diff options
Diffstat (limited to '42041-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 42041-8.txt | 8437 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 8437 deletions
diff --git a/42041-8.txt b/42041-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ad66577..0000000 --- a/42041-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8437 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Studies of Contemporary Poets, by Mary C. -Sturgeon - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: Studies of Contemporary Poets - - -Author: Mary C. Sturgeon - - - -Release Date: February 7, 2013 [eBook #42041] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STUDIES OF CONTEMPORARY POETS*** - - -E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing, Suzanne Shell, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images -generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(http://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -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 STUDIES OF CONTEMPORARY POETS*** - - -******* This file should be named 42041-8.txt or 42041-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/0/4/42041 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |