in intellect, but babes in knowledge of the best things (the pure spiritual principles that teach the love, of God and the love of man), in comparison with the humblest Christian who can read his Bible, and know, from its influence upon his heart, his conscience, and his life, that it is true. Had all the writings of Greek and Roman moralists been preserved, they would but have exhibited the impossibility of man by searching to find out God, without a distinct revelation from himself. They would have been, in many respects, splendid piles of error, on which eloquence, argument, all the power, penetration, and subtilty of minds of the highest order were expended in comparatively vain speculations; resembling their temples,-prodigies of human art, science, taste, elegance, sublimity,-all that could show the immortality of man even in his mortal works, but dedicated to false gods, to idols,-the wisest among them not knowing that an idol, whether ideal or material, the idol of the sage or of the clown, is nothing in the world. Now, in the systems alluded to, whatever was false and evil was laid down as true and good, and being mingled with whatever was really good and true, became of more perilous malignity than the extravagances and atrocities of poetry, which too often did not even pretend to regard good manners; yet of which the greater part, preserved from the devastations of time, abounding, as it does, with faults and errors, contains lessons without number and unequalled in form and beauty, whereby the mind may be enlarged, the noblest passions moved towards the noblest objects, and the imagination chastened by morality, clear, simple, practical, and radiantly contrasted with the complex, subtle, dark, bewildering notions of most of the philosophers.

Here I conclude this rhapsody, as some may deem it, on the pre-eminence of poetry; asking only for it that indulgence which I should be most willing

to grant, for myself, to any champion of music, painting, sculpture, eloquence, history, or philosophy, who, in this place or any other theatre where liberal sentiment may be freely expressed, should plead for the pre-eminence of his favourite art over mine.

LECTURE II.

WHAT IS POETICAL.

THE nature, or rather the essence, of poetry, 1 cannot define, and shall therefore not attempt it; but I think that I may illustrate the subject, and show, at least, what is poetical, by examples, which (if I succeed in making mine understood) anybody may multiply at pleasure, and employ them as tests of whatever assumes to be poetry, by its structure, style, or colouring.

That which is highest, purest, loveliest, and most excellent to the eye or to the mind, in reference to any object, either of the senses or the imagination, is poetical. Poetry presents the most comprehensive view of all its subjects, in their fairest shape, and most natural symmetry, after having divested them of whatever is little, mean, or unattractive; softening asperities, blending discordances, sinking superfluities, harmonizing all parts, and placing the whole in such connexion, due distance, and convenient light, as shall at once satisfy the understanding with what is revealed, excite the imagination towards that which is hidden, and prompt the curiosity to follow out all that is implied and consequential. For it is not alone the glowing images, the bold conceptions, the felicitous language, and the sublime, terrific, or delightful emotions. with which the author captivates, enchains,

or surprises, both listeners and loiterers; it is not these alone which constitute the charm, and secure the dominion of poetry. No; it is principally that secret, undefined, and incommunicable art by which the author works at once upon the mind of the reader, and sets the reader's mind at work upon itself, with thick-coming fancies, of which those lent by the poet are but the precursors: so that the longer he dwells, and the oftener the man of right feeling returns to the strain that first transported him, after the novelty and effervescence are past, he will find his own fancy, his own affections, his own intelligence, exercised anew, and not seldom in a new way, with the theme and its embellishments; which, being nature and truth (however figuratively invested), will no more weary contemplation than the most familiar scenes of the universe tire the sight. For, if there be one characteristic of poetry which exalts it above every other species of literature, as well as distinguishes it from the most refined of manual arts, it is this,that, whatever it may be in its essence, genuine poetry is, in its effect, the highest of all mental, imaginative, and passionate enjoyments, of which the whole process is independent of the senses. I hesitate not to affirm, that no external excitement whatever does necessarily contribute towards the pleasure derived from it, for even the metre is rather addressed to the mind than to the ear, and is, indeed, more frequently communicated through the eye (which, however, merely takes in the visible signs of the hidden meaning), than either by reading aloud, or hearkening to another who reads. I appeal to those present who are most skilled in the delicacies of rhythmical periods, whether any recitation of verse, by the most accomplished declaimer, can reach the enchantment of the numbers of true poetry, which a person of fine nerve and pure taste can conceive in the silence of thought, while he looks upon the page that records them. Do not the harmonies of Shak

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speare himself ring more melodiously in remembrance than they were ever made to sound in reality from the lips of a Kemble or a Siddons?

Truth a Test of Poetry.

But I am to endeavour, by illustration of what is poetical, to enable those who choose to follow the same course of analogy, to judge for themselves of any composition in verse, whether it can justly lay claim to the former epithet. In the first place, the test of true poetry is the test of truth itself. Two Mongol-Tartar chiefs, from the borders of China, some years ago, came to St. Petersburgh to acquaint themselves with the learning and arts of Europeans; bringing this recommendation, that they were the best and most sensible men belonging to their tribe. Among other occupations they were engaged to assist a German clergyman, resident in that city, in a translation of St. Matthew's Gospel into their native tongue. This work was carried on for many months, and day by day they were accustomed to collate, with the minister, such portions of the common task as one, the other, or all three had completed; in the course of which, they would often ask questions respecting circumstances and allusions, as well as doctrines and sentiments, contained in the book, which, to be faithful interpreters, they deemed right to understand well for themselves beyond the literal text. On the last day, when the version was presumed to be as perfect as the parties could render it, the two saisangs (or chiefs) sat silent but thoughtful, when the manuscript lay closed upon the table. Observing something unusual in their manner, their friend inquired whether they had any questions to ask. They answered, "None;" and then, to the delight and amazement of the good man, who had carefully avoided, during their past intercourse, any semblance of wishing to proselyte

them, they both declared themselves converts to the religion of that book. So they proved in the sequel, but with that part of the history, though exceedingly interesting, we have not to do at present. One remark which the elder made, and the younger confirmed, has caused this reference to them. He said, "We have lived in ignorance, and been led by blind guides, without finding rest. We have been zealous followers of the doctrines of Shakdshamani (the Fo of the Chinese), and have studied the books containing them attentively; but the more studied, the more obscure they appeared to us, and our hearts remained empty. But in perusing the doctrines of Jesus Christ, it is just the contrary; the more we meditate upon his words, the more intelligible they become; and at length it seems as if Jesus were talking with us."

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Thus it is universally with truth and error. falsehood is the counterfeit of truth, and superficially viewed may pass for the reality; but in proportion as it is examined, its pretensions disappear, and the cheat becomes manifest. On the contrary, from our hasty, negligent, or imperfect perception of it, truth may sometimes be mistaken for imposture; but when resolutely, patiently, honestly searched into, it gradually grows clearer, simpler, fuller, and at last perfect. The bodily eye coming out of long darkness into sudden light, relapses from infirmity,-I might say, in self-defence,-into momentary blindness, but, soon accommodating itself to the splendour around, all becomes natural, agreeable, and right; while new discoveries of what was utterly hidden, or unsuspected, are made, from instant to instant, till the sight has recovered its strength and penetration to comprehend the whole scene and all its circumstances. Try poetry by this standard: that which -wearies, on acquaintance, is false; that which improves is true.

The rule of Longinus, respecting the sublime