sin. + + Light, light your fires, + That they may purify your own desires! + They will not injure me. + This fire of mine + Was kindled from the torch that will outshine + Eternity. + + ..... + + Proud, you disclaim + That fair desire from which all came; + Unworthy of your lofty human birth, + Despise the earth. + O crowd funereal, + Lifting your anxious brows because of sin, + There is no Heaven such as you would win, + Nor any other Paradise at all, + Save in fulfilling some superb desire + With all the spirit's fire. + +The same idea is woven into "Moon-worshippers," with delicate grace. It +constitutes a precise charge, in the poem "To Tolstoi," that the great +idealist has forsworn the 'holy way of life'; and, recurring in many +forms more or less explicit, culminates in the charming allegory called +"Children of Love." This is a later poem, mature in thought and masterly +in form. The theme is by this time a familiar one to the poet: he has +considered it deeply and often. And having gone through the crucible so +many times, it is now of a fineness and plasticity to be handled with +ease. It runs into the symbolism here so lightly as hardly to awaken an +echo of afterthought, and shapes to an allegory much too winning to +provoke controversy. The first two stanzas of the poem imagine the boy +Jesus walking dreamily under the olives in the cool of the evening: + + Suddenly came + Running along to him naked, with curly hair, + That rogue of the lovely world, + That other beautiful child whom the virgin Venus bare. + + The holy boy + Gazed with those sad blue eyes that all men know. + Impudent Cupid stood + Panting, holding an arrow and pointing his bow. + + (Will you not play? + Jesus, run to him, run to him, swift for our joy. + Is he not holy, like you? + Are you afraid of his arrows, O beautiful dreaming boy?) + + ..... + + Marvellous dream! + Cupid has offered his arrows for Jesus to try; + He has offered his bow for the game. + But Jesus went weeping away, and left him there + wondering why. + +That may be taken as Mr Monro's most representative poem. On our theory, +therefore (of this work as a link with the older school), the piece +might serve to indicate the point which contemporary poetry has reached, +advancing in technique and in thought straight from the previous +generation. Not that it is the most 'advanced' piece (in the specific +sense of the word) which one could cite from modern poets. Many and +strange have been the theories evolved on independent lines, just as +numerous weird technical effects have been gained by breaking altogether +with the tradition of native prosody. But Mr Monro's poetry continues +the tradition; and whether it be in content or in form, it has pushed +forward, in the normal manner of healthy growth, from the stage +immediately preceding. + +The new technical features are clear enough, and all owe their origin to +a determination to gain the greatest possible freedom within the laws of +English versification. Rhyme is no longer a merely decorative figure, +gorgeous but tyrannical. It is an instrument of potential range and +power, to be used with restraint by an austere artist. In "Children of +Love" it occurs just often enough to convey the gentle sadness of the +emotional atmosphere. But very beautiful effects are gained without it, +as, for instance, in another of these later poems, called "Great +City"-- + + When I returned at sunset, + The serving-maid was singing softly + Under the dark stairs, and in the house + Twilight had entered like a moonray. + Time was so dead I could not understand + The meaning of midday or of midnight, + But like falling waters, falling, hissing, falling, + Silence seemed an everlasting sound. + +The verse is not now commonly marked by an exact number of syllables or +feet, nor the stanza divided into a regular number of verses, except +where the subject requires precision of effect. An order of recurrence +does exist, however, giving the definite form essential to poetry. But +it is determined by factors which make for greater naturalness and +flexibility than the hard-and-fast division into ten-or eight-foot lines +and stanzas of a precise pattern. The ruling influences now are +various--the thought which is to be expressed, and the phases through +which it passes: the nature and strength of the emotion, the ebb and +flow of the poetic impulse. + +Thus, while metrical rhythm is retained, it has been freed from its +former monotonous regularity, and has become almost infinitely varied. +The dissyllable, dominant hitherto, has taken a much humbler place. +Every metre into which English words will run is now adopted, and fresh +combinations are constantly being made; while upon the poetic rhythm +itself is superimposed the natural rhythm of speech. In most of these +devices Mr Monro, and others, are presumably following the precept and +example of the Laureate; but in any case there can be no doubt of the +richness, suppleness, and variety of the metrical effects attained. Most +of the pieces in this little chapbook illustrate at some point the +influence of untrammelled speech-rhythm; and in one, called +"Hearthstone," it is rather accentuated. I quote from the poem for that +reason: the slight excess will enable the device to be observed more +readily, but will not obscure other characteristic qualities which are +clearly marked here--of tenderness, quiet tone, and delicate colouring. + + I want nothing but your fireside now. + + ..... + + Your book has dropped unnoticed: you have read + So long you cannot send your brain to bed. + The low quiet room and all its things are caught + And linger in the meshes of your thought. + (Some people think they know time cannot pause.) + Your eyes are closing now though not because + Of sleep. You are searching something with your brain; + You have let the old dog's paw drop down again ... + Now suddenly you hum a little catch, + And pick up the book. The wind rattles the latch; + There's a patter of light cool rain and the curtain shakes; + The silly dog growls, moves, and almost wakes. + The kettle near the fire one moment hums. + Then a long peace upon the whole room comes. + So the sweet evening will draw to its bedtime end. + I want nothing now but your fireside, friend. + +Thus the technique of modern poetry would seem to be moving towards a +more exact rendering of the music and the meaning of our language. That +is to say, there is, in prosody itself, an impulse towards truth of +expression, which may be found to correspond to the heightened sense of +external fact in contemporary poetic genius, as well as to its closer +hold upon reality. Thence comes the realism of much good poetry now +being written: triune, as all genuine realism must be, since it proceeds +out of a spiritual conviction, a mental process and actual +craftsmanship. That Mr Monro's work is also trending in this direction, +almost every piece in his last little book will testify. And if it seem +a surprising fact, that is only because one has found it necessary to +quote from the more subjective of his early lyrics. It would have been +possible, out of the narrative called "Judas," or the "Impressions" at +the end of _Before Dawn_, to indicate this poet's objective power. He +has a gift of detachment; of cool and exact observation; and to this is +joined a dexterity of satiric touch which serves indignation well. Hence +the portraits of the epicure at the Carlton and the city swindler in the +rôle of county gentleman. Hence, too, poems like "The Virgin" or "A +Suicide": though here it is unfortunate that imagination has been +allowed to play upon abnormal subjects. The result may be an acute +psychological study; and interesting on that account. But if it is to be +a choice between two extremes, most people will prefer work in which +fantasy has gone off to a region in the opposite direction. There is one +poem in which this bizarre sprite has taken holiday; and thence comes +the piece of glimmering unreality called "Overheard on a Saltmarsh." + + Nymph, nymph, what are your beads? + Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them? + Give them me. + No. + Give them me. Give them me. + No. + Then I will howl all night in the reeds, + Lie in the mud and howl for them. + + Goblin, why do you love them so? + They are better than stars or water, + Better than voices of winds that sing, + Better than any man's fair daughter, + Your green glass beads on a silver ring. + + Hush I stole them out of the moon. + + Give me your beads, I desire them. + No. + I will howl in a deep lagoon + For your green glass beads, I love them so. + Give them me. Give them. + No. + +But in his more representative work, the intellectual realism which +comes from an acute sense of fact is clearly operative. We have seen, +too, from the earliest published verse of this poet, the continual +struggle of what one may call a religion of reality--belief in the +sanctity and beauty and value of the real world--for spiritual mastery. +In the later poems the two elements become deepened and are more closely +combined: they are, too, seeking expression through a technique which is +directed to the same realistic purpose. And as a result we get such a +piece of quiet fidelity as "London Interior"; or a tragedy like +"Carrion," in which the logic of life and death, controlling emotion +with beautiful gravity, is suddenly broken by a sob. It is the last of +four war-poems; a series representing the call of battle to the +soldier, his departure, a fighting retreat, and finally, in "Carrion," +his death-- + + It is plain now what you are. Your head has dropped + Into a furrow. And the lovely curve + Of your strong leg has wasted and is propped + Against a ridge of the ploughed land's watery swerve. + + ..... + + You are fuel for a coming spring if they leave you here; + The crop that will rise from your bones is healthy bread. + You died--we know you--without a word of fear, + And as they loved you living I love you dead. + + No girl would kiss you. But then + No girls would ever kiss the earth + In the manner they hug the lips of men: + You are not known to them in this, your second birth. + + ..... + + Hush, I hear the guns. Are you still asleep? + Surely I saw you a little heave to reply. + I can hardly think you will not turn over and creep + Along the furrows trenchward as if to die. + + + + +_Sarojini Naidu_ + + +Mrs Naidu is one of the two Indian poets who within the last few years +have produced remarkable English poetry. The second of the two is, of +course, Rabindranath Tagore, whose work has come to us a little later, +who has published more, and whose recent visit to this country has +brought him more closely under the public eye. Mrs Naidu is not so well +known; but she deserves to be, for although the bulk of her work is not +so large, its quality, so far as it can be compared with that of her +compatriot, will easily bear the test. It is, however, so different in +kind, and reveals a genius so contrasting, that one is piqued by an +apparent problem. How is it that two children of what we are pleased to +call the changeless East, under conditions nearly identical, should have +produced results which are so different? + +Both of these poets are lyrists born; both come of an old and +distinguished Bengali ancestry; in both the culture of East and West are +happily met; and both are working in the same artistic medium. Yet the +poetry of Rabindranath Tagore is mystical, philosophic, and +contemplative, remaining oriental therefore to that degree; and +permitting a doubt of the _Quarterly_ reviewer's dictum that +"Gitanjali" is a synthesis of western and oriental elements. The +complete synthesis would seem to rest with Mrs Naidu, whose poetry, +though truly native to her motherland, is more sensuous than mystical, +human and passionate rather than spiritual, and reveals a mentality more +active than contemplative. Her affiliation with the Occident is so much +the more complete; but her Eastern origin is never in doubt. + +The themes of her verse and their setting are derived from her own +country. But her thought, with something of the energy of the strenuous +West and something of its 'divine discontent,' plays upon the surface of +an older and deeper calm which is her birthright. So, in her "Salutation +to the Eternal Peace," she sings + + What care I for the world's loud weariness, + Who dream in twilight granaries Thou dost bless + With delicate sheaves of mellow silences? + +Two distinguished poet-friends of Mrs Naidu--Mr Edmund Gosse and Mr +Arthur Symons--have introduced her two principal volumes of verse with +interesting biographical notes. The facts thus put in our possession +convey a picture to the mind which is instantly recognizable in the +poems. A gracious and glowing personality appears, quick and warm with +human feeling, exquisitely sensitive to beauty and receptive of ideas, +wearing its culture, old and new, scientific and humane, with +simplicity; but, as Mr Symons says, "a spirit of too much fire in too +frail a body," and one moreover who has suffered and fought to the limit +of human endurance. + +We hear of birth and childhood in Hyderabad; of early scientific +training by a father whose great learning was matched by his public +spirit: of a first poem at the age of eleven, written in an impulse of +reaction when a sum in algebra '_would not_ come right': of coming to +England at the age of sixteen with a scholarship from the Nizam college; +and of three years spent here, studying at King's College, London, and +at Girton, with glorious intervals of holiday in Italy. + +We hear, too, of a love-story that would make an idyll; of passion so +strong and a will so resolute as almost to be incredible in such a +delicate creature; of a marriage in defiance of caste, a few years of +brilliant happiness and then a tragedy. And all through, as a dark +background to the adventurous romance of her life, there is the shadow +of weakness and ill-health. That shadow creeps into her poems, +impressively, now and then. Indeed, if it were lacking, the bright +oriental colouring would be almost too vivid. So, apart from its +psychological and human interest, we may be thankful for such a poem as +"To the God of Pain." It softens and deepens the final impression of the +work. + + For thy dark altars, balm nor milk nor rice, + But mine own soul thou'st ta'en for sacrifice. + +The poem is purely subjective, of course, as is the still more moving +piece, "The Poet to Death," in the same volume. + + Tarry a while, till I am satisfied + Of love and grief, of earth and altering sky; + Till all my human hungers are fulfilled, + O Death, I cannot die! + +We know that that is a cry out of actual and repeated experience; and +from that point of view alone it has poignant interest. But what are we +to say about the spirit of it--the philosophy which is implicit in it? +Here is an added value of a higher kind, evidence of a mind which has +taken its own stand upon reality, and which has no easy consolations +when confronting the facts of existence. For this mind, neither the +religions of East nor West are allowed to veil the truth; neither the +hope of Nirvana nor the promise of Paradise may drug her sense of the +value of life nor darken her perception of the beauty of phenomena. +Resignation and renunciation are alike impossible to this ardent being +who loves the earth so passionately; but the 'sternly scientific' +nature of that early training--the description is her own--has made +futile regret impossible, too. She has entered into full possession of +the thought of our time; and strongly individual as she is, she has +evolved for herself, to use her own words, a "subtle philosophy of +living from moment to moment." That is no shallow epicureanism, however, +for as she sings in a poem contrasting our changeful life with the +immutable peace of the Buddha on his lotus-throne-- + + Nought shall conquer or control + The heavenward hunger of our soul. + +It is as though, realizing that the present is the only moment of which +we are certain, she had determined to crowd that moment to the utmost +limit of living. + +From such a philosophy, materialism of a nobler kind, one would expect a +love of the concrete and tangible, a delight in sense impressions, and +quick and strong emotion. Those are, in fact, the characteristics of +much of the poetry in these two volumes, _The Golden Threshold_ and _The +Bird of Time_. The beauty of the material world, of line and especially +of colour, is caught and recorded joyously. Life is regarded mainly from +the outside, in action, or as a pageant; as an interesting event or a +picturesque group. It is not often brooded over, and reflection is +generally evident in but the lightest touches. The proportion of +strictly subjective verse is small, and is not, on the whole, the finest +work technically. + +The introspective note seems unfavourable to Mrs Naidu's art: naturally +so, one would conclude, from the buoyant temperament that is revealed. +The love-songs are perhaps an exception, for one or two, which (as we +know) treat fragments of the poet's own story, are fine in idea and in +technique alike. There is, for example, "An Indian Love Song," in the +first stanza of which the lover begs for his lady's love. But she +reminds him of the barriers of caste between them; she is afraid to +profane the laws of her father's creed; and her lover's kinsmen, in +times past, have broken the altars of her people and slaughtered their +sacred kine. The lover replies: + + What are the sins of my race, Beloved, what are my people to thee? + And what are thy shrine, and kine and kindred, what are thy gods to + me? + Love recks not of feuds and bitter follies, of stranger, comrade or + kin, + Alike in his ear sound the temple bells and the cry of the + _muezzin_. + +There is also in the second volume the "Dirge," in which the poet mourns +the death of the husband whom she had dared to marry against the laws +of caste; and which almost unconsciously reveals the influence of +centuries of Suttee upon the mind of Indian womanhood. + + Shatter her shining bracelets, break the string + Threading the mystic marriage-beads that cling + Loth to desert a sobbing throat so sweet, + Unbind the golden anklets on her feet, + Divest her of her azure veils and cloud + Her living beauty in a living shroud. + +Even here, however, the effect is gained by colour and movement; by the +grouping of images rather than by the development of an idea; and that +will be found to be Mrs Naidu's method in the many delightful lyrics of +these volumes where she is most successful. The "Folk Songs" of her +first book are an example. One assumes that they are early work, partly +because they are the first group in the earlier of the two volumes; but +more particularly because they adopt so literally the advice which Mr +Edmund Gosse gave her at the beginning of her career. When she came as a +girl to England and was a student of London University at King's +College, she submitted to Mr Gosse a bundle of manuscript poems. He +describes them as accurate and careful work, but too derivative; +modelled too palpably on the great poets of the previous generation. +His advice, therefore, was that they should be destroyed, and that the +author should start afresh upon native themes and in her own manner. The +counsel was exactly followed: the manuscript went into the wastepaper +basket, and the poet set to work on what we cannot doubt is this first +group of songs made out of the lives of her own people. + +There is all the hemisphere between these lyrics and those of +late-Victorian England. Here we find a "Village Song" of a mother to the +little bride who is still all but a baby; and to whom the fairies call +so insistently that she will not stay "for bridal songs and bridal cakes +and sandal-scented leisure." In the song of the "Palanquin Bearers" we +positively see the lithe and rhythmic movements which bear some Indian +beauty along, lightly "as a pearl on a string." And there is a song +written to one of the tunes of those native minstrels who wander, free +and wild as the wind, singing of + + The sword of old battles, the crown of old kings, + And happy and simple and sorrowful things. + +The "Harvest Hymn" raises thanksgiving for strange bounties to gods of +unfamiliar names; and the "Cradle Song" evokes a tropical night, heavy +with scent and drenched with dew-- + + Sweet, shut your eyes, + The wild fire-flies + Dance through the fairy _neem_; + From the poppy-bole, + For you I stole + A little, lovely dream. + +In its lightness and grace, this poem is one of the exquisite things in +our language: one of the little lyric flights, like William Watson's +"April," which in their clear sweetness and apparent spontaneity are +like some small bird's song. Mrs Naidu has said of herself--"I sing just +as the birds do"; and as regards her loveliest lyrics (there are a fair +proportion of them) she speaks a larger truth than she meant. Their +simplicity and abandonment to the sheer joy of singing are infinitely +refreshing; and fragile though they seem, one suspects them of great +vitality. In the later volume there is another called "Golden +Cassia"--the bright blooms that her people call mere 'woodland flowers.' +The poet has other fancies about them; sometimes they seem to her like +fragments of a fallen star-- + + Or golden lamps for a fairy shrine, + Or golden pitchers for fairy wine. + + Perchance you are, O frail and sweet! + Bright anklet-bells from the wild spring's feet, + + Or the gleaming tears that some fair bride shed + Remembering her lost maidenhead. + +The tenderness and delicacy of verse like that might mislead us. We +might suppose that the qualities of Mrs Naidu's work were only those +which are arbitrarily known as feminine. But this poet, like Mrs +Browning, is faithful to her own sensuous and passionate temperament. +She has not timidly sheltered behind a convention which, because some +women-poets have been austere, prescribes austerity, neutral tones, and +a pale light for the woman-artist in this sphere. And, as a result, we +have all the evidence of a richly-dowered sensibility responding frankly +to the vivid light and colour, the liberal contours and rich scents and +great spaces of the world she loves; and responding no less warmly and +freely to human instincts. Occasionally her verse achieves the +expression of sheer sensuous ecstasy. It does that, perhaps, in the two +Dance poems--from the very reason that her art is so true and free. The +theme requires exactly that treatment; and in "Indian Dancers" there is +besides a curiously successful union between the measure that is +employed and the subject of the poem-- + + Their glittering garments of purple are burning like tremulous dawns + in the quivering air, + And exquisite, subtle and slow are the tinkle and tread of their + rhythmical, slumber-soft feet. + +The love-songs, though in many moods, are always the frank expression of +emotion that is deep and strong. One that is especially beautiful is the +utterance of a young girl who, while her sisters prepare the rites for a +religious festival, stands aside with folded hands dreaming of her +lover. She is secretly asking herself what need has she to supplicate +the gods, being blessed by love; and again, in the couple of stanzas +called "Ecstasy," the rapture has passed, by its very intensity, into +pain. + + Shelter my soul, O my love! + My soul is bent low with the pain + And the burden of love, like the grace + Of a flower that is smitten with rain: + O shelter my soul from thy face! + +But, when all is said, it is the life of her people which inspires this +poet most perfectly. In the lighter lyrics one sees the fineness of her +touch; and in the love-poems the depth of her passion. But, in the +folk-songs, all the qualities of her genius have contributed. Grace and +tenderness have been reinforced by an observant eye, broad sympathy and +a capacity for thought which reveals itself not so much as a systematic +process as an atmosphere, suffusing the poems with gentle pensiveness. +And always the artistic method is that of picking out the theme in +bright sharp lines, and presenting the idea concretely, through the +grouping of picturesque facts. There is a poem called "Street Cries" +which is a vivid bit of the life of an Eastern city. First we have early +morning, when the workers hurry out, fasting, to their toil; and the cry +'Buy bread, Buy bread' rings down the eager street; then midday, hot and +thirsty, when the cry is 'Buy fruit, Buy fruit'; and finally, evening. + + When twinkling twilight o'er the gay bazaars, + Unfurls a sudden canopy of stars, + When lutes are strung and fragrant torches lit + On white roof-terraces where lovers sit + Drinking together of life's poignant sweet, + _Buy flowers, buy flowers_, floats down the singing street. + +Another of these shining pictures will be found in "Nightfall in the +City of Hyderabad," Mrs Naidu's own city; and again in the song called +"In a Latticed Balcony." But there are several others in which, added to +the suggestion of an old civilization and strange customs, there is a +haunting sense of things older and stranger still. Of such is this one, +called "Indian Weavers." + + Weavers, weaving at break of day, + Why do you weave a garment so gay?... + Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild, + We weave the robes of a new-born child. + + ..... + + Weavers, weaving solemn and still, + Why do you weave in the moonlight chill?... + White as a feather and white as a cloud, + We weave a dead man's funeral shroud. + + + + +"_John Presland_" + + +The work of "John Presland" reminds one of the trend of contemporary +poetry towards the dramatic form. Out of eight volumes published by this +poet, five are fully-wrought plays, and one is a tragic love-story told +in duologue. That, of course, is a larger proportion of actual drama +than most of these poets give; but if an analysis were made, it would +probably be found that the dramatic impulse is strong in the work of +nearly all of them. + +There are very few of those who are making genuine poetry, who are +content simply to sing. Indeed, it hardly seems to be a matter of +choice, but an urgency, secret and compelling as a natural instinct, by +means of which life is commanding expression in literary art. This is +not to suggest, however, that no lyrics are being composed. Current +poetry often reveals a true lyrical gift, especially in early work; and +so long as poets continue to be born young, we shall not lack for songs. +We may find, too, a rare singer like W. H. Davies, for whom genius, +temperament and circumstance have effected a happy isolation from the +complexity of modern existence. Owing allegiance chiefly to nature, he +is free as the air in body and soul. Unspoilt by books, and saving his +spirit humane and merry and sweet from the petty constraints of +civilization, he carols as lightly as a robin or a thrush. But he is +almost a solitary exception, and may serve to prove the rule that the +pure lyric--some intimate emotion bubbling over into music--cannot say +all that demands to be said when the poetic spirit is completely in +touch with life. + +Now, in all the most vital of this modern verse, poetry has come so +close to life as to claim its very identity. It has left the twilight of +unreality and stepped into clear day. It has broken down the +exclusiveness which penned it within a prescribed circle of theme and of +language; and it has taken hold upon the world, real and entire. +Moreover, the life upon which it seizes in this way is wider, more +complex, more meaningful and varied than ever before. Political and +social changes have made humanity a larger thing--whether regarded in +the actual numbers which democracy thus brings within the poetic ken, or +in their manifold significance. Horizons, both mental and material, have +been extended. Science presses on in quiet confidence, the dogmatic +phase being over; and its methods as well as its data pass readily into +the collective mind. Religion, no longer synonymous with a single creed +or form of worship, can find room within itself for all the spiritual +activity of mankind everywhere; and in the juster proportion thus +attained, nobler syntheses are shaping. A constructive social sense +replaces the old negative commands with a positive duty of service. +Values are changing; new ideals quicken, struggle and fructify; fresh +aspects of life, and visions of human destiny, are opened up; while in +every sphere the spirit of inquiry and the experimental method generate +an energy of conflict which the timid and the sleepy loathe, but which +is nevertheless the dynamic of progress. + +The poetry of to-day is the very spirit of that multiform life, giving +shape and permanence to whatever is finest in it; and for that reason +its manner of expression is almost infinitely varied, and often very +different from the poetic forms of other ages. That, indeed, is one sign +of its vitality: the fact that it is a living organism, capable of +adaptation, growth and development. Old forms are modified and new ones +created to embody the new ideas. All the resources of prosody are drawn +upon--when they will serve--and used with the utmost freedom. And when, +as frequently happens, they will not serve; when the established rules +of English verse seem inadequate to the present task, they are +challenged and thrown aside. Thus there arises, in the technique of +poetry itself, a corresponding conflict to that in the world of ideas, +indicating a similar vigour and equally prophetic of advance. + +In all this variety, however, the dramatic element is a fairly constant +feature; and it seems to be growing stronger. It is present in many +poems which do not look like drama at all, as for instance in the +narratives of Mr Masefield. Here we may find vividly dramatic scenes, +astonishingly evolved in the form of an elaborate stanza, or the rhymed +couplet; just as the tragedies in _Daily Bread_ by Mr Gibson are wrought +out in a quite original unrhymed verse of extreme austerity. Again, much +of Mr Abercrombie's work is dramatic in essence, apart from his plays in +regular form; and Mrs Woods has completed a third poetical drama, having +already published two tragedies in her collected edition. + +But there is one fact to be noted in coming from those poets to the +drama of "John Presland." With them the dramatic impulse is often +subconscious, and it has to fight its way, obscurely sometimes, against +a twin impulse towards lyricism. It is strong but not yet dominant; +vital, but not yet aware of its own potentiality. It throbs below the +surface of alien forms, but it rarely breaks away to an independent +existence. And even when it achieves consciousness, as it does most +completely perhaps in the work of Mrs Woods, traces of the struggle +cling about it still--in a lyrical _motif_, or a fragment of song +embedded in the structure of a play, or in a lyric intensity of feeling. +With "John Presland," however, the general tendency is reversed. The +dramatic impulse has become a definite and prevailing purpose, with the +lyrical element subordinated to it; and, as a consequence, we have here +a drama of full stature, a complete, organic, and acutely conscious +art-form. + +This work reveals in its author an endowment of those qualities which +most insistently urge towards the dramatic form: imagination, both +creative and constructive, and a gift of almost absolute objectivity. In +all the five plays these qualities are conspicuous. Indeed, they are so +strong that they effectually screen the poet's personality; and, if he +had written nothing but the plays, it is little that one might hope to +discover of the individual mind behind them. That is naturally a very +desirable result from the dramatist's point of view, and one test of his +art. But it pricks mere human curiosity, and provokes unregenerate glee +in the fact that the poet has published lyrics too, three volumes of +them; and that they, from their more subjective nature, yield up the +outlines of a definite individuality. + +But, indeed, one's delight is not pure mischief. It is partly at least +in seeing the artistic virtue of this largesse in the lyric--the +spontaneity which is equally a merit with the reticence of drama. One is +glad, too, of the light thus thrown upon the poet's own philosophy, his +affiliations, his outlook, his attitude to life. Judging by the plays +alone, we might be cheated into a belief in the complete detachment of +our author. The use of historical themes and the rigour of his art +create an effect of isolation. He would seem to stand outside the stress +of his own time and aloof from the influences which commonly shape the +artist. The lyrics show that impression to be false and help to correct +it. For while they do not relate the poet, in any narrow sense, to what +are specifically called 'modern movements,' they prove that he has an +eager interest in his world, and that, being in that world and of it, he +is yet 'on the side of the angels.' There is, for example, a splendid +fire of reproach in the poem "To Italy," proving a capacity for noble +indignation at the same time as a close hold upon current affairs. The +poem is dated September 29, 1911, and is a protest at the action of +Italy against Tripoli: + + Hearken to your dead heroes, Italy; + Hearken to those who made your history + A bright and splendid thing ... + ... What Mazzini said + Have you so soon forgotten? You, who bled + With Garibaldi, and the thousand more? + He spoke, and your young men to battle bore + His gospel with them, of men's brotherhood, + Of Justice, that before the tyrant, stood + Accusing, and of truth and charity. + His dust to-day lies with you, Italy; + Where lie his words? That sword is in your hand + To seize unrighteously another's land-- + Your fleet in foreign waters. By what right + Dare you act so, save arrogance of might, + Such cruel force as ground the Austrian heel + Upon your Lombard cities, ringed with steel + Unhappy Naples and despairing Rome, + That exiled Garibaldi from his home, + That served itself with sycophants and knaves, + That filled the prisons and the nameless graves, + Till, like a sunrise o'er a stormy sea, + Flashed out the spirit of free Italy? + +Like all Mr Presland's work, this poem is closely woven: quotation does +not serve it well, but this passage will at least indicate its theme and +temper, and thus light up personality. There is, in the same volume, +_Songs of Changing Skies_, a bit of spiritual autobiography called "To +Robert Browning." It destroys at once any fiction of literary isolation; +although to be sure there are cute critics who will declare that the +resemblance to Browning in some of these lyrics is too obvious to need +the discipular confession. It may be that these clever people are right. +Yes, perhaps one would recognize certain signs in poems like "A Present +from Luther" and "An Error of Luther's." But the whole question of +influence is nearly always made too much of, especially in its mere +outward marks. Granting the love of Browning and the debt to his +teaching, which are honourably admitted here, some effect upon thought +and style would be inevitable. But a deeper and more potent cause of the +resemblance lies in a real affinity of mind, in buoyancy and breadth and +tenacious belief in good; and in a similar poetic equipment. One must +not launch upon a comparison, but it may be observed that he has +profited by his master's faults, artistic and philosophical, at least as +much as by his merits. For, probably warned by example, this poet works +with patient care to express his thought simply; and he has attained a +style of perfect clearness. While his philosophy, though full of brave +hope, has escaped the unreason of that optimism which declares that +'All's well.' True, he makes Joan say, in the last words of his "Joan of +Arc": + + ... so near eternity + The evil dwindles, good alone remains, + And good triumphant--God is merciful. + +But that is dramatically appropriate--the logic of Joan's character. And +it seems to me that a more intimate and sincere expression is to be +found in the chastened mood of a sonnet called "To April": + + There will be other days as fair as these + Which I shall never see; for other eyes + The lyric loveliness of cherry trees + Shall bloom milk-white against the windy skies + And I not praise them; where upon the stream + The faëry tracery of willows lies + I shall not see the sunlight's flying gleam, + Nor watch the swallows sudden dip and rise. + + Most mutable the forms of beauty are, + Yet Beauty most eternal and unchanged, + Perfect for us, and for posterity + Still perfect; yearly is the pageant ranged. + And dare we wish that our poor dust should mar + The wonder of such immortality? + +The wistfulness of that wins by its grace where a more strenuous +optimism provokes a challenge; just as the tentative 'perhaps' in the +last line of "Sophocles' Antigone" softly woos the sceptic: + + There are fair flowers that never came to fruit; + Cut by sharp winds, or eaten by late frost, + Barrenly in forgetfulness, they're lost + To little-heedful Nature; so, in suit, + Beneath the footsteps of calamity + Young lives and lovely innocently come + To total up old evil's deadly sum-- + Do the gods pity dead Antigone? + We look too close, we look too close on earth + At good and evil; blind are Nature's laws + That kill, or make alive, and so are done. + Not in the circle of this death and birth + May we perceive a justifying cause, + Beyond, perhaps, for God and good are one. + +One must not pause to gather up the threads of personality in these +three volumes of lyrics; and, with the more important work in drama +still ahead, it is only possible just to glance at their specific +values. All the pieces are not equally good, of course, but there is a +proportion of exquisite poetry in each volume, and--a healthy sign--the +proportion is greatest in the last of the three, _Songs of Changing +Skies_, published in 1913. Of this best work there are at least three +kinds. There is that which one may call the lyric proper, small in size, +simple in design, light in texture, the free expression of a single +mood. Such is "From a Window," in which the peculiar charm of the poet's +verse in this kind is well seen. It is not a showy attractiveness: it +does not storm the senses nor clamour for approval. It enters the mind +quietly, and perhaps with some hesitancy; but having entered, it takes +absolute possession. + + To-night I hear the soft Spring rain that falls + Across the gardens, in the falling dusk, + The Spring dusk, very slow; + And that clear, single-noted bird that calls + Insistently, from somewhere in the gloom + Of wet Spring leafage, or the scattering bloom + Of one tall pear-tree. + On, on, on, they go, + Those single, sweet, reiterated sounds, + Having no passion, similarly free + Of laughter, and of memory, and of tears, + Poignantly sweet, across the falling rain, + They fall upon my ears. + +The delicate rapture of that will fairly represent most of the nature +poetry in these volumes; and it may stand alike for its music and the +technical means by which that music is conveyed. It will be seen that +there is a close relation between means and end; that the simple +language, natural phrasing and controlled freedom of movement, directly +subserve the final effect of clear sweetness. A similar adaptation will +be found in verse which is written in a sharply contrasted manner. In +"Atlantic Rollers," for instance, we have a bigger theme, demanding by +its nature a swifter and stronger treatment. And surely the wild energy +and sound, the dazzling light and colour of stormy breakers have been +almost brought within sight and sound, in the speed and vigour of this +poem. There is the opening rush, secretly obedient to a metrical scheme; +there is a choice of words which are themselves dynamic; the rapid, +cumulative pressure of the verse, with epithets only to help the rising +movement until the crest is reached, at say the tenth or twelfth line; +and then a slight diminution of speed and force, as a richer style +describes the breaking wave. + + Do you dare face the wind now? Such a wind, + Bending the hardy cliff-grass all one way, + Hurling the breakers in huge battle-play + On these old rocks, whose age leaves Time behind, + --The whorls and rockets of the fiery mass + Ere earth was earth--shoots over them the spray + In furious beauty, then is twisted, wreathed, + Dispersed, flung inland, beaten in our face, + Until we pant as if we hardly breathed + The common air. See how the billows race + Landward in white-maned squadrons that are shot + With sparks of sunshine. + Where they leap in sight + First, on the clear horizon, they fleck white + The blue profundity; then, as clouds shift, + Are grey, and umber, and pale amethyst; + Then, great green ramparts in the bay uplift, + Perfect a moment, ere they break and fall + In fierce white smother on the rocky wall. + +The third kind of lyric is perhaps the most interesting, for it points +directly to the poet's dramatic gift. It appears quite early in this +work; and indeed, a striking example of it is the duologue which gives +its name to the author's first book, _The Marionettes_, published in +1907. It is described in the sub-title as _A Puppet Show_, and a +definition of its form would probably be a dramatic lyric. Yet, although +the tragic story is sharply outlined and is told by the voices of +husband and wife alternately, the poem is not so dramatic in essence as +other pieces which are more strictly lyrical in form, notably "Outside +Canossa," in the last book. In _The Marionettes_ we see the events of +the story as they are reflected in the minds of the interlocutors; as +the mood or the thought which they have given rise to. They do not live +and move before us in visible action: which is to say, the lyric element +predominates. "Outside Canossa," on the other hand, is frankly narrative +in form, and has an historical theme. It relates the famous episode of +the humiliation of the Emperor Henry IV by Hildebrand, and is +necessarily concerned with material that is static in its nature. It +must define and describe the scene, announce the antecedents of the +story, and throw light upon character. In spite of this, however, the +conception of the poem is dramatic; and certain vivid situations have +been created. As we read we actually live in this snow-clothed, silent +forest world; we stand inside the king's tent as he returns each evening +from his bare-foot, bare-headed penance outside Hildebrand's castle +gate; and we tremble, with the waiting courtiers, at the fury of +outraged pride in his eyes. + + Yesterday, + Speech leapt from out the King, as leaps + A sword-blade, dazzling in the sun + From out its scabbard; as there leaps + Fire from the mountain, ere it run + Destruction-dealing, far and wide. + "Rather as Satan damned, I say, + Falling through pride, yet keeping pride, + Than buy salvation at this price...." + +To the enraged King the Queen enters softly, carrying her little son; +and though her husband has threatened death to any who should approach +him, though he sits with his unsheathed dagger ready to strike, she +walks steadily to his side, places the child upon his knee, and goes +slowly out without a word. + + Through the door + The King has hurled the dagger, holds + His son against his breast, and pain + Contorts him, like a smitten oak; + Then sets the child upon the floor, + And rises, and undoes the clasp + Of his great mantle (like a stain + Of blood it lies about his feet). + Next from his head he takes the crown, + Holds it arm's-length, and drops it down + Suddenly, from his loosened grasp, + And for the third time goes he forth, + Bare-footed as a penitent, + Humble, and excommunicate, + To stand all day in falling snow + Outside Canossa's guarded gate, + Till Hildebrand shall mercy show. + +The dramatic sense is clearly operative there. Here is an instinct which +perceives the kinetic values of things; which seizes unerringly upon the +stuff of drama, and, contemplating a character, an event or a situation, +feels it start into life under the touch and sees it move forward and +rush to a crisis before the eyes. In the lyrics this quality is often +merely latent; but in the plays it has come to full power and has found +expression through its own proper medium. It is, of course, the +originating impulse of drama as well as the force that shapes it; and if +we would take some measure of this creative energy in our poet, we have +only to observe that all of his five plays were published in five years, +one play to each year. The first, _Joan of Arc_, appeared in 1909; the +last, _Belisarius_, came out in 1913; the other three, _Mary Queen of +Scots_, _Manin_, and _Marcus Aurelius_, belong respectively to the three +intervening years. And there is another ready, representing 1914! +Moreover, they are all fully developed and of rather elaborate +structure. Being poetic and historical drama, perhaps it is natural that +they should follow the Shakespearean model, though their dependence on +tradition is a curious fact at this time of day. _Joan of Arc_ and _Mary +Queen of Scots_ are both of five-act length, and the rest are of four +acts. Numerous characters are introduced and a great deal of material is +handled: incident is plentiful, situations vary and scenes change with +some frequency; while underplot and crossaction bring in interests which +are additional to, though subserving, the main theme. + +Looking at the work thus, and noting its mass and general character, one +is impelled to pay a first tribute to the fertility of the genius from +which it springs, and to the strength and staying power of the dramatic +impulse which directs it. But we soon find that this is reinforced by +other qualities which are almost as remarkable. There is what one may +call a comprehensive intelligence, ranging over wide areas and gathering +material in many places, but keeping it all strictly under control and +constantly striving to relate and unify so much diversity. There is a +constructive gift patiently building up, fitting together, organizing +and articulating the form of the work. Selection acts persistently; +proportion is generally--though not always--true and fine; a noble +spirit and a manner at once gracious and dignified give the work +distinction. + +However, all that is little more than to say--here is a genuine artist +working conscientiously in a given medium. It does not go far towards a +relative estimate of the work as pure drama. Only a detailed critical +analysis could do that adequately; though one may perhaps try to +indicate two or three of the prominent features of the plays. Thus in +_Joan of Arc_ we meet at once certain qualities which become in the +later plays definitely characteristic. There is, for example, a +conception of the theme which stresses the element of spiritual +conflict, and draws upon it, as well as upon its human values, for +dramatic inspiration. That is a primary fact in all this work; and in +four of the five plays it is implied in the very name of the +protagonist. _Joan_, _Manin_, _Marcus Aurelius_ and _Belisarius_ are +synonyms for the purest spirituality of which human nature is capable. +They suggest, before a page of this poetry has been turned, that the +conflict out of which drama always springs is in this case largely a +matter of invisible forces--of principles and ideas. And they point to +a type of dramatic art which, trending to fine issues, inevitably deals +in quiet effects. + +There is, in fact, in the extreme grandeur of these four characters, a +possible source of weakness to the plays, as actual drama. There is a +danger that Joan may be too good a Christian, Marcus Aurelius too +austere a stoic, Manin or Belisarius too absolute an idealist, to put up +a strenuous fight against destiny. In the final impression of the plays, +indeed, one is aware of a vague touch of regret on that very account; +and although that may arise from one's own pugnacity, one suspects the +existence of a good many other imperfect humans who will share it; from +which it may be inferred that the weakness inherent in the subject has +not been entirely overcome. I doubt whether it would be possible to +overcome it altogether; and by the same token I salute the power which +has evoked profoundly moving and stimulating drama out of themes like +these. + +Again, in _Joan of Arc_, one may see how the poet uses the human +elements of a story to make the stirring scenes through which the +spiritual crisis is reached. Thus Joan, in the fundamental struggle of +her soul for the soul of France, is brought into external conflict which +rounds out the plot with incident. It belongs, of course, to the +historical setting of her life, that that conflict is one of actual +warfare; but we are bound to admire the art which has placed her as the +central figure of those warring factions--the invading English, the army +of the Duke of Burgundy, the Church, and Charles the Dauphin. Out of +that come the events through which the action proceeds and the +incomparable beauty of her character is revealed. + +It is the struggle of Joan's enthusiasm with the apathy and indolence of +Charles which gives rise to one of the finest scenes in the play. It +occurs in Act I, the whole of which is skilfully designed to set the +action moving, while indicating so much of the political situation as +ought to be known, and the weakness in Charles' character which is the +ultimate cause of Joan's downfall. A premonitory note is struck in the +opening dialogue. A little story is told by la Tremoille, who is Joan's +chief enemy, of how he had just whipped a ragged prophet in the street +and caused him to be stoned. It has a double purpose--to introduce Joan, +the prophetess of Domrémy, as a subject of conversation; and, by +reminding us of her own end, to awaken the sense of tragic irony through +which we shall view the subsequent action. The talk turns to Joan, who +is awaiting audience; and la Tremoille proposes the trick of the +disguise. Charles agrees to it, and goes out to put on the dress of a +courtier, while his absence is filled out by a lively dialogue which +glances lightly from point to point of court life. When Charles and his +train re-enter and Joan is brought in, the scene rises strongly to its +climax. Joan recognizes the Dauphin through his disguise and announces +her divine mission-- + + I do declare to you + That I, no other,--neither duke, nor prince, + Nor captain,--no, nor learned gentlemen, + But I alone, a girl of Domrémy,-- + Am sent to save you. + +By means of a flexible blank-verse, plain diction, and free and nervous +phrasing, dialogue runs with an easy vigour. It is fired by strong and +quickly changing emotion--the incredulity of Charles, the base hostility +of la Tremoille, the indignation of Joan's friends, or the amazement and +curiosity of the courtiers. But for the most part it remains strictly +dramatic poetry; that is to say, raised by several degrees above the +level of prose, yet closely fitted to personality. When, however, Joan +begins to tell about her life, her quiet country home, and the divine +command which bade her save her country, the note deepens. The verse +becomes lyrical, burning with the mystical passion which possesses +her--a flame, like the grand simplicity of her own nature, white and +intensely clear. + + JOAN. Sire, it was in the spring; one afternoon + When I was in a meadow all alone, + Lying among the grasses (over head + The scurrying clouds were like a flock of sheep, + Chased by a sheep-dog); then, all suddenly, + I heard a voice--nay, heard I cannot say, + There _was_ a voice took hold upon my sense, + As if it swallowed up all other sounds + In all the world; the birds, the sheep, the bees, + The sound of children calling far away, + The rustling of the rushes in the stream, + Were only like the cloth, whereon appears + The gold embroidery, the voice of God. + + ARCHBISHOP. Did you see aught? + + JOAN. Yea, see! Our earthly words + Cannot express divinity, but like + Small vessels over-filled with generous wine, + They leave the surplus wasted. If I say, + I saw, or heard, that seems to leave untouched + The other senses; but indeed, my lords, + All of my body seemed transformed to soul. + So I should say I _saw_ the voice of God, + And _heard_ the light effulgent all around, + Nay, heard, and saw, and felt through all of me + The radiance of the message of the Lord. + +Passages like that bring home to us the poetical character of this +drama. True, they may remind us that in such a form of the art action +is likely to lag: that its movement may be impeded, as toward the end of +_Joan of Arc_, by long speeches. On the other hand, they emphasize the +peculiar virtue of this kind of drama; the twofold nature of its appeal, +and the fact that the two elements are often found concentrated at their +highest degree in single scenes of great power. With genius of this type +(if genius may be classified in types!), when the dramatic imagination +is most vividly alight, it will inevitably kindle poetry of the finest +kind. + +Thus, in the last act of _Marcus Aurelius_, we get the force of the +whole drama, and all the incidence of the directly preceding scene +moving behind and through the Emperor's speech from which I shall quote. +The play has shown the complicity of Faustina in the plot to depose her +husband: we know that she is a wanton and a traitress. But Marcus is +ignorant of the truth, and generously unsuspecting. After the death of +Cassius, the chief conspirator, Marcus orders an officer to bring all +the dead man's papers to him. It is necessary to examine them for the +names of accomplices. They are brought in while he is chatting with +Faustina; and she knows that they contain certain incriminating letters +that she had written. Exposure is imminent--disgrace and probable death +for her await the opening of the letters. She tries every ruse that a +bold and cunning mentality can suggest to prevent her husband from +reading them. She seems about to succeed, but her insistence faintly +warning Marcus, she fails after all. He takes up the package and goes +away to open it quietly in his tent, and Faustina, believing that in a +few minutes he will know all her treachery, drinks poison and dies. +Unconscious of this catastrophe, the Emperor is sitting alone in his +tent, with the package of letters on a table before him. + + ... Here, beneath my hand, + Are laid the hidden hearts of many men. + What shall I read therein? Ingratitude, + Lies, envy, spite, the barbed and venomous word + Of those that called me Emperor, I called friend; + ... Break the seal, and read + Which of our subjects, of our intimates, + Our friends of many years, are netted here. + How thickly fall the shadows in the tent! + Almost I fancied, with my tired eyes, + I saw Faustina there ... Faustina, you! + + ..... + + If I should find + _Her_ name among the friends of Cassius? + Ah no, Faustina, not such perfidy! + The gods must blush at it! Am I grown grey + And learnt no wisdom? Though it should be so-- + Though yet it cannot be--what's that to me? + Am _I_ wronged by it? Yet it cannot be, + With that frank brow. I've loved you faithfully; + It could not be so.... + ... I will not know + More than I must of unprofitable things, + Lest they should, in the garden of my soul, + Nourish rank weeds of hate and bitterness; + I will not hate that which I cannot change. + +(_He drops the papers into a tripod._) + + Burn! Go into oblivion! The gods + Permit themselves to pity good and bad, + Giving to each the sunshine and sweet rain, + And hiding all things in the mist of years. + May I not do as gods do? Burn away, + Consume all hate and evil into smoke! + I will not know of them; assuredly + For me such ills exist not---- + +(_The body of Faustina is brought in._) + +The same combination of dramatic elements will be found in the crucial +scenes of _Manin_ and _Belisarius_. In _Manin_ it is especially notable, +because of the curious nature of the crisis. This would seem, on the +face of it, almost calculated to inhibit the dramatic impulse: to tend +to negative the dynamic properties of character and circumstance. Manin, +the defender of Venice, has held his city against the Austrian enemy by +sheer force of character. His courage and confidence and determination +have heartened the Venetians to continue their resistance; and his +statesmanship has been diligent in trying to secure the intervention of +France or England, or military aid from Kossuth. But help is refused +from every quarter; the garrison is small and weak; the people are +starving, and ravaged by disease. Nevertheless, inspired by their +leader, they are willing and eager to resist to the end, although they +know that this must bring on them the hideous penalties with which the +Austrians notoriously punished that kind of patriotism. + +The crux of the drama lies in the problem thus presented to Manin. It is +essentially a spiritual struggle: between wisdom on the one hand and +patriotic ardour on the other; between foresight and courage; between +the long, weary, unattractive processes that make for life and the blind +impetuosity that makes for death; between, in his personal career, a +prospect of humiliation in exile and the glory of a hero's end. Given +the character of Manin, victory in the conflict was bound to lie with +reason against passion, with sagacity against recklessness; but the +victory in this case meant defeat--physical and apparently moral. It +would mean to the world, and even to his own people, that, with the +surrender of the town, he yielded up the very principles for which he +stood. Therein, of course, lies the unusual nature of this crisis. The +dramatic instinct has somehow to vitalize a dead weight of failure. To +see how that is done--and it _is_ done, finely--one must turn to the +scene in Act III, which is the core of the play. There the poet creates +an external conflict between Manin and the people which embodies, as it +were, the spiritual struggle; and, translating it into action, visibly +reveals Manin as a conqueror. Quotations hardly do justice to the poet +here, but there are two speeches, one before and one after Manin has won +the people to the proposed surrender, which indicate the skill of the +art at this point. + +The first expresses the agony of failure in Manin's mind, resulting from +his decision to yield to the enemy. It is in answer to his faithful +friend and secretary, Pezzato, who has been trying to comfort him with a +prediction that the freedom of their city and their land is only +deferred, that it must ultimately come. Manin replies: + + I shall not see it. + I shall be blind beneath my coffin lid + There in a foreign land; I shall not see + The glory and the splendour of St. Mark's + When our Italian flag salutes the sun; + I shall be deaf, and never hear the peal + Of our triumphant bells, and volleying guns; + I shall be dumb, I shall be dumb that day, + And never say "My people, for this hour + I saved you when I sacrificed you most." + +The second passage burns with the fire of triumph, tragical but +prophetic, which has been kindled in Manin by his struggle with the +opposing will of the people and his victory over it: + + Of this one thing be sure. A little time, + A little hour, in the span of years + That history devours, we submit + To bow before the flail of tyranny; + Ay, it may strike us down, and we may die + With Europe passive round our Calvary; + Yet that for which we stand, for liberty, + For equal justice, and the right of laws + Purely administered, can never die, + Being of the nature of eternity; + Nor all the blood that Austria has shed + Mar the indelibility of truth; + Nor all the graves that Austria has dug + Bury it deep enough; nor all the lies + That coward hearts have bandied to and fro, + And coward hearts received to trick themselves, + Smother the face of it. + +There remains to be particularly noted the poet's gift of realizing +character. It is seen at its best in _Mary Queen of Scots_, where the +unfortunate Queen is very strikingly recreated. Out of the diverse and +stormy elements of her nature she is made to live again with a clear +unity and completeness which are amazing. That is largely the reason why +this play is the most powerful of the five, from the point of view of +pure drama. Its theme is unerringly chosen, for drama inheres in Mary's +being. The seeds of tragedy lurk in her contrasted weakness and +strength, excess and defect, nobility and baseness. And, because she has +been so brilliantly studied, this play moves at every step to the +majestic truth that character is destiny. + +The broad lines of Mary's personality are established in the first act, +revealing at once the springs of action. The sensuous basis of her +nature, her strong will and quick temper, may be seen to set in motion +the forces which will presently overwhelm her. Her widowed state is +irksome--therefore she will marry. She hates authority--therefore she +will make her own choice in the matter of a husband. And finer threads +already begin to complicate the issues. She is really fond of Darnley, +the weak youth whom she is determined to marry; but that motive is +intricately mixed with the satisfaction of insulting Elizabeth through +him; while her ready wit gives a spice to her malice which, in dialogue +at least, is very refreshing. When she enters the audience-chamber she +calls Darnley to her side and, with a gesture towards the gloomy faces +of the disaffected nobles, says in merry mockery: + + ... look you there + On these good gentlemen, all friends of ours, + The earls of Morton, Ruthven, and Argyll: + For friends they are--upon their countenance + We see it written. + +She turns to the English ambassador: + + ... Here's Sir Nicholas. + What news of our dear cousin? Has she come + At last to give that virgin heart away + Into another's keeping, that brave Archduke, + Who'd bite your hand, they say, as soon as kiss it-- + Such manners are in Austria--or Charles, + My dear French brother, who is well enough, + And only fourteen years her junior? + Not yet the happy moment? Patience, then, + Another day you'll have that news for us. + +Sir Nicholas states formally Elizabeth's objections to Darnley, who +interjects: + + By my beard! + + MARY. No! No! + Not by your beard, dear Henry, or your oath + Is emptier than a prince's promises-- + Some princes we have heard of, we would say, + Though cannot think it truth. Nay, let me hear + What is it that my sister Princess wills + Out of the largeness of her heart for me? + +The complexity of Mary's character is well brought out. There is, for +instance, the little scene with Mary Beaton at the beginning of Act II. +Here the Queen, discovering Darnley's infidelity, passes rapidly through +half a dozen moods--from satirical bitterness to a fury of pride, and +then to tears in which humiliation, gratitude, and tenderness are +mingled. Mary Beaton has just said that the people pity their Queen: + + MARY. ... On my life, + I'll not be pitied: pity is a chafe + On open wounds of pride. To pity me + Makes me a beggar--dare you pity me? + + BEATON. Sweet lady, I would not, but must perforce! + + MARY. Nay, would you have me weep? What thing am I + That three soft words should drive the tear drops forth + Like floods in winter? Nay, nay, good my girl, + This is my body's weakness, not my soul's. + +The gentleness of that gives place at the entrance of Darnley to intense +scorn, changing to indignation when he compels her to answer him, and to +provocative coquetry at his insult to Rizzio. In the second scene of +this act a new aspect of her mentality develops. The action here, +dramatically splendid in its speed and emotion, grows out of Mary's +recklessness, and proceeds directly, through the jealousy of Darnley, +to Rizzio's murder and Mary's secret plot to avenge him. It would seem, +in the astonishing duplexity of her nature, that there could be nothing +more to reveal; yet the profounder forces of it only begin to be +operative from this point. Bothwell, as she designs the scheme, is to be +merely the tool of her shrewd intelligence. But she is betrayed by the +force of her own passion, which transforms Bothwell into the means of +her destruction. The finest achievement of this portrayal is that which +shows the Queen conscious of her infatuation, and perceiving the tragedy +which it is preparing, but incapable of stemming the flood that is +carrying her away. Intelligence remains acute: reason holds as clear a +light to consequence as ever it did, but both are ineffectual against +the storm of instinct. Here is a passage from the end of Act III in +which Bothwell after a rebuff has protested his love for the Queen: + + MARY. Nay, swear not; nay, I know you what you are-- + Hotter than flame in your desires; false-- + Falser than water. + + BOTHWELL (_embracing her_). Be a salamander, + To live for ever in the midst of fire. + + MARY. Oh, Bothwell! Oh, my love! I am bewitched + To love you so. You are a deadly poison + That's crept through all my veins; you are the North, + And I the needle; I must turn to you + From every quarter of the hemispheres. + ... I am yours + Utterly, wholly; when I walk abroad, + Jewelled and brocaded, I feel all men's eyes + Can see me naked, and, from head to foot, + Branded in red-hot letters with your name. + + BOTHWELL. This is indeed love! + + MARY. You may call it so! + It is not that which most men mean by love-- + A moment's idle fancy. No, this love + Is like a dragon, laying waste the land + Of all my life; it is a deadly sickness, + Of which we both shall die; it is a sin, + Of which we both are damned, the saints of God + Not finding mercy; there's no pleasure in it, + But dust in the mouth and saltness in the eyes. + +One would like to indicate further the truth with which the character is +studied through the last two acts, providing the material as it does for +scenes of great power and range of effect. Particularly one would wish +to convey some idea of the scene of the final tragedy, broadly conceived +against a background of the angry Edinburgh populace, and throbbing with +the defiance of the Queen. Psychological imagination here is no less +than brilliant, and one could cull perhaps half a dozen passages to +illustrate it. But a single extract must suffice; and that is chosen for +the additional reason that its closing sentences contain the very root +of the tragedy. It is from Act IV, and the scene, following upon Mary's +marriage to Bothwell, is designed to show her last desperate struggle +against him and against herself. Already she is remorseful, +disillusioned, and bitter; she knows the marriage to be hateful to her +people, and she has found Bothwell cruel and treacherous. Before the +nobles, who are assembled to receive them, she taunts Bothwell that he +is not royal; flouts him for Arthur Erskine; declares that she will +never wear jewels again; and at last provokes from Bothwell angry abuse +and threats of violence. The nobles interpose to protect her, and beg +her to let them save her from him. It needs but one word of assent to be +rid of him for ever. She is almost won; she takes a few steps towards +them, and actually gives her hand to one of them. Then she hesitates, +turns, and looks at her husband:-- + + MARY. I am yours, Bothwell. + + BOTHWELL. Will you go with me? + + MARY. Ay, to the world's end, in my petticoat. + + BOTHWELL. Let go her hands, my lord. + + MORTON. Ay, let them go, + And let _her_ go, for naught can save her now. + Not ours the fault. + + MARY. Not yours, nor his, nor mine. + 'Tis not the fault of floods to drown, nor fire + To burn and shrivel--no, nor beasts to bite, + Nor frosts to kill the flowers--not the fault, + Only the property. There's something here + That's stronger than our wishes and our wills. + There is no going back; our course is laid, + And we must keep it, though it lead to death. + Good-bye, my lords. My husband, let us go. + + + + +_James Stephens_ + + +One does not put a poet like Mr Stephens into a group--it cannot be +done. If you try to do it, weakly yielding a wise instinct to mere +intelligence, one of two things will happen. You will return to your +careful group the moment after you thought you had made it, to find +either that Mr Stephens has vanished or that the others have. Either he +has broken away from the ridiculous frail links which bound him, and is +already disappearing on the horizon with a gleeful shout, or his +unfortunate companions have vanished before so much exuberance. + +That is why this poet was not included in the Irish chapter where, if +the thing were possible at all, one would have hoped to catch him. There +are many fine racial strands out of which you would think a net could be +woven. They appear to enmesh an Irishman and an Irish poet. We think we +recognize that eye, critical and appreciative, for a woman--or a horse. +We believe we know that wit, with a touch of satire and another touch of +merry malice. We are surely not mistaken in that adoration of beauty and +its converse hatred of ugliness; while we have no doubt whatever about +that passion for liberty. + +But the true poet will transcend his nation, as he does his manhood, at +times of purest inspiration; and Mr Stephens has those happy +seasons--happy, surely, for those to whom he sings, though, doubtless, +each with its own agony to him. In many of the slighter poems, however, +all of them good and most of them quite beautiful, the signs of +nationality are obvious. They are comically clear, in fact, proceeding +as they do directly from the quick, keen perception of the Comic Spirit +itself. Only a blessed simpleton whose name was Patsy, could see the +angel who walks along the sky sowing the poppyseed. The word 'Sootherer' +sounds like English; and indeed individuals of the species are not +unknown in this country. But they, like the word, are native to the land +of the born lover. Has anybody heard of a Saxon who could fit names like +these to his sweetheart--Little Joy, Sweet Laughter, Shy Little Gay +Sprite? or who could woo her with such a ripple of flattery-- + + ... You are more sweetly new + Than a May moon: you are my store, + My secret and my treasure and the pulse + Of my heart's core. + +But, on the other hand, no mere English boy could hope to match the glib +rage of spite in this disappointed youth-- + + You'll go--then listen, you are just a pig, + A little wrinkled pig out of a sty; + Your legs are crooked and your nose is big, + You've got no calves, you have a silly eye, + I don't know why I stopped to talk to you, + I hope you'll die. + +Again, no Jack Robinson, though the dull smother that he would call his +imagination were fired by plentiful beer, could ever have conceived of +"What Tomas an Buile Said in a Pub"; or could have accompanied Mac Dhoul +on his impish adventure into heaven, to be twitched off God's throne by +a hand as large as a sky, and sent spinning through the planets-- + + Scraping old moons and twisting heels and head + A chuckle in the void.... + +These outward marks are unmistakable; and so, too, are certain qualities +in the essence and texture of the work. His lyric moods may be as tender +and fanciful, though always more spontaneous, than those of Mr Yeats. +And one may find the arrowy truth, the rich earthiness and the profound +sense of tragedy of a Synge. But the filmy threads which seem to stretch +between Mr Stephens and his compatriots have no strength to bind him. +They are, indeed, only visible when he is ranging at some altitude that +is lower than his highest reach. When he soars to the zenith, as in +"The Lonely God" and "A Prelude and a Song," their tenuity snaps. He has +gone beyond what is merely national and simply human; and has become +just a Voice for the Spirit of Poetry. + +Nevertheless the affinities of this poet with what is best in modern +Irish literature would make a fascinating study. Foremost, of course, +there is imagination. You will find in him the true Hibernian blend of +grotesquerie and grandeur, pure fantasy and shining vision. But each of +these things is here raised to a power which makes it notable in itself, +while all of them may sometimes be found in astonishing combination in a +single poem. In the book called _Insurrections_, which is dated 1909, +and appears to represent Mr Stephens' earliest efforts in verse, there +is the piece which I have already named, "What Tomas an Buile Said in a +Pub." Already we may see this complex quality at work. Tomas is +protesting that he saw God; and that God was angry with the world. + + His beard swung on a wind far out of sight + Behind the world's curve, and there was light + Most fearful from His forehead ... + + ..... + + He lifted up His hand-- + I say He heaved a dreadful hand + Over the spinning Earth, then I said "Stay, + You must not strike it, God; I'm in the way; + And I will never move from where I stand." + He said "Dear child, I feared that you were dead," + And stayed His hand. + +You will see--a significant fact--that there is no nonsense about a +dream or a transcendent waking apparition. In the opening lines Tomas +says, with anxious emphasis, that he saw the 'Almighty Man'--and that is +symbolical. It has its relation to the mellow tenderness with which the +poem closes; but apart from that it is a sign of the way in which the +creative energy always works in this poetry. It seizes upon concrete +stuff; and that is fused, hammered and moulded into shapes so sharp and +clear that we feel we could actually touch them as they spring up in our +mental vision. This is not peculiar to Mr Stephens, of course. It would +seem to be common to every poet--though to be sure they are not many--in +whom sheer imagination, the first and last poetic gift, is preeminent. +Mr Stephens has many other qualities, which give his work depth, variety +and significance; but fine as they are, they take a secondary place +beside this ardent, plastic power. + +We quickly see, even in the early poem from which I have quoted, the +mixed elements of this gift. Now the grotesquerie which seems to lie in +the fact that Tomas tells about the majesty and familiar kindliness of +God 'in a pub,' may be apparent only. It probably arises from one's own +sophistication and painful respectability. We have lost the simplicity +which would make it possible to talk about such a subject at all; and as +for doing it in a pub...! + +Yet there is something truly grotesque in this work. That is to say, +there is a juxtaposition of ideas so violently contrasted that they +would provoke instant mirth if it were not for the grave intensity of +vision. Sometimes, indeed, they are frankly absurd. We are meant to +laugh at them, as we do at Mac Dhoul, squirming with merriment on God's +throne with the angels frozen in astonishment round him. But generally +these extraordinary images are presented seriously, and often they are +winged straight from the heart of the poet's philosophy. Then, the +driving power of emotion and a passion of sincerity carry us safely over +what seems to be their amazing irreverence. There is, for instance, in +the piece called "The Fulness of Time," a complete philosophic +conception of good and evil, boldly caught into sacred symbolism. The +poet tells here how he found Satan, old and haggard, sitting on a rusty +throne in a distant star. All his work was done; and God came to call +him to Paradise. + + Gabriel without a frown, + Uriel without a spear, + Raphael came singing down + Welcoming their ancient peer, + And they seated him beside + One who had been crucified. + +It is not irreverence, of course, but the audacity of poetic innocence. +Only an imagination pure of convention and ceremonial would dare so +greatly. And the remarkable thing is that this naîveté is intimately +blended with a grandeur which sometimes rises to the sublime. The +noblest and most complete expression of that is in "The Lonely God." +That is probably the reason why this poem is the finest thing that Mr +Stephens has done--that, and the magnitude of its central idea. There +is, indeed, the closest relation here between the thought and the +imagery in which it is made visible. But, keeping our curious, +impertinent gaze fixed for the moment on the changing form of the +imaginative essence of the work, let us take first the opening lines of +the poem: + + So Eden was deserted, and at eve + Into the quiet place God came to grieve. + His face was sad, His hands hung slackly down + Along his robe ... + ... All the birds had gone + Out to the world, and singing was not one + To cheer the lonely God out of His grief-- + +There follow several stanzas of exquisite reverie as the majestic figure +paces sadly in Adam's silent garden and pauses before the little hut + + Chaste and remote, so tiny and so shy, + So new withal, so lost to any eye, + So pac't of memories all innocent.... + +Then, reminiscent of the dear friendliness of those banished human +souls, desolation comes upon the solitary Being. He remembers that he is +eternal and ringed round with Infinity. He sends thought flying back +through endless centuries, but cannot find the beginning of Time. He +ranges North and South, but cannot find the bounds of Space. He is most +utterly alone--save for his silly singing angels--in the monotonous +glory of his heaven. + + ... Many days I sped + Hard to the west, a thousand years I fled + Eastwards in fury, but I could not find + The fringes of the Infinite.... + --till at last + Dizzied with distance, thrilling to a pain + Unnameable, I turned to Heaven again. + And there My angels were prepared to fling + The cloudy incense, there prepared to sing + My praise and glory--O, in fury I + Then roared them senseless, then threw down the sky + And stamped upon it, buffeted a star + With My great fist, and flung the sun afar: + Shouted My anger till the mighty sound + Rung to the width, frighting the furthest bound + And scope of hearing: tumult vaster still, + Thronging the echo, dinned my ears, until + I fled in silence, seeking out a place + To hide Me from the very thought of Space. + +There was once a reviewer who compared the genius of this poet to that +of Homer and Æschylus. Now comparisons like that are apt to tease the +mind of the discriminating, to whom there instantly appear all the gulfs +of difference. But, indeed, this poet does share in some measure, with +Æschylus and our own Milton and the unknown author of the Book of Job, a +sublimity of vision. His conceptions have a grandeur of simplicity; and +he makes us realize immensities--Eternity and Space and Force--by images +which are almost primitive. Like those other poets too, whose +philosophical conceptions were as different from his as their ages are +remote, he also has made God in the image of man. But the comparison +does not touch what we may call the human side of this newer genius; +and it only serves to throw into bolder relief its perception of life's +comedy, its waywardness, and its mischievous humour. This aspect, +strongly contrasted as it is with the poet's imaginative power, is at +least equally interesting. It is apparent, in the earlier work, in the +realism of such pieces as "The Dancer" or "The Street." There is a touch +of harshness in these poems which would amount to crudity if their +realism were an outward thing only. But it is not a mere trick of style: +it proceeds from indignation, from an outraged æsthetic sense, and from +a mental courage which attains its height, rash but splendid, in +"Optimist"-- + + Let ye be still, ye tortured ones, nor strive + Where striving's futile. Ye can ne'er attain + To lay your burdens down. + +This poet is not a realist at all, of course--far from it. But he loves +life and earth and homely words, he is very candid and revealing, and he +has a sense of real values. His humanity, too, is deep and strong, and +often supplies his verse with the material of actual existence, totally +lacking factitious glamour. Thus we have "To the Four Courts, Please," +in which the first stanza describes the deplorable state of an ancient +cab-horse and his driver. Then-- + + God help the horse and the driver too, + And the people and beasts who have never a friend, + For the driver easily might have been you, + And the horse be me by a different end. + +This humane temper is the more remarkable from being braced by a shrewd +faculty of insight. There is no sentimentality in it; and that the poet +has no illusions about human frailty may be seen in such a poem as "Said +The Old-Old Man." It is ballasted with humour, too; and has a charming +whimsicality. Hence the lightness of touch in "Windy Corner"-- + + O, I can tell and I can know + What the wind rehearses: + "A poet loved a lady so, + Loved her well, and let her go + While he wrote his verses." + + ..... + + That's the tale the winds relate + Soon as night is shady. + If it's true, I'll simply state + A poet is a fool to rate + His art above his lady. + +Returning, however, to the larger implications of this poetry, one may +find a passion for liberty in it, and a courageous faith in the future +of the race. Here we have, in fact, a pure idealist, one of the +invincible few who have brought their ideals into touch with reality. +One does not suspect it at first--or at least we do not see how far it +goes--largely for the reason that it is so deeply grounded. The poet's +hold on life, on the actual, on the very data of experience, is +unyielding: his perception of truth is keen and his intellectual honesty +complete. And then the way in which his imagination moulds things in the +round, as it were, leaves no room to guess that there is a limitless +something behind or within. True, we have felt all along what we can +only call the spiritual touch in this poetry. It is always there, +lighter or more commanding, and sometimes it will come home very sweetly +in a comic piece, as for instance when "The Merry Policeman," appointed +guardian of the Tree, calls reassuringly to the scared thief: + + ... "Be at rest, + The best to him who wants the best." + +We have observed, too, a faculty of seeing the spirit of things--a habit +of looking right through facts to something beyond them. But still we +did not quite understand what these signs meant; and if we tried to +account for them in any way, we probably offered ourselves the +all-too-easy explanation that this was the playful, fanciful, Celtic +way of looking at the world. Well, so it may be; but that charming +manner is, in all gravity, just the outward sign of an inward grace. And +if anyone should doubt that it points in this case to a clear idealism, +he may be invited to consider this little poem which prefaces the poet's +second volume, called "The Hill of Vision": + + Everything that I can spy + Through the circle of my eye, + Everything that I can see + Has been woven out of me; + I have sown the stars, and threw + Clouds of morning and of eve + Up into the vacant blue; + Everything that I perceive, + Sun and sea and mountain high, + All are moulded by my eye: + Closing it, what shall I find? + --Darkness, and a little wind. + +Now it must not be inferred that Mr Stephens is an austere person who +propounds ideals to himself as themes for his poetry. We should detect +his secret much more readily if he did--and it may be that we should not +like him quite so well. Hardly ever do you catch him, as it were, saying +to his Muse: "Come, let us make a song about liberty, or the future." +The very process of his thought, as well as the order of his verse, +seems often to be by way of an object to an idea. He takes some bit of +the actual world--a bird, a tree, or a human creature; and tuning his +instrument to that, he is presently off and away into the blue. + +Once, however, he did sing directly on this subject of liberty, and +about the external, physical side of it. It was, of course, in that +early book; and there may also be found two studies of the idea of +liberty in its more abstract nature. They both treat of the woman giving +up her life into the hands of the man whom she marries. And in both +there is brought out with ringing clarity the inalienable freedom of the +human soul. Thus "The Red-haired Man's Wife," musing upon the +inexplicable changes that marriage has wrought for her--on her +dependence, and on the apparent loss of her very identity, wins through +to the light-- + + I am separate still, + I am I and not you: + And my mind and my will, + As in secret they grew, + Still are secret, unreached and untouched and not subject to you. + +Thus, too, "The Rebel" finds an answer to an importunate lover-- + + You sob you love me--What, + Must I desert my soul + Because you wish to kiss my lips, + + ..... + + I must be I, not you, + That says the thing in brief. + I grew to this without your aid, + Can face the future unafraid, + Nor pine away with grief + Because I'm lonely.... + +It is, however, in "A Prelude and a Song" that this ardour of freedom +finds purest expression. Not that the poem was designed to that end. I +believe that it was made for nothing on this earth but the sheer joy of +singing. How can one describe this poem? It is the lyrical soul of +poetry; it is the heart of poetic rapture; it is the musical spirit of +the wind and of birds' cries; it is a passion of movement, swaying to +the dancing grace of leaves and flowers and grass, to the majesty of +sailing clouds; it is the sweet, shrill, palpitating ecstasy of the +lark, singing up and up until he is out of sight, sustaining his song at +the very door of heaven, and singing into sight again, to drop suddenly +down to the green earth, exhausted.--And I have not yet begun to say +what the poem really is: I have a doubt whether prose is equal to a +definition. In some degree at any rate it is a pæan of freedom: +delighted liberty lives in it. But we cannot apply our little +distinctions here, saying that it is this or that or the other kind of +freedom which is extolled; because we are now in a region where thought +and feeling are one; in a golden age where good and evil are lost in +innocency; in a blessed state where body and soul have forgotten their +old feud in glad reunion. + +One hesitates to quote from the poem. It is long, and as the title +implies, it is in two movements. But though every stanza has a lightsome +grace which makes it lovely in itself--though the whole chain, if broken +up, would yield as many gems as there are stanzas, irregular in size and +shape indeed, but each shining and complete--the great beauty of the +poem is its beauty as a whole. It would seem a reproach to imperil that. +Yet there is a culminating passage of extreme significance to which we +must come directly for the crowning word of the poet's philosophy. From +that we may take a fragment now, if only to observe the reach of its +imagination and to win some sense which the poem conveys of limitless +spiritual range. + + Reach up my wings! + Now broaden into space and carry me + Beyond where any lark that sings + Can get: + Into the utmost sharp tenuity, + The breathing-point, the start, the scarcely-stirred + High slenderness where never any bird + Has winged to yet! + The moon peace and the star peace and the peace + Of chilly sunlight: to the void of space, + The emptiness, the giant curve, the great + Wide-stretching arms wherein the gods embrace + And stars are born and suns.... + +There follows hard upon that what is in effect a confession of faith. It +is not explicitly so, of course. Subjective this poet may be--is it not +a virtue in the lyricist?--but he does not confide his religion to us in +so many words. He has an artistic conscience. But the avowal, though it +is by way of allegory and grows up out of the imagery of the poem as +naturally as a blossom from its stem, is clear enough. And is supported +elsewhere, implicitly, or by a mental attitude, or outlined now and then +in figurative brilliance. There can be no reason to doubt its strength +and its sincerity--and there is every reason to rejoice in it--for it +reveals Mr Stephens as a poet of the future. + +One pauses there, realizing that the term may mean very much--or nothing +at all. It may even suggest a certain technical vogue which, however +admirable in the theory of its originators, apparently is not yet +justified in the creation of manifest beauty. Our poet has no +association with that, of course, except in that he shares the general +impulse of the poetic spirit of his generation. That is, quite clearly, +to escape from the tyranny of the past in thought and word and metrical +form; and therein he is at one with most of the poets in this book. We +may grant that it is an important exception: that the movement which is +indicated here may be the sober British version of its more daring +Italian counterpart. Yet there remains still a difference wide enough +and deep enough to disclaim any technical relationship. + +The root of the matter lies there, however. In Mr Stephens what we may +call the poetic instinct of the age works not merely to escape from the +past, but to advance into the future--and it has become a conscious, +reasoned hope in human destiny. It does not with him so much influence +the form of the work as it directs the spirit of it. And that spirit is +an absolute and impassioned belief in the future of mankind. Therein he +stands contrasted with many of the younger English poets, and with his +own compatriots. With many of his compeers the escape has been into +their own time, and the noblest thing evolved from that is a grave and +tender social conscience. Some, of course, have not escaped at all, and +have no wish to do so. Their work has its own soft evening loveliness. +But whilst Mr Yeats lives delicately in a romantic past, whilst poor +Synge lived tragically in a sardonic present, this poet stands on his +hill of vision and cries to the world the good tidings of a promised +land. Here it is, from the closing passage of "A Prelude and a Song": + + There the flower springs, + Therein does grow + The bud of hope, the miracle to come + For whose dear advent we are striving dumb + And joyless: Garden of Delight + That God has sowed! + In thee the flower of flowers, + The apple of our tree, + The banner of our towers, + The recompense for every misery, + The angel-man, the purity, the light + Whom we are working to has his abode; + Until our back and forth, our life and death + And life again, our going and return + Prepare the way: until our latest breath, + Deep-drawn and agonized, for him shall burn + A path: for him prepare + Laughter and love and singing everywhere; + A morning and a sunrise and a day! + + + + +_Margaret L. Woods_ + + +About one half of the poetry in Mrs Woods' collected edition is dramatic +in character. There are two plays in regular form, tragedies both. One, +_Wild Justice,_ is in six scenes which carry the action rapidly forward +almost without a break. The other, called _The Princess of Hanover_, is +in three acts, which move with a wider sweep through the rise, +culmination, and crisis of a tragic story. These two dramas, which are +powerfully imagined and skilfully wrought, are placed in a separate +section at the end of the book--quite the best wine thus being left to +finish the feast. + +Fine as they are, however, the plays do not completely represent the +poet's dramatic gift. And when we note the comic elements of two or +three pieces which are tucked away in the middle of the volume, we may +admit a hope that Mrs Wood may be impelled on some fair day to attempt +regular comedy. There is, for instance, the fun of the delightful medley +called "Marlborough Fair." Here are broad humour and vigorous, hearty +life which smells of the soil; little studies of country-folk, +incomplete but vivid; scraps of racy dialogue, and the prattle of a +child, all interwoven with the grotesquer fancies of a fertile +imagination, endowing even the beasts and inanimate objects of the show +with consciousness and speech. Hints there are in plenty (though to be +sure they are in some cases no more than hints) that the poet's dramatic +sense would handle the common stuff of life as surely and as freely as +it deals with tragedy. In this particular poem, of course, the touches +are of the nature of low comedy; the awkward sweethearting of a pair of +rustic lovers; the showman, alternating between bluster and enticement; +the rough banter of a group of farm lads about the cokernut-shy, and the +matron who presides there-- + + Swarthy and handsome and broad of face + 'Twixt the banded brown of her glossy hair. + In her ears are shining silver rings, + Her head and massive throat are bare, + She needs good length in her apron strings + And has a jolly voice and loud + To cry her wares and draw the crowd. + + --Fine Coker-nuts! My lads, we're giving + Clean away! Who wants to win 'em? + Fresh Coker-nuts! The milk's yet in 'em. + Come boys! Only a penny a shot, + Three nuts if you hit and the fun if not. + +The effects are broad and strong, the tone cheery. But in another piece +where the dramatic element enters, "The May Morning and the Old Man," +the note is deeper. There is, indeed, in the talk of the two old men on +the downland road, a much graver tone of the Comic Spirit. One of them +has come slowly up the hill and greets another who is working in a field +by the roadside with a question. He wants to know how far it is to +Chillingbourne; he is going back to his old home there and must reach it +before nightfall. + + FIRST OLD MAN. It bean't for j'y I taäk the roäd. + But, Mester, I be getten awld. + Do seem as though in all the e'th + There bean't no plaäce, + No room on e'th for awld volk. + + SECOND OLD MAN. The e'th do lie + Yonder, so wide as Heaven a'most, + And God as made un + Made room, I warr'nt, for all Christian souls. + +It is, however, through the medium of tragedy that the genius of Mrs +Woods has found most powerful expression. Not her charming lyrics, not +even the contemplative beauty of her elegiac poems, can stand beside the +creative energy of the two plays to which we must come directly. But the +best of the lyrics are notable, nevertheless; and two or three have +already passed into the common store of great English poetry. Of such is +the splendid hymn, "To the Forgotten Dead," with its exulting pride of +race chastened by the thought of death. + + To the forgotten dead, + Come, let us drink in silence ere we part. + To every fervent yet resolved heart + That brought its tameless passion and its tears, + Renunciation and laborious years, + To lay the deep foundations of our race, + To rear its mighty ramparts overhead + And light its pinnacles with golden grace. + To the unhonoured dead. + + To the forgotten dead, + Whose dauntless hands were stretched to grasp the rein + Of Fate and hurl into the void again + Her thunder-hoofed horses, rushing blind + Earthward along the courses of the wind. + Among the stars along the wind in vain + Their souls were scattered and their blood was shed, + And nothing, nothing of them doth remain. + To the thrice-perished dead. + +It will be seen that the lyric gift of the poet moves at the prompting +of an imaginative passion. It is nearly always so in this poetry. Very +seldom does the impulse appear to come from intimate personal emotion or +individual experience; and the volume may therefore help to refute the +dogma that the poetry of a woman is bound to be subjective, from the +laws of her own nature. Occasionally, of course, a direct cry will seem +to make itself heard--the most reticent human creature will pay so much +toll to its humanity. And it is true that in such a spontaneous +utterance the voice will be distinctively feminine--life as the woman +knows it will find its interpreter. Thus we see austerity breaking down +in the poem "On the Death of an Infant," mournfully sweet with a +mother's sorrow. Hence, too, in "Under the Lamp" comes the loathing for +"the vile hidden commerce of the city"; and equally there comes a touch +of that feminine bias (yielding in these late days perhaps to fuller +knowledge and consequent sympathy) which inclines to regard the evil +from the point of view of the degradation of the man rather than that of +the hideous wrong to the woman. Or again, there is "The Changeling," +perhaps the tenderest of the few poems which may perhaps, in some sense, +be called subjective. Through the thin veil of allegory one catches a +glimpse of the enduring mystery of maternal love. The mother is brooding +over the change in her child: she has not been watchful enough, she +thinks; and while she was unheeding, some evil thing had entered into +her baby and driven out the fair soul with which he began. + + Perhaps he called me and I was dumb. + Unconcerned I sat and heard + Little things, + Ivy tendrils, a bird's wings, + A frightened bird-- + Or faint hands at the window-pane? + And now he will never come again, + The little soul. He is quite lost. + +She tries to woo him back, with prayer and incantations; but he will not +come; and when at last she is worn out with waiting, she seeks an old +wizard and begs him to give her forgetfulness. But it is a hard thing +that she is asking: it needs a mighty spell to make a woman forget her +son; and the mother has to go without the boon. She has not wealth +enough in the world to pay the Wise Man's fee. But afterwards she is +glad that she was too poor to pay the price: + + Because if I did not remember him, + My little child--Ah! what should we have, + He and I? Not even a grave + With a name of his own by the river's brim. + Because if among the poppies gay + On the hill-side, now my eyes are dim, + I could not fancy a child at play, + And if I should pass by the pool in the quarry + And never see him, a darling ghost, + Sailing a boat there, I should be sorry-- + If in the firelit, lone December + I never heard him come scampering post + Haste down the stair--if the soul that is lost + Came back, and I did not remember. + +Such poetry reveals the woman in the poet, and is precious for that +reason: it brings its own new light to the book of humanity. But it is +not especially characteristic of Mrs Woods' work, for much more often it +is the poet in the woman who is revealed there. Powers which are +independent of sex--of imagination, of sensibility, and of thought, have +gone to the making of that which is finest in her verse; and surely +these are gifts which, in varying degree, distinguish the poetic soul +under any guise. They are not equally present here, of course. +Imagination overtops them, darting with the lightness of a bird, or +soaring majestically, or sweeping, strong and rapid, through a +storm-cloud, or putting a swift girdle round the earth. Thought is a +degree less powerful, perhaps. It is brooding, museful, tinged with a +melancholy that may be wistful or passionate; and though it commonly +revolves the larger issues of life within the canons of authority, it is +keen and clear enough to see beyond them, and even, upon occasion, to +pierce a way through. But it is not always sufficiently strong to +control completely so fertile an imagination; and there is no acute +sense of fact to reinforce it with truth of detail. Instead of watching, +recording, analyzing, after the method of so many contemporary poets, +this is a mentality which contemplates and reflects. It leans lovingly +toward the past, and has a sense, partly instinctive and partly +scholarly, of historic values: while, for its artistic method, it passes +all the treasure that fancy has gathered, and even passion itself, +through the alembic of memory. So is created a softer grace, a serener +atmosphere, and a richer dignity than the realist can achieve--and we +will not be churlish enough to complain if, at the same time, the salt +of reality is missing. + +I should think that "The Builders, A Nocturne in Westminster Abbey," +most fully represents this poet's lyrical gift. Individual qualities of +it may perhaps be observed more clearly elsewhere; but here they combine +to produce an effect of meditative sweetness and stately, elegiac grace +which are very characteristic. The poem is in ten movements, of very +unequal length and irregular form. It is unrhymed, and stanzas may vary +almost indefinitely in length, as the verse may pass from a dimeter, +light or resonant, up through the intervening measures to the roll of +the hexameter. But this originality of technique, leaving room for so +many shades of thought and feeling, was certainly inspired; and below +the changeful form runs perfect unity of tone. The creative impulse is +subdued to the contemplative mood induced in the mind of the poet as she +stands in the Abbey at night and broods upon its history. Her thought +goes far back, to the early builders of the fabric whose pale phantoms +seem to float in the shades of the 'grey ascending arches.' + + When the stars are muffled and under them all the earth + Is a fiery fog and the sinister roar of London, + They lament for the toil of their hands, their souls' travail-- + "Ah, the beautiful work!" + It was set to shine in the sun, to companion the stars + To endure as the hills, the ancient hills, endure, + Lo, like a brand + It lies, a brand consumed and blackened of fire, + In the fierce heart of London. + +Or, like Dante, this poet will follow the old ghosts to a more dreadful +region, and bring them news of home-- + + Fain would my spirit, + My living soul beat up the wind of death + To the inaccessible shore and with warm voice + Deep-resonant of the earth, salute the dead: + + ..... + + I also would bring + To the old unheeded spirits news of Earth; + Of England, their own country, choose to tell them, + And how above St. Edward's bones the Minister + Gloriously stands, how it no more beholds + The silver Thames broadening among green meadows + And gardens green, nor sudden shimmer of streams + And the clear mild blue hills. + Rather so high it stands the whole earth under + Spreads boundless and the illimitable sea. + +The steps of the sentry, pacing over the stones which cover the great +dead below, remind her of those other builders who lie there, makers of +Empire. + + Over what dust the atom footfall passes! + Out of what distant lands, by what adventures + Superbly gathered + To lie so still in the unquiet heart of London! + Is not the balm of Africa yet clinging + About the bones of Livingstone? Consider + The long life-wandering, the strange last journey + Of this, the heroic lion-branded corpse, + Still urging to the sea! + And here the eventual far-off deep repose. + +This poem is characteristic, both in the way it blends imagination and +profound feeling with pensive thought, and in its literary flavour. One +may note the opulent language, enriched from older sources, the +historical lore and the allusive touch so fascinating to those who love +literature for its own sake. But the poet can work at times in a very +different manner. There is, for instance, another piece of unrhymed +verse, "March Thoughts From England," which is a riot of light and +colour, rich scent and lovely shape and bewitching sound--the sensuous +rapture evoked by a Provençal scene 'recollected in tranquillity.' Or +there is "April," with the keen joy of an English spring, also a glad +response to the direct impressions of sense. Imagination is subordinated +here; but if we turn in another direction we are likely to find it +paramount. It may be manifested in such various degrees and through such +different media that sharp contrasts will present themselves. Thus we +might turn at once from the playful fancy of "The Child Alone" (where a +little maid has escaped from mother and nurse into the wonderful, +enchanted, adventurous world just outside the garden) to the +thrice-heated fire of "Again I Saw Another Angel." Here imagination has +fanned thought to its own fierce heat; and in the sudden flame serenity +is shrivelled up and gives place to passionate despair. In a vision the +poet sees the awful messenger of the Lord leap into the heavens with a +great cry-- + + Then suddenly the earth was white + With faces turned towards his light. + The nations' pale expectancy + Sobbed far beneath him like the sea, + But men exulted in their dread, + And drunken with an awful glee + Beat at the portals of the dead. + + I saw this monstrous grave the earth + Shake with a spasm as though of birth, + And shudder with a sullen sound, + As though the dead stirred in the ground. + And that great angel girt with flame + Cried till the heavens were rent around, + "Come forth ye dead!"--Yet no man came. + +But from the intensity of that we may pass to the dainty grace of the +Songs, where the poet is weaving in a gossamer texture. Or we may +consider a love-lyric like "Passing," a fragile thing, lightly evoked +out of a touch of fantasy and a breath of sweet pain. + + With thoughts too lovely to be true, + With thousand, thousand dreams I strew + The path that you must come. And you + Will find but dew. + + I break my heart here, love, to dower + With all its inmost sweet your bower. + What scent will greet you in an hour? + The gorse in flower. + +In the plays there are lyrics, too, delicately stressing their character +of poetic drama, and giving full compass to the author's powers in each +work. Indeed, the combination of lyric and dramatic elements is very +skilfully and effectively managed. There is a ballad which serves in +each case to state the _motif_ at the opening of the play: not in so +many words, of course, but suggested in the tragical events of some old +story. And snatches of the ballad recur throughout, crooned by one of +the persons of the drama, or played by a lutist at a gay court festival. +But always the dramatic scheme is subserved by the lyrical fragments. +Sometimes it will fill a short interval with a note of foreboding, or +make a running accompaniment to the action, or induce an ironic tone, +or, by interpreting emotion, it will relieve tension which had grown +almost too acute. But, fittingly, when the crisis approaches and action +must move freely to the end, the lyric element disappears. + +"The Ballad of the Mother," which precedes "Wild Justice," creates the +atmosphere in which the play moves from beginning to end. It prefigures +the plot, too, in its story of the dead mother who hears her children +weeping from her grave in the churchyard; and, after vainly imploring +both angel and sexton to let her go and comfort them, makes a compact +with the devil to release her. + + "Then help me out, devil, O help me, good devil!" + "A price must be paid to a spirit of evil. + Will you pay me the price?" said the spirit from Hell. + "The price shall be paid, the bargain is made." + + ..... + + Boom! boom! boom! + From the tower in the silence there sounds the great bell. + "I am fixing the price," said the devil from Hell. + +The mother in the play is Mrs Gwyllim, wife of a vicious tyrant. For +twenty-one years she had borne cruelty and humiliation at his hands. She +had even been patient under the wrongs which he had inflicted on her +children: the violence which had maimed her eldest son, Owain, in his +infancy; which had hounded another boy away to sea and had driven a +daughter into a madhouse. But at the opening of the play a sterner +spirit is growing in her: meekness and submission are beginning to break +down under the consciousness of a larger duty to her children. We find +that she has been making appeals for help, first to their only +accessible relation; and that failing, to the Vicar of their parish. But +neither of these men had dared to move against the tyrant. They live on +a lonely little island off the coast of Wales, where Gwyllim practically +has the small population in his power. He had built a lighthouse on the +coast; and at the time of the action, which is early in the nineteenth +century, he is empowered to own it and to take toll from passing +vessels. Thus he controls the means of existence of the working people; +and the rest are deterred, by reasons of policy or family interest, from +putting any check upon him. + +In the first scene the mother announces to her daughter Nelto and her +favourite son Shonnin the result of her appeal to the Vicar. His only +reply had been to affront her with a counsel of patience, though +Gwyllim's misconduct is as notorious as his wife's long-suffering. We +are thus made to realize the isolation and helplessness of the family +before we proceed to the second scene, with its culmination of Gwyllim's +villainy and the first hint of rebellion. He comes into the house, +furious at the discovery of what he calls his wife's treachery. Owain, +the crippled son, is present during part of the scene; and Nelto passes +and repasses before the open door of an inner room, hushing the baby +with stanzas of the ballad which opens the play. In the presence of +their children, Gwyllim raves at his wife, taunts her with her +helplessness, boasts of his own infidelity, and flings a base charge at +her, of which he says he has already informed the parson; while Nelto +croons-- + + The angels are fled, and the sexton is sleeping, + And I am a devil, a devil from Hell. + +The mother does not answer; but Owain is goaded to protest. This only +excites Gwyllim further, and he strikes Owain as he sits in his invalid +chair; while Shonnin, coming in from the adjoining room, brings the +scene to a climax by asking of his father the money that he needs to go +away to school. Gwyllim replies, taking off his coat meanwhile, that +there is a certain rule in his family. When a son of his is man enough +to knock him down he shall have money to go out into the world; but not +before. He invites Shonnin to try his strength: + + GWYLLIM. ... Come on. Why don't you come on? I'm making no + defence. + + SHONNIN. Mother? + + GWYLLIM. Leave her alone. Strike me, boy. I bid you do it. + + SHONNIN. Then I will; with all my might, and may God + increase it! + + OWAIN. There is no God. + +Shonnin strikes three times; and is then felled by a blow from his +father, who goes out, shouting orders to wife as he retreats. The scene +closes in a final horror. Nelto, a pretty, high-spirited girl, has +hitherto taken little part in the action. Her character, however, has +been clearly indicated in one or two strong touches. We realize that she +is young, impulsive, warm-hearted; keenly sensitive to beauty, wilful +and bright; thrilling to her fingertips with life that craves its +birthright of liberty and joy. But we see, too, that with all her ardour +she is as proud and cold in her attitude to love as a very Artemis. And +when she declares that she also has reached the point of desperation, +and that sooner than remain longer in the gloom and terror of her home +she will fling herself into a shameful career, we feel that the climax +has indeed been reached. + +In the third scene the plan of wild justice is formulated. It had +originated in the mind of Owain, who had fed his brooding temper on old +stories of revenge. To him the dreadful logic of the scheme seemed +unanswerable. No power on earth or heaven could help them; either they +must save themselves, or be destroyed, body and soul. He puts his plan +before Shonnin--to lure their father by a light wrongly placed, as he +rows home at night, on to the quicksands at the other side of the +island. But Shonnin, if he has less strength of will than Owain, is more +thoughtful and more sensitive. He is appalled at the proposal. Owain +reminds him of their wrongs; asks him what this monster has done that he +should live to be their ruin. And Shonnin, seeing the issues more +clearly, replies + + ... Nothing; + But then I have done nothing to deserve + To be made a parricide. + +But Nelto has been listening, and hers is a nature of a very different +mettle. Besides, as she has put the alternative to herself, it means but +a choice between two evils; and this plan of Owain's seems at least a +cleaner thing than the existence she had contemplated. She declares that +she will be the instrument of the revenge. + +The rest of the play is occupied with the execution of the plan. Scene +IV shows us Nelto going on her way down to the sea at night with the +lantern that is to lead Gwyllim on to the sands. She is trying not to +think; but the very face of nature seems to reflect the horror that is +in her soul-- + + ... Down slips the moon. + NELTO. Broken and tarnished too? Now she hangs motionless + As 'twere amazed, in a silver strait of sky + Between the long black cloud and the long black sea; + The sea crawls like a snake. + +The figure of a woman suddenly appears in the path. It is her mother; +she has overheard their plans, and for a moment Nelto is afraid that she +has come to frustrate them. But Mrs Gwyllim has a very different +purpose: she intends to take upon herself the crime that her children +are about to commit-- + + All's fallen from me now + But naked motherhood. What! Shall a hare + Turn on the red-jawed dogs, being a mother, + The unpitying lioness suckle her whelps + Smeared with her heart's blood, this one law be stamped + For ever on the imperishable stuff + Of our mortality, and I, I only, + Forbidden to obey it? + +But Nelto sees that she is too frail and weak for the task; and entreats +her mother to return to the house. Time is slipping, and her father is +waiting for the boat. + + MRS. GWYLLIM. Ellen, you are too young; + You should be innocent-- + + NELTO. Never again + After this night. Come, mother, I am yours; + Make me a wanton or an avenger. + + MRS. GWYLLIM. Powers + That set my spirit to swing on such a thread + Over mere blackness, teach me now to guide it! + + NELTO. Mother, the moon dips. + + MRS. GWYLLIM. Go, my daughter, go! + And let these hands, these miserable hands, + Too weak to avenge my children, let them be + Yet strong enough to pull upon my head + God's everlasting judgment! All that weight + Fall on me only! + +We see what follows in the closing scenes as a fulfilment of that +prayer. Nelto takes the boat to meet Gwyllim, intending to row him over +to the false light that she herself has placed. When he has stepped +ashore she is to push off instantly, and leave him either to stride +forward into the quicksand, or to be drowned by the tide. Owain and his +mother peer from their window through the darkness, trying to follow +Nelto's movements by the light on her boat. They have locked Shonnin in +his room that he may not know what they are doing and interfere. But he +manages to awaken a sleeping child in the next room, and is released in +time to discover what is afoot. He seizes another lantern and rushes +down to the bay to signal a warning to his father. Meantime Mrs Gwyllim +and Owain search the opposite shore with a telescope; they see the light +on the boat approach it, stop for just so long as a man would need to +clamber out, and then move away. For a few seconds they distinguish the +swaying light that Gwyllim carries, and then it disappears. To their +strained imagination it seems that they hear his terrible cry as he +reaches the quicksand; and at the same time they are horrified to see +that Nelto's boat is returning to him. She also has heard the cry, and +has gone back to try to save her father. The light moves forward, slowly +at first and then more quickly, as Nelto seems to spring ashore. A +moment afterwards it too goes out. + +No other sign comes to the watchers, for when they turn their glasses to +the nearer shore Shonnin also has disappeared. They keep their dreadful +vigil till dawn; and then the mother, pitifully hoping against hope, +goes out to seek her children.--She returns with Nelto's shawl. + + MRS. GWYLLIM. Where are my children, if they are not there? + They cannot both be--Owain, where are they? + + OWAIN _[Makes a gesture towards the sea]_. Mother, + May God have mercy on us! + + MRS. GWYLLIM. No, not both, + Not both! She's somewhere in the house. Come, Ellen! + She is afraid to come. Come, Nelto, Nelto! + Shonnin, my heart's adored, Shonnin, my love, + Do not be angry with me, answer, Shonnin, + Shonnin! Not dead--not dead! + + OWAIN. O hush--hush--hush! + +In a summary of this kind it is impossible to indicate all the dramatic +values of the work. One cannot show, for instance, how the characters +come to life, and by touches bold or subtle, develop an individuality +out of which the conflict of the drama springs. Even the conflict itself +can hardly be suggested, for an outline of the story gives only the +physical action; whilst there is a spiritual struggle in the minds of at +least two of the characters which is infinitely more tragical. And +neither can one hope to convey any sense of the force with which the +play takes possession of the mind. That is of course, its chief artistic +excellence; and on a moment's consideration it is seen to be a +remarkable achievement. For although the poet is working towards a +catastrophe very remote from ordinary experience, and in a poetic medium +deeply stamped with the marks of an earlier age, she has succeeded in +evoking a powerful illusion of reality. Here and there, indeed, are +signs that the handicap she has imposed upon herself is almost too +great. There is, perhaps, a shade of excess in the portraiture of +Gwyllim; or, to put it in another way, the author has not taken an +opportunity to balance what is extraordinary in this character with the +relief which would have suggested a complete personality. And now and +then there is a hint of incongruity in the use of a rich Elizabethan +diction, even for Owain, who is supposed to be steeped in the literature +of that age. + +Those are not radical defects, however, for they do not interrupt the +enjoyment of the drama: they only emerge as an afterthought. If the +incompleteness of Gwyllim disturbed our conviction of his villainy, the +whole plot would be weakened. Whereas we are profoundly convinced that +the wrongs of his family are intolerable, and the revolt a natural +consequence. Similarly, if the exuberant Elizabethan language were +really unfitted to the spirit of the work, I imagine that it would be +barely possible to read the drama through, so irritating would be its +ineptitude. But, as a fact, the language wins upon us somehow as the +right expression for these people. We are probably satisfied, +subconsciously, that human creatures who have been thrust back to an +almost elemental stage of passion and thought, might talk in some such +way. In any case the emotional force of that old style, with its vivid +imagery and metaphor and its copious flow, does somehow suit the +intensity and gloomy grandeur of this play. + +I am not sure that it suits _The Princess of Hanover_ quite so +well--which is curious, considering that we have, in the royal theme of +this drama, a subject which might be supposed to require an ornate +style. But in treating the tragic love-story of Sophia of Zell the poet +was bound to reproduce something of the atmosphere of the Hanoverian +Court, with its intrigues and indecencies and absurd conventionality. +And at such points poetry lends too large a dignity. In those scenes, +however, where as in "Wild Justice," the author comes to deal with naked +passion and with turbulent thought that is driving some person of the +drama to disaster, the instrument is admirably fitted to its purpose. +Thus, in the second half of the play, when the unfortunate Princess at +last yields to her lover, Königsmarck, and plots with him to escape from +her sottish husband, there are moments when it seems that no other +medium would serve. There is, for example, the crucial scene in the +second act when the endurance of the Princess finally gives way. The +action turns here directly towards its tragic culmination; for the +Princess, who had hitherto saved her honour at the cost of her love, +suddenly breaks down at an insult from the old Electress. The revulsion +of feeling as she flings restraint away carries her to an ecstatic sense +of liberty. As the Electress goes out and she is left alone with her +lady-in-waiting, she laughs bitterly and declares that she is now free +for ever from the House of Hanover. + + LEONORA. Weeping, dear lady, + Will balm our misery better than laughter. + + PRINCESS. Misery? I am mad with all the joy + Of all my years, my youth-consuming years' + Hoarded, unspent delight. + Say, Leonora, + Where are my wings? Do they not shoot up radiant, + A splendour of snowy vans, swimming the air + Just ere the rush of rapture? + +One might quote a dozen such passages, in which a rush of emotion seems +to overflow most naturally into poetical extravagance. There is the +rhapsody of the Electress--significantly, upon the theme of Queen +Elizabeth. There are the love-scenes, passionate or tender, between +Königsmarck and the Princess; and the fierce moods--of sheer avidity or +hatred or remorse--of the courtesan who contrives their downfall. But +the only other illustration which need be given is taken from the last +scene of the play; and has a further importance which must be noted. I +mean the tragic irony which underlies it, and, running throughout the +scene, closes the play on a note of appalling mockery. + +The scene is in the Electoral Palace at night, or rather very early +morning, when the grey light is slowly coming. The Princess and Leonora +have come into the outer hall of their apartments to burn certain papers +in the fireplace there. Their plans are all made for flight with +Königsmarck on the following day; and as they kindle the fire they talk, +the Princess eagerly and Leonora with more caution, about their chances +of escape. But on the very spot where they stand, Königsmarck had been +secretly assassinated less than an hour before. And at this moment, +while they are talking, his body is being hastily bricked into a disused +staircase leading out of the hall. Faint sounds of the work reach the +ears of the ladies as they begin their task; but though Leonora is +disquieted, the Princess will not listen to her fears. She is on the +crest of a mood of exaltation-- + + PRINCESS. The night is almost over, + Soon will the topmost towers discern the day. + The day! The day! O last of all the days + I have spent in extreme penury of joy, + In garish misery, unhelped wrong, + And in unpardonable dishonour.... + + ..... + + Up lingering dawn! + Why dost thou creep so pale, like one afraid? + I want the sun! I want to-morrow! + + LEONORA. Madam, + There was a hand on the door. What can these builders + Be doing here at this hour? + + PRINCESS. Why, they're building. + What does it matter? Let them build all night, + I warrant they'll not build a wall so high + Love cannot overleap it. + + + + +_Bibliography_ + + + LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE + + _Interludes and Poems._ John Lane. 1908. + + _The Sale of St Thomas._ Published by the Author. (Out of Print.) + 1911. + + _Emblems of Love._ John Lane. 1912. + + _Deborah._ John Lane. 1913. + + Contributions to _New Numbers_, February, April, August, December, + 1914. (Out of Print.) + + + EVA GORE BOOTH + + _The Three Resurrections and The Triumph of Maeve._ Longmans. 1905. + + _The Agate Lamp._ Longmans. 1912. + + _The Sorrowful Princess._ Longmans. 1907. + + + RUPERT BROOKE + + _Poems._ Sidgwick & Jackson. 1911. + + _1914 and Other Poems._ Sidgwick & Jackson. 1915. + + Contributions to _New Numbers_. (See ABERCROMBIE.) + + + JOSEPH CAMPBELL + + _The Mountainy Singer._ Maunsel. 1909. + + _Irishry._ Maunsel. 1913. + + + PADRAIC COLUM + + _Wild Earth._ (Out of Print.) 1907. + + + JAMES COUSINS + + _The Quest._ Maunsel. 1906. + + _Etain the Beloved._ Maunsel. 1912. + + _Straight and Crooked._ Grant Richards. 1915. + + + WILLIAM H. DAVIES + + _The Soul's Destroyer._ Alston Rivers. 1906. + + _New Poems._ Elkin Mathews. 1907. + + _Nature Poems._ A. C. Fifield. 1908. + + _Farewell to Poesy._ A. C. Fifield. 1910. + + _Songs of Joy._ A. C. Fifield. 1911. + + _Foliage._ Elkin Mathews. 1913. + + _The Bird of Paradise._ Methuen. 1914. + + + WALTER DE LA MARE + + _Songs of Childhood._ Longmans. (Out of Print.) 1902. + + _Poems._ Murray. 1906. + + _The Listeners._ Constable. 1912. + + _A Child's Day._ Constable. 1912. + + _Peacock Pie._ Constable. 1913. + + + WILFRED WILSON GIBSON + + _Urlyn the Harper_ and _The Queen's Vigil_. Elkin Mathews (Vigo + Cabinet Series). 1900. + + _On the Threshold._ Samurai Press. 1907. + + _The Stonefolds._ Samurai Press. 1907. + + _The Web of Life._ (Out of Print.) 1908. + + _Akra the Slave._ Elkin Mathews. 1910. + + _Daily Bread._ Elkin Mathews. 1910. + + _Womenkind._ David Nutt (Pilgrim Players Series). 1911. + + _Fires._ Elkin Mathews. 1912. + + _Borderlands._ Elkin Mathews. 1914. + + _Thoroughfares._ Elkin Mathews. 1914. + + _Battle._ Elkin Mathews. 1915. + + + RALPH HODGSON + + _Eve._ "At the Sign of Flying Fame." (Out of Print.) 1913. + + _The Bull._ "At the Sign of Flying Fame." 1913. + + _The Mystery._ "At the Sign of Flying Fame." 1913. + + _The Song of Honour._ (Out of Print.) + + _All the above re-issued by_ The Poetry Bookshop. + + + FORD MADOX HUEFFER + + _Collected Poems._ Max Goschen. 1914. + + + ROSE MACAULAY + + _The Two Blind Countries._ Sidgwick & Jackson. 1914. + + + JOHN MASEFIELD + + _Salt Water Ballads._ Grant Richards. 1902. (Out of Print.) + (Reprinted by Elkin Mathews.) 1913. + + _Ballads._ Elkin Mathews. (Out of Print.) 1903. + + _Ballads and Poems._ Elkin Mathews. 1910. + + _The Everlasting Mercy._ Sidgwick & Jackson. 1911. + + _The Widow in the Bye-Street._ Sidgwick & Jackson. 1912. + + _Dauber._ Wm. Heinemann. 1913. + + _Daffodil Fields._ Wm. Heinemann. 1913. + + _Philip the King._ Wm. Heinemann. 1914. + + _The Faithful._ Wm. Heinemann. 1915. + + + ALICE MILLIGAN. + + _Hero Lays._ Maunsel. 1908. + + + SUSAN L. MITCHELL + + _The Living Chalice._ Maunsel. 1913. + + _Aids to the Immortality of Certain Persons in Ireland._ Maunsel. + 1913. + + + HAROLD MONRO + + _Judas._ Sampson Low. 1908. + + _Before Dawn._ Constable. 1911. + + _Children of Love._ Poetry Bookshop. 1914. + + _Trees._ Poetry Bookshop. 1915. + + + =Sarojini Naidu= + + _The Golden Threshold._ Wm. Heinemann. 1905. + + _The Bird of Time._ Wm. Heinemann. 1912. + + + SEUMAS O'SULLIVAN + + _Poems._ Maunsel. 1912. + + _An Epilogue._ Maunsel. 1914. + + + "JOHN PRESLAND" + + _The Marionettes._ T. Fisher Unwin. 1907. + + _Joan of Arc._ Simpkin Marshall. 1909. + + _Mary Queen of Scots._ Chatto & Windus. 1910. + + _The Deluge._ Chatto & Windus. 1911. + + _Manin._ Chatto & Windus. 1911. + + _Marcus Aurelius._ Chatto & Windus. 1912. + + _Songs of Changing Skies._ Chatto & Windus. 1913. + + _Belisarius._ Chatto & Windus. 1913. + + + James Stephens + + _Insurrections._ Maunsel. (Out of Print.) 1909. + + _The Hill of Vision._ Maunsel. 1912. + + _Songs from the Clay._ Macmillan. 1915. + + + MRS MARGARET L. WOODS + + _Collected Poems._ John Lane. 1914. + + + ELLA YOUNG + + _Poems._ Tower Press Booklets. 1906. + +NOTE.--The lists do not, in every case, include all the author's works; +the principal object being to give the books mentioned in the Studies. + + + + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's note: + +Obvious spelling and typographical errors in the prose were +corrected. Only egregious errors were corrected in the poetry. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42041 *** |